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JBRARY 


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c  DIVERSITY 
IIFORNIA 
NGELES 


I  [FT  OF 
M  A.  NITZE 


iJ 


THE  BIOGRAPHICAL  EDITION 


THE    WORKS    OF 

WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE  THACKERAY 

WITH  BIOGRAPHICAL  INTRODUCTIONS  BY 
HIS  DAUGHTER,  ANNE  RITCHIE 


IN  THIRTEEN  VOLUMES 

Volume  VI. 
CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   "PUNCH"    Etc. 


"IjA^fk 


CONTRIBUTIONS 


TO 


(t 


PUNCH" 


ETC. 


WILLIAM    MAKEPEACE    THACKERAY 


WITH  ILL  US  TR  A  TIONS  BY  THE  A  UTHOR 
AND  A  PORTRAIT 


HARPER    &    BROTHERS    PUBLISHERS 

NEW   YORK   AND    LONDON 

1900 


THE  BIOGRAPHICAL  EDITION  OF 

W.  M.  THACKERAY'S  COMPLETE  WORKS 

Edited  by   Mrs.  Anne   Thackeray    Ritchie 

The  volumes  are  issued  as  fay  as  possible  in  order  of  or  igi7ial  publication 

1.  VANITY  FAIR 

2.  PENDENNIS 

3.  YELLOWPLUSH  PAPERS,  Etc. 

4.  BARRY  LYNDON,  Etc. 

5.  SKETCH   BOOKS 

6.  CONTRIBUTIONS   TO 

"PUNCH,"  Etc. 

7.  HENRY  ESMOND,  Etc. 

8.  THE  NEWCOMES 

g.  CHRISTMAS  BOOKS,  Etc. 

10.  THE  VIRGINIANS 

11.  PHILIP,  Etc. 

12.  DENIS  DUVAL,  Etc. 

13.  MISCELLANIES 

Illustrated.     Crown  8vo,  Cloth,  Ortiamental,  Uncut  Edges  and  Gilt  Tops, 
%i  75  per  volume 

HARPER    &    BROTHERS,   PUBLISHERS, 

NEW     YORK     AND     LONDON 

Copyright,  1898,  by  Harper  &  Brothers 

AH  rif^hts  reserved 


CONTENTS 


INTRODUCTION 


PAGE 

xvii 


MISS   TICKLETOBY'S  LECTURES   ON 
ENGLISH  HISTORY 

A    CHARACTER    (tO    INTRODUCE    ANOTHER    CHARACTER) 
LECTURE    I.         .....••■  • 

»  " 

„        III.       THE    SEA-KINGS    IN    ENGLAND 

IV.       EDWARD    THE    CONFESSOR — HAROLD — WILLIAM 

THE  CONQUEROR         .  .  .  •  • 

„  V.       WILLIAM    RUFUS    ....•• 

„         VL       HENRY    L MAUDE— STEPHEN — HENRY    II. 

„       VIL       RICHARD    THE    FIRST        ..... 

,,     VIII.       .  .....••• 

„         IX.       EDWARD    I. — THE    SCOTS    AND    THEIR    CLAIMS    . 
X.       EDWARD    III.  ...... 


3 

6 

U 

17 

22 
26 
29 
33 
38 
42 
47 


PAPERS  BY  THE  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR 


WANDERINGS    OF    OUR    FAT    CONTRIBUTOR 
PUNCH    IN    THE    EAST 

BRIGHTON  ..... 

A    BRIGHTON    NIGHT    ENTERTAINMENT 
MEDITATIONS    OVER    BRIGHTON 
BRIGHTON    IN    1847 


53 

73 

88 
90 
94 
97 


947679 


CONTENTS 


MISCELLANEOUS  CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  "PUNCH 


MR.    spec's    remonstrance  .... 

SINGULAR    LETTER    FROM    THE    REGENT    OF    SPAIN 
THE    GEORGES  ...... 

TITMARSH    V.    TAIT     ...... 

ROYAL    ACADEMY        ...... 

PROFESSOR     BYLES'S     OPINION     OF    THE    WESTMINSTER     HALL 

EXHIBITION  ..... 

"punch"    and    the    INFLUENZA 

THE    PERSECUTION    OF    BRITISH    FOOTMEN      . 

IRISH    GEMS       ...... 

MR.    snob's    REMONSTRANCE    WITH    MR.    SMITH 
YESTERDAY  :    A    TALE    OF    THE    POLISH    BALL 
SCIENCE    AT    CAMBRIDGE     . 
THE    GREAT    SQUATTLEBOROUGH    SOIRJSe 
PARIS    REVISITED         .... 

TWO    OR    THREE    THEATRES    AT    PARIS 
ON    SOME    DINNERS    AT    PARIS      . 
HOBSON's  CHOICE  ;    OR,   THE  TRIBULATIONS 

IN    SEARCH    OF    A    MAN-SERVANT 
THOUGHTS    ON    A    NEW    COMEDY 
THE    SIGHTS    OF    LONDON     . 
THE    LION-HUNTRESS    OF    BELGRAVIA    . 

WHY    can't    THEY    LEAVE    US    ALONE    IN    THE    HOLIDAYS? 
k    STRANGE    MAN    JUST    DISCOVERED    IN    GERMANY 
WHAT    I    REMARKED    AT    THE    EXHIBITION    .  .  / 

M.      GOBEMOUCHE's     AUTHENTIC     ACCOUNT     OF     THE     GRAND 

EXHIBITION  .... 

THE    CHARLES    THE    SECOND    BALL 


OF  A   GENTLEMAN 


CONTENTS 


PANORAMA    OF    THE    INGLEEZ       . 

AN    INGLEEZ    FAMILY 

POOR    PUGGY     ..... 

PORTRAITS    FROM    THE    LATE    EXHIBITION 


PAGE 

204 
207 
212 
215 


VERSES 


THE    FLYING    DUKE    . 

MR.    SMITH    AND    MOSES      . 

THE    FRODDYLENT    BUTLER 


223 

226 

228 


CHAP. 
I. 


THE   HISTORY  OF   THE   NEXT   FRENCH 
REVOLUTION 


II.  HENRY  V.  AND  NAPOLEON  III. 

III.  THE   ADVANCE   OF  THE   PRETENDERS 

REVIEW 

IV.  THE    BATTLE    OF    RHEIMS 
V.  THE    BATTLE    OF   TOURS   . 

VI.  THE    ENGLISH    UNDER    JENKINS 

VII.  THE    LEAGUER    OF    PARIS 

VIII.  THE    BATTLE    OF    THE    FORTS 

IX.  LOUIS    XVII. 


HISTORICAL 


233 

237 

242 
246 
247 
252 
256 
258 
260 


LITTLE  TRAVELS  AND  ROAD-SIDE  SKETCHES 


FROM    RICHMOND   IN   SURREY   TO   BRUSSELS    IN  BELGIUM       267 

285 

.     294 


I 

II.       GHENT BRUGES 

III.       WATERLOO 


CONTENTS 


THE   BOOK   OF  SNOBS 

PAGE 
PKEFATORY    REMARKS  .......       303 

CHAP. 

I.  THE    SNOB    PLAYFULLY    DEALT    AVITH      .             .             .       306 

II.  THE    SNOB    ROYAL          ......       310 

III.  THE    INFLUENCE    OF    THE    ARISTOCRACY    ON    SNOBS       313 

IV.  "  THE     COURT     CIRCULAR,"     AND     ITS     INFLUENCE 

ON    SNOBS    .  .  .  .  .  .  .316 

V.  WHAT    SNOBS    ADMIRE             .....       320 

VI.  ON    SOME    RESPECTABLE    SNOBS       ....       323 

VII.  ON    SOME    RESPECTABLE    SNOBS       .             .             .             .326 

VIII.       GREAT    CITY  SNOBS 330 

IX.  ON    SOME    MILITARY    SNOBS               ....       334 

X.  MILITARY    SNOBS            ......       337 

XI.       ON    CLERICAL   SNOBS 340 

XIL  ON    CLERICAL    SNOBS    AND    SNOBBISHNESS         .            .       343 

XIII.  ON    CLERICAL    SNOBS    ......       347 

XIV.  ON    UNIVERSITY    SNOBS           .....       350 
XV.  ON    UNIVERSITY    SNOBS           .....       354 

XVI.       ON    LITERARY    SNOBS 357 

XVII.  A    LITTLE    ABOUT    IRISH    SNOBS       ....       360 

XVIII.       PARTY-GIVING    SNOBS 363 

XIX.  DINING-OUT    SNOBS        ......       367 

XX.  DINNER-GIVING    SNOBS    FURTHER    CONSIDERED          .       370 

XXI.  SOME    CONTINENTAL    SNOBS                .             .             .             .374 

XXII.  CONTINENTAL    SNOBBERY    CONTINUED     .             .             .       378 

XXIII.  ENGLISH    SNOBS    ON    THE    CONTINENT      .             .  .381 

XXIV.  ON    SOME    COUNTRY    SNOBS  ....       385 
XXV.  A    VISIT    TO    SOME    COUNTRY    SNOBS          .             .             .       388 

XXVI.  ON    SOME    COUNTRY    SNOBS    .....       392 


CONTENTS 


CHAP. 

PAGE 

XXVII. 

A    VISIT    TO    SOME    COUNTRY    SNOBS 

395 

XXVIII. 

ON    SOME    COUNTRY    SNOBS 

398 

XXIX. 

A    VISIT    TO    SOAIE    COUNTRY    SNOBS 

403 

XXX. 

ON    SOME    COUNTRY    SNOBS 

407 

XXXI. 

A    VISIT    TO    SOME    COUNTRY    SNOBS 

410 

XXXII. 

SNOBBIUM    GATHERUM 

413 

XXXIII. 

SNOBS    AND    MARRIAGE 

417 

XXXIV. 

SNOBS    AND    MARRIAGE 

420 

XXXV. 

SNOBS    AND    MARRIAGE 

424 

XXXVI. 

SNOBS    AND    MARRIAGE 

429 

XXXVII. 
SXXVIII. 

CLUB    SNOBS.       I. 
CLUB    SNOBS.       II. 

433 

437 

XXXIX. 

CLUB    SNOBS.       III.      . 

440 

XL. 

CLUB    SNOBS.       IV.       . 

443 

XLI. 

CLUB    SNOBS.       V. 

447 

XLII. 

CLUB    SNOBS.       VI.      . 

449 

XLIII. 

CLUB    SNOBS.       VII.    . 

453 

XLIV. 

CLUB    SNOBS.       VIIL 

457 

CONCLUDING    OBSERVATIOl^ 

IS    ON    SNOB 

S 

460 

NOVELS    BY    EMINENT    HANDS 

GEORGE    DE    BARNWELL.       BY    SIR    E.    L.    B.    L.,    BART.    .  .       467 

CODLINGSBY.       BY    D.    SHREWSBERRY,    ESQ.  .  .  .478 

PHIL    FOGARTY.       A    TALE    OF    THE    FIGHTING    ONETY-ONETII. 

BY    HARRY    ROLLICKER  ......       489 

BARBAZURE.       BY    0.    P.    R.    JEAMES,    ESQ.,    ETC.  .  .       501 

LORDS  AND  LIVERIES.  BY  THE  AUTHORESS  OF  "  DUKES  AND 
DEJEUNERS,"  "  HEARTS  AND  DIAMONDS,"  "  MARCHION- 
ESSES   AND    MILLINERS,"    ETC.    ETC.        .  .  .  .510 


xu 


CONTENTS 


CRINOLINE.       BY    JE-MES    PL-SH,    ES(i.  .... 

THE  STARS    AND    STRIPES.       BY   THE    AUTHOR   OF  "THE   LAST 

OF    THE    MULLIGANS,"    "  PILOT,"    ETC. 
A    PLAN    FOR    A    PRIZE    NOVEL     ...... 


PAGE 
519 


528 
535 


SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

TRAVELS    IN    LONDON 
THE    curate's    walk.       I. 
THE    curate's    walk.       II. 
A    DINNER    IN    THE    CITY.       I. 
A    DINNER    IN    THE    CITY.       II. 
A    DINNER    IN    THE    CITY'.       III. 

A  night's  pleasure.     I. 

A  night's  pleasure.  II. 
A  night's  pleasure.  III. 
A    night's    pleasure.       IV. 

A  night's  pleasure,     v. 

A    night's    pleasure.       VI. 

A    CLUB    IN    AN    UPROAR     . 

A    ROUNDABOUT    RIDE 

child's      PARTIES  :       AND      A      REMONSTRANCE      CONCERNING 
THEM.       I. 

child's    PARTIES.       II. 

WAITING    AT    THE    STATION 

MR.    brown's    letters    TO    HIS    NEPHEW      . 

ON    TAILORING — AND    TOILETTES    IN    GENERAL 

THE    INFLUENCE    OF    LOVELY'    WOMAN    UPON    SOCIETY' 

SOME    MORE    WORDS    ABOUT    THE    LADIES 

ON    FRIENDSHIP 


541 

545 
549 
553 
556 
560 
564 
567 
570 
573 
576 
579 
583 
587 

591 
595 
599 
604 
607 
611 
615 
619 


CONTENTS 

MR.       BROWN      THE      ELDER     TAKES     MR.     BROWX      THE 

YOUNGER    TO    A    CLUB        L    . 
MR.      BROWN      THE      ELDER      TAKES      MR.      BROWN      THE 

YOUNGER    TO    A    CLUB.       II. 
MR.      BROWN      THE      ELDER      TAKES      MR.      BROWN      THE 

YOUNGER    TO    A    CLUB.       III. 
A    WORD    ABOUT    BALLS    IN    SEASON 
A    WORD    ABOUT    DINNERS  .... 
ON    SOME    OLD    CUSTOMS    OF    THE    DINNER-TABLE 
GREAT    AND    LITTLE    DINNERS 

ON    LOVE,    MARRIAGE,    MEN,    AND    WOMEN.       I. 
ON    LOVE,    MARRIAGE,    MEN,    AND    WOMEN.       II. 
ON    LOVE,    MARRIAGE,    MEN,    AND    WOMEN.       III. 
OUT    OF    TOWN.       I.      . 
OUT    OF    TOWN.       II.    . 
THE    PROSER — ESSAYS     AND     DISCOURSES     BY    DR.     SOLOMON 

PACIFICO  :  — 
I.       ON    A    LADY    IN    AN    OPERA-BOX 
II.       ON    THE    PLEASURES    OF    BEING    A    FOGEY 

III.  ON    THE    BENEFITS    OF    BEING    A    FOGEY 

IV.  ON    A    GOOD-LOOKING    YOUNG    LADY      . 
V.       ON    AN    INTERESTING    FRENCH    EXILE 

VI.       ON    AN    AMERICAN    TRAVELLER    . 
VIL       ON    THE    PRESS    AND    THE    PUBLIC 


XIll 
PAGE 

627 

G31 

635 
639 
644 
648 
652 
656 
660 
663 
666 
670 


675 
680 
683 
687 
691 
G96 
701 


CHAP. 
I. 

XL 
III. 


A   LITTLE   DINNER  AT   TIMMINS'S. 


707 
711 
713 


XIV 

CHAP. 
IV. 

V. 

VI. 

VII. 


CONTENTS 


CARICATURES 


AUTHORS     MISERIES  . 
VARIOUS    CARICATURES 


PAGE 

717 
721 
724 

728 


735 

749 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 


PORTRAIT    OF    W.    M.    THACKERAY 


Frontispiece 


CHARLES    II.  .... 

CANE  :    A    MYSTERY 

THE    PRISONER    OF    CHILL-ON    . 

"  MISS    POTTS'S  "    TEA-TABLE     . 

GEORGE    DE    BARNWELL  . 

SKETCH    IN    LETTER    TO    LADY    MORLEY 

BUCKS ...... 

MEMBERS    OF    THE    GARRICK    CLUB     . 
SILVER    PUNCH  .... 


PAQK 

xviii 
xix 
xix 

XX 

xxvii 
xxix 

XXX 

xxxiii 

xxxvi 


THE   BOOK   OF   SNOBS 


CLUB  SNOB Tofacepacje  434 

MR.    SACKVILLE' MAINE'S    FAMILY    VISIT    THE    CLUB  „  454 


NOVELS   BY   EMINENT   HANDS 


GEORGE    DE    BARNWELL  .... 

LORD    CODLINGSBY    AND    RAFAEL    MENDOZA 

LADY    LAUDA    LATYMER .... 

CRINOLINE    AND    HISTERIA    DE    VIDDLERS 
6  *v 


To  face  page  470 
478 

484 

526 
b 


XVI 


I.I8T    OK    ILI.HSTKATIONS 


A   LITTLE   DINNER   AT    TIMMINS'S 
MR.  AND  MRS.  TOPHAM  SAWYER        .         .  To  face  page  710 


CARICATURES 


AUTHORS     MISERIES. 


NO. 

I.        . 

II.      . 

III.    . 

IV.     . 

V.       . 

VI.     . 

VII.   . 

VARIOUS    CARJCATURES  :  — 

ONE    "  WHO    CAN    MINISTER    TO    A    MIND    DISEASED 
A    TEA-TABLE    TRAGEDY 
HALF-AN-HOUR    BEFORE    DINNER 
THE    HEAVIES  .... 
A    SCENE    IN    SAINT    JAMES's    PARK 
LITERATURE    AT    A    STAND 


PA(1K 

735 

737 
739 
741 
743 
745 
747 

749 
751 
753 
755 

757 
759 


INTRODUCTION 

TO 

"PUNCH" 

1843-1854 

Much  of  my  father's  best  work  will  be  associated  with  the 
name  of  that  friendly  and  supernatural  being,  Mr.^  Punch,  for 
whom  he  was  now  writing.  Even  in  these  times,  Punch  is  still 
a  mighty  personage;  not  only  the  Punchinello  of  the  peep- 
show,  but  somebody  to  be  considered,  to  be  trusted — a  being 
merry  and  pliili>sophical,  wise,  and  not  afraid,  a  sort  of  transfig- 
ured Socrates.  From  the  days  when,  as  children,  we  used  to 
paint  Mr.  Punch  and  his  nose  and  his  hump,  and  try  experiments 
in  various  colours  upon  his  buttons,  to  the  present  hour,  when 
he  lies  unornamented,  in  plain  black  and  white,  upon  tbe  table, 
he  seems  the  same  little  friendly,  unchanging  presence — a  sort 
of  Immortal,  like  King  Arthur  or  Hercules,  a  gentlemen  among 
jokers,  as  Hamlet  was,  or  Prince  Hal,  dignified  and  self-respect- 
ing even  in  liis  capers. 

Punch  should  certainly  be  reckoned  as  one  of  the  demigods, 
those  mighty  but  intangible  presences  who  come  joining  in  the 
fray  of  battle,  now  on  one  side,  now  on  the  other,  taking  part 
with  the  mortals,  interested  in  their  success,  and  cheering  and 
encouraging  them  to  make  a  good  fight. 

Early  in  May  1842  Edward  FitzGerald  had  written  to  a  com- 
mon friend,  "  Tell  Thackeray  not  to  go  to  Punch  yet." 

Punch  was  only  a  year  old  at  this  time,  a  bantling  in  arms; 
but  Leech,  Douglas  Jerrold,  and  Kenny  Meadows  were  all  on 
ihestafE;  and  notwitlistanding  Mr.  FitzGerald's  advice,  in  the 
middle  of  June  Miss  Tickletoby's  "Lectures  on  English  His- 
tory "  began  to  appear  in  the  columns.     They  were  not  a  sue- 


xviii  PUNCH 

cess,  and  did  not  go  beyond  Edward  III.  The  portrait  of 
Charles  II.  may  or  may  not  have  been  intended  for  some  of  the 
future  chapters. 

By  Christmas  time  184.3  my  father  became  a  regular  contrib- 
utor, and  took  his  seat  at  the  Punch  table,  as  a  successor  to 
Albert  Smith.  It  was  in  1844  that  the  Fat  Contributor  regis- 
tered his  notes  of  travel.     In  1845  Jeames  of  Buckley  Square 


CHARLES    II. 


took  to  authorship,  and  besides  a  voluminous  correspondence, 
published  his  valuable  diary  in  Mr.  Punch's  columns. 

The  entries  in  my  father's  note -books  are  very  constant: 
"  Wrote  for  Punch.  All  day  at  work  upon  the  Puyich  article. 
At  work  till  three,  and  despatched  the  Punch  article."  Such 
memoranda  occur  again  and  again. 

"  The  Examiner  and  I  have  parted  company  in  the  best 
humour  possible,"  he  writes  to  his  mother,  "for  it  took  more 
time  than  I  could  afford  to  give  for  four  sovereigns,  and  I  was 


INTRODUCTION  xix 

imich  too  clever  a  fellow  to  do  it  well;  making  omissions,  blun- 
ders, »fcc.,  which  any  honest,  plodding  clerk  would  never  have 
fallen  into  ;  so  that  chain  is  off  my  leg,  but  there  are  plenty  of 
other  little  ones." 


THE    PRISONER    OF    CHILL-ON. 


Although  he  had  given  up  his  connection  with  the  Examiner, 
he  was  hard  at  work  for  Fraser  and  for  other  magazines. 


XX  PUNCH 

Tliese  littlo  jokes  and  [xiiis  out  of  Byron  belong  to  pne- 
Puncliian  days,  but  the  little  wuter-coloiir  painting  of  "Miss 
Potts's"  tea-table  is  eidarged  from  a  drawing  which  appeared  in 
Punclis  columns,  wliicli  will  be  found  at  the  end  of  this  volume. 

Mr.  FitzGerald,  dating  from  Boulge  in  1845,  writes  to  Mr. 
Frederick  Tennyson:  "If  you  want  to  know  something  of  the 
Exhibition,  read  Fraser's  Magazine  for  this  month  ;  there  Thack- 


"miss  potts's"  tka-taple. 


eray  has  a  paper  on  the  matter,  full  of  fun.  1  met  S'tone  in  the 
street  the  other  day ;  he  took  me  by  the  button,  and  told  me 
in  perfect  sincerity,  and  with  increasing  warmth,  how,  though 
he  loved  old  Thackeray,  yet  these  yearly  out-speakings  of  his 
sorely  tried  him  ;  not  on  account  of  himself  (Stone),  but  on  ac- 
count of  some  of  his  friends — Charles   Landsecr,  Maclise,  &c. 


INTRODUCTION  xxi 

Stone  worked  himself  up  to  such  a  pitch  under  the  pressure  of 
forced  calmness,  that  he  at  last  said  Thackeray  would  get  him- 
self horsewhipped  one  day  by  one  of  these  infuriated  Apelleses. 
At  this  I,  who  had  partly  agreed  with  Stone  that  ridicule,  though 
true,  needs  not  always  to  be  spoken,  began  to  laugh,  and  told 
him  two  could  play  at  that  game.  These  painters  cling  to- 
gether, and  bolster  each  other  up  to  such  a  degree,  that  they 
really  have  persuaded  themselves  that  any  one  who  ventures  to 
laugh  at  one  of  their  drawings,  exhibited  publicly  for  the  ex- 
press purpose  of  criticism,  insults  the  whole  corps.  In  the 
meanwhile  old  Thackeray  laughs  at  all  this  and  goes  on  in  his 
own  way,  writing  hard  for  half-a-dozen  reviews  and  newspapers 
all  the  morning;  driving,  drinking,  and  talking  of  a  night; 
managing  to  preserve  a  fresh  colour  and  perpetual  flow  of  spirits 
under  a  wear  and  tear  of  thinking  and  feeding,  that  would 
have  knocked  up  any  other  man  I  know  two  years  ago  at 
least.  .  .  ." 

There  is  a  page  from  one  of  the  note-books  which  must  have 
been  written  just  about  this  time,  in  fine  weather,  and  one  day 
when  his  work  was  done.  "  Had  a  very  pleasant  stroll  on  Mon- 
day on  Wimbledon  Common  with  Procter,  Forster,  and  Leigh 
Hunt.  Hunt  as  usual  in  great  force;  his  good-humoured  face 
encircled  with  a  clean  shirt-collar,  and  a  sort  of  holiday  dress 
put  on  to  receive  us.  Passing  by  Home  Tooke's  house  he  talked 
about  Pitt,  described  him.  on  his  deathbed  like  William  the 
Conqueror — and  Tooke's  friends,  Burdett  and  Orator  Thelwall. 
'  Thelwall  I  knew,'  Hunt  said  ;  '  he  was  a  practitioner  of  oratory, 
and  believed  in  it.' 

"  I  won't  put  down  the  bad  puns  the  good  fellow  made  at  a 
most  comfortable  dinner  at  the  Rose  and  Crown,  served  by  a 
neat-handed  little  waitress,  who  blushed  hugely  when  she  told 
us  there  were  stewed  eels  and  roast  ducks  for  dinner.  All  was 
very  good,  too  good,  the  champagne  and  claret  just  for  all  the 
world  like  London  wine.  The  Common  was  noble,  and  the  air 
and  the  green  country  delightfully  fresh.  The  day  quite  a 
holiday." 

As  I  have  already  told,  my  sister  and  I  were  living  abroad 
with  our  grandparents  during  these  years,  and  we  only  saw  our 
father  when  he  could  find  time  for  brief  visits.     Here  is  one  of 


xxii  -  PUNCH 

his  letters,  written  in  copper-plate  handwriting,  and  dated  De- 
cember 30,  1845:— 

"  My  dearest  Nanny, — Your  letter  has  made  me  and  mamma 
very  happy,  and  very  sad  too  that  we  are  away  from  our  dearest 
little  girls.  But  I  for  one  shall  see  you  before  very  long,  1  hope 
in  a  week  from  this  day,  and  only  write  now  to  wish  you  a  happy 
New  Year.  How  glad  I  am  that  it  is  a  black  puss  and  not  a 
black  nuss  you  have  got!  I  thought  you  did  not  know  how  to 
spell  nurse,  and  had  spelt  it  en-you-double-ess ;  but  I  see  the 
spelling  gets  better  as  the  letters  grow  longer:  they  cannot  be  too 
long  for  me.  Laura  must  be  a  very  good-natured  girl.  I  hope 
my  dear  Nanny  is  so  too,  not  merely  to  her  schoolmistress  and 
friends,  but  to  everybody — to  her  servants  and  her  nurses.  I 
would  sooner  have  you  gentle  and  humble-minded  than  ever  so 
clever.  Who  was  born  on  Christmas  Day  ?  Somebody  Who 
was  so  great,  that  all  the  world  worships  Him  ;  and  so  good,  that 
all  the  world  loves  Him ;  and  so  gentle  and  humble,  that  He 
never  spoke  an  unkind  word.  And  there  is  a  little  sermon,  and 
a  great  deal  of  love  and  affection  from  papa." 

The  "  Prize  Novelists  "  appeared  in  1847.  The  diary  for  that 
year  tells  of  the  time  when  we  had  come  to  live  again  in  Eng- 
land. The  book  begins  as  usual,  "  Drew  for  Punch.''  On  Jan- 
uary 5th  the  entry  is,  "  Duff  Gordon — drew  and  wrote  for  '  V. 
F.'  "  Then  follow  many  names,  so  familiar  now,  but  of  which 
only  one  or  two  had  even  faces  then. 

My  father  was  thirty-six  when  we  came  to  him. 

He  had  not  taken  the  house  with  the  fields  and  the  paddock, 
of  which  he  had  written  to  his  mother,  but  the  brown,  bow- 
windowed  house  in  Young  Street.  Young  Street  itself  was  al- 
most out  of  town  when  we  first  dwelt  there,  and,  as  I  have  already 
shown,  he  was  delighted  with  his  new  home. 

"  I  have  bought  a  boss,  and  ride  in  the  Park  with  great  ele- 
gance," he  writes  to  my  uncle,  Arthur  Shawe.  "  Strange  to  say, 
not  knowing  a  horse  from  a  cow,  everybody  says  I  have  got  a 
most  wonderful  bargain,  a  splendid  stepper,  &c.  .  .  .  One  of  my 
prettiest  and  amiablest  female  friends,  Mrs.  B.,  has  just  fallen  at 
Brighton,  where  the  Fat  Contributor  used  to  ride  with  her,  and 


INTRODUCTION  xxiii 

broken  her  nose — the  prettiest  little  nose  in  the  world  !  She  is  an 
Indian  Civil  Servant's  wife.  Mrs.  B.  sent  me  a  bottle  of  Chutney. 
I  wish  you  could  have  seen  her  face  when  I  told  her  that  I  was 
very  much  obliged  to  her,  and  had  rubbed  it  into  my  hair." 

To  Mrs.  Procter  he  writes  in  this  same  year :  "  I  have  been 
reading  a  capital  paper  in  Punch,  which  has  made  me  positively 
die  with  laughing.  It  is  by  a  lady  of  position — who  can  it  be  ?" 
He  signs  his  letter,  "  A  young  fellow  of  the  best  Society." 

Whatever  happened,  my  father,  I  think,  could  not  help  smiling 
and  playing  about  a  little,  before  settling  down  to  work. 

Here  are  a  couple  of  answers  to  invitations  from  Mrs.  Procter:— 

(1.)  "  My  dear  Mrs.  Procter, — I  quite  forgot  it  was  Monday. 
Monday  is  Punch  day.  I  was  not  there  last  week,  being  unwell, 
and  next  week  I  must  attend. 

"But  we  dine  early;  business  is  over  by  8.30  or  so,  and  if 
you  please,  I  will  come  to  tea  nice  and  early,  leaving  those  vulgar 
Punch  creatures  just  as  they  begin  to  smoke, 

"  '  V.  F.'  is  getting  later  and  later ;  but  I  am  still  yours  (with 
my  respectful  compliments  to  a  young  lady  who  has  dreams), 

"  W.  M.  T." 

(2.)  "  The  little  girls  are  glad,  and  free 
To  wait  upon  the  Misses  P. 
You  ask  my  children,  as  I  see. 
To  come  to  dinner  and  to  tea ; 
But  why  the  deuce  you  don't  ask  me, 
That  is  a  point  I  cannot  see." 

Mr.  FitzGerald,  again  writing  to  Mr.  Frederick  Tennyson,  says, 
"  Since  I  saw  you  I  have  entered  into  a  decidedly  agricultural 
course  of  conduct — read  books  about  composts,  »tc.  I  walk  about 
the  fields  also.  I  see  in  Punch  a  humorous  catalogue  of  supposed 
pictures — -Prince  Albert's  favourite  'Spaniel  and  Boot-Jack,' the 
Queen's  'Macaw  with  a  Muffin,'  by  Landseer,  in  which  I  recog- 
nised Thackeray's  fancy.  He  is  in  full  vigour,  play,  and  pay  in. 
London,  writing  in  a  dozen  reviews  and  a  score  of  newspapers, 
and  while  health  lasts,  he  sails  before  the  wind." 

As  a  preface  to  his  interesting  book,  Mr.  Spielmann  gives  a 


xxiv  PUNCH 

picture  of  the  Mahogany  Tree,  at  wliich  my  father  used  to  sit 
with  his  good  friends.  Year  after  year,  week  after  week,  the  little 
square  invitations  came  regularly,  with  their  quaint-printed  notice 
of  "  Five  o'clock  sharp."  In  after  days,  on  one  solemn  occasion, 
Mr.  Punch  came  to  dine  at  our  house  in  Onslow  Square,  and  the 
silver  bowl  was  put  out,  and  our  own  silver  Punch's  nose  rubbed 
up  for  the  occasion. 

My  father's  well-deserved  tribute  to  Punch  will  be  remem- 
bered. "There  never  were  before  published  in  this  world  so 
many  volumes  that  contained  so  much  cause  for  laughing,  so 
little  for  blushing.  It  is  so  easy  to  be  witty  and  wicked,  so  hard 
to  be  witty  and  wise  !  .   .   ." 

Here  is  a  note  of  one  particular  Punch  dinner.  "  Such  a  fog 
in  London  yesterday,"  my  father  writes.  "  I  was  going  to 
Punch,  and  actually  turned  back,  so  black  was  it ;  but  meeting 
stout  old  Percival  Leigh,  took  his  arm  and  walked  with  him,  and 
the  fog  was  not  near  so  bad  in  the  City  as  in  Brompton  and 
Knightsbridge,  and  we  had  a  pleasant  evening." 

All  the  writers  of  Punch  have  carved  their  names  in  turn  upon 
the  "  Mahogany  Tree."  J.  L.  and  W.  M.  T.,  and  M.  L.,  the  first 
editor,  and  T.  T.  and  C.  K.,  and  R.  D.  of  beloved  memory,  and 
the  editor  of  these  days,  and  the  noble  J.  T.,  and"  dear  D.  M., 
whose  sun-tipped  pen  and  pencil  reached  so  far,  and  A.  G.,  who 
only  writes  delightfully  as  yet,  but  whose  drawings  will  surely 
come  to  the  fore.  "  It  is  on  record,"  says  Mr.  Spielmann,  "  how 
Douglas  Jerrold  would  go  radiant  to  the  dinner  when  Mrs.  Caudle 
was  sending  up  Punch's  circulation.  Thackeray,  too,  first  tasted 
the  delights  of  wide  popularity  in  the  success  of  his  '  Snob  Pa- 
pers,'* and  showed  the  pleasure  felt  in  his  demeanour  at  the 

*  Since  writing  the  above  I  liave  received  from  Mr.  Reginald  Smith  a 
commentary  upon  the  "  Book  of  Snobs,"  which  has  been  lately  published  for 
the  use  of  students  of  English  in  Christiania.  The  little  handbook  is  very 
appreciative  of  my  father's  works,  and  also  goes  into  many  learned  details. 
"  Punch,"  we  read,  "is  a  hump-backed  character  in  the  once  popular  English 
toy-theatre.  It  has  consequently  nothing  to  do  with  punch  (Sanskrit  ^a^c/tan, 
five),  from  the  five  ingredients  of  which  that  liquor  is  made  up." 
■  The  notes  go  into  all  sorts  of  odd  and  unexpected  elucidations.  "  Rabbits 
are  very  teeming  animals."  "  His  reverence,"  a  title  of  respect  given  to  cler- 
gymen. "Tattersall's"  still  mentioned  as  a  place  where  people  indulge  in 
betting.     "  Busm,"  also  written  "  buzzum."     "Snooks,"  an  imaginary  per- 


INTKODUCTIOX  xxv 

board."  Mr.  Spielmann  quotes  that  beautiful  elegy  on  my  father's 
death  which  was  written  for  Punch  by  Mr.  Shirley  Brooks: — 

"  His  heart  wide  open  to  all  kindly  thought, 
His  hand  so  quick  to  .give,  his  tongue  to  praise." 

The  lines  are  well  known  as  they  deserve  to  be,  and  they  in 
truth  describe  my  father  as  he  was  to  his  friends,  rather  than 
to  the  strangers,  "who  but  knew  his  books,  not  him."  As  a 
boy  and  a  young  man,  his  sense  of  the  ludicrous  often  carried 
him  into  the  regions  of  nonsensical  burlesque,  and  he  has  said 
to  us  that  he  wished  some  of  his  early  and  more  personal  jokes 
had  never  been  printed.  It  must  have  been  from  such  a  feel- 
ing as  this  that  he  told  Mr.  Motley  the  "  Snob  Papers"  were 
those  of  his  writings  he  liked  the  least,  and  that  he  published 
a  note  of  explanation  when  he  withdrew  a  certain  number  of 
these  papers  from  the  collected  edition. 

The  poem  of  the  "Mahogany  Tree"  was  published  in  Jan- 
uary 1847:— 

"  Here  let  us  sport, 

Boys,  as  we  sit. 

Laughter  and  wit 

Flashing  so  free; 

Life  is  but  sliort. 

When  we  are  gone, 

Let  them  sing  on, 

Round  the  old  tree." 

The  lines  are  almost  like  a  wind  playing  among  the  leaves  of 
the  branches  overhead. 

Turning  over  the  pages  of  Punch,  and  looking  at  the  famil- 
iar titles  and  histories  and  pictures,  the  circumstances  under 
which  all  these  were  devised  come  vaguely  back  to  my  mind 
again.  Suns  long  set  begin  to  shine  once  more  through  the 
old  Kensington  study  windows.  My  father's  silvery  grey  head 
is  bending  over  his  dia wing- board  as  he  sits  at  his  work,  seii- 

son,  often  hroiight  forward  as  the  answer  to  an  idle  question.  Diddlesex,  a 
pun  upon  Middlesex,  very  often  found  in  Thack.'s  works.  "A  friend  in  yel- 
low satin — a  female  friend." 

Besides  tlie  commentaries  on  the  "Book  of  Snobs"  there  is  a  short  life  of 
the  author,  prettily  written,  with  a  certain  original  foreign  accent. 

2 


xxvi  PUNCH 

oils,  preoccupied,  with  the  water-colour  box  open  on  the  table 
beside  him,  and  the  tray  full  of  well-remembered  implements. 
To  the  writer  her  own  childhood  comes  back  and  fills  her  world. 
The  old  friend  who  used  to  pose  for  him  so  often  as  a  model  in 
those  days  seems  to  be  forty  summers  young  again.  There  she 
is,  sitting  motionless  and  smiling,  with  black  hair,  in  the  stiff 
cano-bottom  chair,  while  he  draws  on,  and  dabs  in  the  shadows. 
The  cane-bottom  chair,  "  that  bandy-legged,  high-shouldered, 
worm-eaten  seat,"  is  gone,  though  one  of  its  coritemporaries  still 
survives  in  our  home  ;  and  as  I  look  at  the  pictures  of  that  time, 
and  recognise  one  and  another  of  the  objects  depicted  there,  I 
am  always  carried  away  from  now  to  then.  Why,  the  very  coal- 
scuttle which  Becky  brought  in  with  her  own  two  hands  still 
serves  to  warm  the  hearth  where  my  family  is  assembled. 

It  used  to  be  a  joy  to  us  as  we  swung  our  legs  in  the  school- 
room, making  believe  to  work  at  our  historical  studies  upon  the 
Plantagenets  (beyond  which  race  we  never  seemed  to  travel), 
or  at  exercises  in  literature  (represented  chiefly  by  Ollendorf  s 
Grammar  and  Cowper's  Poems),  to  be  called  from  these  ab- 
stractions to  take  a  share  in  the  great  living  drama  of  Punch 
or  "Vanity  Fair"  going  on  in  the  study  below.  We  were  to 
be  trusted  to  stand  upon  chairs,  to  hold  draperies  and  cast  a 
shadow,  to  take  the  part  of  supers  on  our  father's  stage.  There 
were  also  the  wood-blocks  ready  to  fascinate  us;  and  it  was 
often  our  business  to  rub  out  the  failures,  and  to  wash  the  chalk 
oif  the  blocks.  I  still  remember  a  dreadful  day  when  I  washed 
away  a  finished  drawing,  for  which  the  messenger  was  at  that 
moment  waiting  in  the  hall. 

My  father's  sketches  in  Punch  are  estimated  at  380 ;  and  I 
am  amused  to  find  noticed  among  these  one  which  is  entitled 
"  Horrid  Tragedy  in  Private  Life,"  and  which  (so  says  the  His- 
tory) represents  a  room  in  which  there  are  two  ladies  in  a  state 
of  excitement.  It  is  further  stated  that  on  the  appearance  of 
this  drawing,  the  Man  in  the  Moon,  a  rival  periodical,  offered  a 
reward  of  £500  and  a  free  pardon  to  any  one  who  would  pub- 
lish an  explanation  of  it.  Is  it  too  late  to  claim  the  £500? 
The  room  was  my  father's  study,  where  two  little  girls  were 
found  by  him  dressed  up  in  various  tablecloths  and  curtains. 
One  was  enacting  a  queen,  and  was  ordering  the  rival  sovereign 


INTRODUCTION  xxvii 

off  to  instant  execution,  when  he  came  home  unexpectedly,  and 
drew  them  then  and  there. 

We  read  the  "Prize  Novelists"  for  real  stories,  and  longed 
for  them  to  be  finished,  instead  of  always  breaking  off  at  the 
most  interesting  point.  He  wanted  to  end  up  the  series  with 
Dickens  and  himself,  but  the  proprietors  of  Punch  refused  to 
let  him  publish  the  parody  of  Dickens  in  their  columns,  and  the 
series  came  to  an  end. 

An  interesting  note,  which  concerns  these  early  times,  is  ad- 
dressed to  Mr.  Albany  Fonblanque  : — 

^'^  January  27,  ISi?. 
"  My  dear  Fonblanque, — A  great  qualm  has  just  come  over 
me  about  our  conversation  this  morning.     I  am  going  to  do  a 


GEORGE    DE    BARNWELL. 


series  of  novels  by  the  most  popular  authors  for  Punch,  and 
Bulwer  is  actually  done,  the  blocks  designed,  and  the  story  in 
progress.     It  is  George   de  Barnwell.      He   will  quote   Plato, 


xxviii  ruNcu 

speak  ill  JVig  Phrases,  and  let  out  liis  Nunky's,  old  etc,  .  .  „ 
Numbers  of  others  are  to  follow — Cooper,  Ja.ines,  Dickens,  Le- 
ver, &c. — but  they  will  all  be  good-natured,  and  I  can't  afford 
to  give  up  my  plan.     It  is  my  bread  indeed  for  next  year. 

"I  arn  bound  to  tell  you  this  (how  the  deuce  did  I  forget  it 
in  our  talk  this  morning?),  lest  yon  should  be  putting  your  hos- 
pitable intentions  into  execution,  and  after  having  had  my  legs 
sub  iisdem  trabibus  with  Bulwer,  should  seem  to  betray  him.  I 
can't  leave  him  out  of  the  caricature ;  and  all  that  I  promise  is 
to  be  friendly  and  meek  in  spirit." 

Along  with  this  letter  will  be  seen  the  sketch  of  George  de 
Barnwell  absorbed  in  his  Greek,  and  of  the  charming  customer 
waiting  to  be  supplied  with  loaf-sugar. 

Another  letter,  to  the  Dowager  Lady  Morley  of  those  days, 
may  also  be  inserted  here : — 

"  But  permit  me  to  say,  dear  Lady  Morley — Merciful  powers ! 
what  must  have  been  the  astonishment  of  the  reigning  Duchess 
on  entering  her  granddaughter's  apartment  long  before  day- 
break on  the  bridal  morning  (with  her  maids  of  honour  called 
up  from  their  couches  to  attend  the  anxious  parent  and  sov- 
ereign)— what,  I  say,  must  have  been  her  H's  astonishment  to 
find  the  Princess's  couch  deserted  ! — 

"  Yes,  deserted — the  virgin  nightcap  lay  crimped  and  undis- 
turbed on  the  unruffled  pillow,  the  pillow  on  the  swelling  feather- 
bed, which  that  night,  enfin — which  had  not  been  slept  upon 
that  night.  The  room  was  vacant.  The  window  was  open. 
The  bird  had  flown. 

"  Dear  Lady  Morley,  Adelgisa  had  fled  !  With  best  respects 
to  your  family  circle,  believe  me  ever  faithfully  yours, 

"  Samuel  Rogers." 

"Travels  in  London"  were  written  in  1847.  "A  Little  Din- 
ner at  Timmins's"  appeared  in  1848,  and  in  1849  came  "Mr. 
Brown's  Letters  to  a  Young  Man  About  Town."  "Authors' 
Miseries,"  a  series  of  drawings  and  letterpress,  were  also  pub- 
lished about  this  time.  As  for  the  Fat  Contributor,  he  used  to 
flourisli  and  contribute  in  all  parts  of  the   world,  and  to  travel 


INTRODUCTION  xxix 

about  in  London  too.  We  know  that  be  actually  went  to  tbe 
East,  although  some  one  declared  be  bad  never  been  beyond 
the  sound  of  Bow  Bells.  His  note  to  Mr.  Punch  may  be  re- 
membered when  he  touches'at  Smyrna,  where,  as  he  says,  "1 
have  purchased  a  real  Smyrna  sponge,  which  trifle  I  hope  your 
lady  will  accept  for  her  toilette,  some  real  Turkey  Rhubarb  for 


SKETCH    IN    LETTER   TO    LADY    MORLEY. 


vour  dear  children,  and  a  friend  going  to  Syria  has  promised  to 
procure  for  me  some  real  Jerusalem  artichokes,  which  I  hope  to 
see  flourishing  in  your  garden." 

There  is  a  most  amusing  account  of  the  Fat  Contributor's 
Eastern  adventures  to  be  found  later  in  PuncK's  Pnckct-BooJcfor 


XXX  P  U  N  C  II 

1847.  IJow  he  suffered  at  parting  from  Dolores  at  Cadiz,  how 
he,  nevertheless,  proposed  to  Miss  Noakes,  who  was  going  to 
Bombay  to  be  married  to  Ledermore  of  the  Civil  Service,  how 
he  was  ready  to  throw  himself  into  the  water  when  Colonel 
Hustler's  daughter  also  refused  him  upon  the  Nile,  how  he  re- 
ceived a  bunch  of  flowers  at  Cairo — a  rhododendron,  a  magno- 


BUCKS. 


lia,  two  tulips.  Captain  Glanders,  who  said  he  understood  the 
language  of  flowers,  interpreted  the  meaning  of  this  romantic 
combination.  For  the  Eastern  adventures  of  the  Fat  Contribu- 
tor Leech  drew  the  only  illustration  I  believe  that  he  ever  made 
for  my  father's  writing. 


INTRODUCTION  xxxi 

Mrs.  Jackson,  who  as  a  girl  had  known  my  father  at  Paris, 
told  me,  that  when  she  arrived  at  Cairo,  in  after  years,  with  her 
two  eldest  children  on  their  way  home  from  India,  she  heard  the 
people  all  saying  that  "  Punch  was  staying  in  the  hotel."  Some 
one  pointed  out  my  father  to  her,  saying,  "There,  that  is  Punchy 
"  Nonsense,"  said  she,  "  that  is  William  Thackeray;  tell  him  that 
Mrs.  Jackson — Mia  Pattle — is  here,  and  would  like  to  see  him 
again."  A  few  minutes  afterwards  she  said,  as  she  sat  with  her 
two  little  girls  in  their  nursery,  she  heard  a  footstep  running 
upstairs,  and  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  my  father  came  in  with 
a  glad  greeting. 

Frank  Whitestock,  the  curate,  who  subsequently  meets  the 
Fat  Contributor  in  a  street  in  Soho,  was  Mr.  Brookfield,  who 
carried  my  father  along  with  him  on  one  or  two  occasions  when 
he  went  the  round  of  his  parish. 

In  Douglas  Jerrold's  story  of  "  The  Man  made  of  Money," 
the  hero  actually"  turm  into  bank-notes ;  he  pulls  them  out  one 
after  another  from  his  breast,  until  there  is  nothing  more  of  him- 
self left,  and  his  clothes  fall  in  a  heap  on  the  ground.  But 
though  an  imaginative  writer  gives  of  himself,  his  imagination 
lives  just  as  much  as  he  does.  It  is  part  of  his  very  life  to  give ; 
only  his  interest  travels  on  with  the  years,  and  he  cares  for  dif- 
ferent things  at  different  times.  When  niy  father  was  writing 
his  more  important  books,  he  found  the  effort  of  composing 
short  articles  and  subjects  an  increasing  strain.  Towards  the 
end  of  the  published  letters  to  Mrs.  Brookfield  i)ne  can  see  how 
much  the  double  work  is  beginning  to  tell.  In  the  earlier  times 
he  writes  gaily  enough  and  easily ;  everything  is  turned  to  good 
account.  When  pestered  with  friendly  bores,  he  declares  he  will 
send  a  paper  to  Punch  about  them,  and  exhale  his  griefs  in  print. 
He  also  makes  his  fun  into  copy.  Tliere  is  a  delightful  descrip- 
tion of  a  play  lie  has  been  to,  called  "  Les  Mysteres  de  Londres," 
which  "Mysteres"  are  a  plot  by  a  marquis  of  Irish  extraction 
to  rehabilitate  his  country  and  to  annihilate  England.  "This 
is  getting  to  be  so  very  like  print,"  he  says,  "  that  I  shall  copy 
it  very  likely  for  Punch.  .  .  ."  The  Miss  Berrys,  and  Mrs. 
Brookfield  herself  at  her  sewing,  all  the  common  events  of  those 
days,  seem  to  have  been  in  a  friendly  partnership  to  furnish  him 


xxxii  PUNCH 

with  material.  One  of  his  letters  is  dated  from  the  Punch  office, 
where  he  is  dressing  to  dine  with  the  Lord  Mayor;  then  he  is  at 
Paris,  inventing  wonderful  facts  about  England  for  Jules  Janin's 
benefit,  telling  him  that  to  see  people  boxing  in  the  streets  of 
London  is  a  constant  amusement  with  the  English,  and  that 
suicides  are  to  be  found  hanging  from  every  lamp-post  on  Lon- 
don Bridge.  "  Did  you  ever  read  any  of  the  works  of  Janin  ?" 
he  asks.  "  No ;  well,  he  has  been  twenty  years  famous  in 
France,  and  he,  on  his  side,  has  never  heard  of  the  works  of 
Titmarsh."  But  only  a  year  later,  writing  from  Paris  again, 
soon  after  his  bad  illness,  and  apparently  rather  bored  by  the 
recognition,  long-delayed,  of  his  acquaintances,  he  says,  "  The 
French  people  all  talk  about  Punche  when  they  are  introduced 
to  me." 

It  is  in  July  1850  that  he  writes,  "My  hand  is  weary  with 
writino-  'Pendennis,'  and  my  head  is  boiling  up  with  some  non- 
sense that  I  must  do  after  dinner  for  Punch.  Isn't  it  strange 
that  in  the  midst  of  all  the  selfishness,  that  one  of  doing  one's 
business  is  the  strongest  of  all  ?  What  funny  songs  I  have  writ- 
ten when  fit  to  hang  myself  !" 

In  the  next  letter  he  mentions  a  doggerel  ballad  about  a  yel- 
low postchaise,  which  seems  to  have  come  to  him  on  the  Chip- 
penham Road  as  he  posted  along  in  the  dark. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  the  following  letter  was  sent  to 
his  kind  old  friend,  Horace  Smith  : — 

"My  dear  Mr.  Smith, — I  write  to  own  the  criticism  in  The 
Chronicle  to-day.  The  best  of  your  poems,  instead  of  making 
me  laugh,  has  had  the  other  effect,  and  the  notice  is  written  in 
rather  a  dolorous  strain.  Do  you  consider  this  an  insult  ?  All 
the  best  comic  stuff  so  affects  me, — Sancho,  Falstaff,  even  Field- 
incr  in  '  Amelia.'  '  Fanny's  Ghost '  is  the  sweetest,  most  charm- 
ing lyric.  I  know  why  it  is  so  beautiful.  I  recollect  reading 
some  of  the  verses  in  '  Gaieties  and  Gravities  '  eighteen  years 
ago,  and  in  imitation  of  them,*  and  after  the  manner  of  the 
Greeks,  began  a  classical  drama,  '  Ariadne  in  Naxos,'  which 
would  do   for  Punch  if  I  could  find  it.     I  take  a  short  cut 

*  See  "  Pendennis." 


INTRODUCTION  xxxiii 

(written  slanting)  to  sav  I  nin  most  sincerely,  dear  Mr.  Smith, 
yours,  '  W.  M.  T. 

"  With  compliments  to  Miss  Smith  in  a  postscript !" 

In  1854  my  father  was  still  writing  for  Punch.  "  I  have  be- 
gun a  piece  of  buffoonery,  which  will  pay  the  rent  of  the  chateau 
at  Boulogne,"  he  says  to  his  mother,  and  in  his  note-book  for 
that  same  year  he  mentions  three  more  papers. 

But  after  1854  he  ceased  altogether  to  contribute  for  Punch. 
The  "Organ  Boy's  Appeal "  was  the  last  article  he  sent  in. 
There  is  a  letter  to  Mr.  Evans,  which  gives  the  reasons  of  his 


MEMBERS    OF    THE  GARRICK    CLUB. 


resignation.  He  did  not  share  Punch's  views  about  Prince  Al- 
bert, and  he  did  not  like  the  attacks  upon  the  Crystal  Palace 
and  Lord  Palmerston,  and  Louis  Napoleon,  in  all  of  which  Punch 
was  acting  dangerously  for  the  welfare  and  peace  of  the  coun- 
try, he  thought. 


xxxiv  PUNCH 

To  his  niotlier  he  writes  :  "  It  was  a  general  scorn  and  sad- 
ness which  made  me  give  up  Punch,  I  think,  more  than  anything 
else.  I  did  not  go  with  folks  about  the  Times'  abuse  of  the 
President.  The  later  articles  have  been  measured  and  full  of 
dignity,  I  think,  but  the  early  writing  was  awfully  dangerous. 
A\niat  we  have  to  do  is  not  to  chafe  him,  but  silently  to  get  ready 
to  fight  him.  Fancy  his  going  down  to  his  chambers  with  that 
article  in  the  Times,  in  which  he  was  called  '  cutpurse '  and  his 
uncle  '  assassin,'  and  that  one  of  the  Examiner  on  '  Killing  no 
Murder,'  and  saying,  '  See,  gentlemen,  the  language  of  that 
perfidious  Albion !  Shall  we  suffer  these  insults,  or  reply  to 
them  by  war?'  Don't  give  any  occasion  to  it  by  calling  names, 
but  when  war  comes,  then,  oh  ye  gods !  will  be  the  time  for 
doing. 

"  You'll  see  I  am  hankering  still  to  write  a  ballad  or  two 
without  my  name  in  Punch,  or  do  something  to  show  my  old 
friends  that  Pm  not  quite  separated  from  them." 

To  a  friend  he  writes :  "  I  am  in  a  fury  with  Punch  for  writ- 
ing the  '  Old  Pam  '  article  against  the  chief  of  foreign  afl'airs. 
His  conduct  in  the  Kossuth  affair  just  suited  my  Radical  pro- 
pensities. If  he  could  have  committed  his  Government  to  a 
more  advanced  policy,  so  much  the  better  ;  and  that  ribald 
Punch  must  go  and  attack  him  for  just  the  best  thing  he  has 
ever  done." 

One  peculiarity  which  has  always  struck  me  in  my  father,  and 
which  I  have  never  noticed  in  any  one  else  to  the  same  extent, 
was  his  personal  interest  in  others  and  in  their  actions.  He 
seemed  to  feel  in  a  measure  responsible  for  the  doings  of  any 
one  he  was  concerned  with.  His  admiration,  his  appreciation, 
were  extraordinarily  keen  for  things  which  he  approved  and 
loved ;  in  the  same  way,  his  feeling  of  real  suffering  and  emo- 
tion over  the  failures  and  lapses  of  those  with  whom  he  lived 
was  intensely  vivid.  This  made  his  relations  with  others  anx- 
ious at  times — indifferent,  never. 

My  father's  passing  difficulty  with  his  colleagues  at  Punch  is 
well  known,  and  there  is  no  objection  to  alluding  to  it  here. 

Mr.  George  Smith  has  given  me  a  letter  to  himself  written 
upon  this  subject,  and  also  concerning  one  of  my  father's  fa- 
vourite plans  for  a  small  daily  paper. 


INTRODUCTION  xxxv 

"  February  4,  1855. 

"  Shortly  before  I  left  town  to  go  to  Paris  twenty-five  days 
since  I  was  strongly  advised  by  some  friends  of  mine  to  apply 
for  a  magistracy,  and  led  to  believe  the  application  would  be 
favourably  received  at  headquarters.  AVhilst  that  was  pending 
tlie  'Fair  Play'  question  was  also  naturally  hung  up,  hence  my 
silence  on  the  subject  with  you. 

"  Now,  I  dare  say  the  Ministerial  upset  has  destroyed  my  little 
chance  of  promotion  (though  I  think  the  Peelites  have  shown 
themselves  most  honourably,  and  must  rise  from  their  temporary 
fall);  but  another  incident  has  occurred  to  put  a  spoke  in  'Fair 
Play's '  wheel,  and  I  must  give  up  all  idea  of  a  paper.  I  wrote 
an  unlucky  half  line  in  the  Quarterly  about  Punch  men,  saying 
that  Leech  was  Punch,  and  that  without  him  the  gentlemen  who 
wrote  might  leave  the  thing  alone — an  opinion  which,  true  or  not, 
certainly  should  not  have  been  uttered  by  me,  and  has  caused  the 
saddest  annoyance  and  pain  amongst  my  old  comrades.  I  had 
quite  forgotten  the  phrase  until  it  stared  me  in  the  face  on  my 
return  home.  Jerrold  had  attacked  me  about  it,  and  with  per- 
fect reason,  calling  me  snob  and  flunkey,  and  on  the  face  of  the 
matter  I  think  I  ^vas  a  snob — but  that's  not  the  question. 

"  I  wrote  to  confess  my  fault  to  my  old  friends  the  publishers 
and  editor,  and  passed  half  the  night  awake  thinking  of  the  pain 
I  had  given  my  kind  old  companions.  This  is  for  half  a  line 
written  in  an  article  intended  to  be  entirely  good-natured.  Don't 
you  see  the  moral  ? 

"If  in  writing  once  in  five  years  or  so  a  literary  criticism, 
intended  to  be  good-natured,  I  managed  to  anger  a  body  of  old 
friends,  to  cause  myself  pain  and  regret,  to  put  my  foot  into  a 
nest  of  hornets  which  sting  and  have  their  annoyance  too,  to  lose 
rest  and  quiet,  hadn't  I  better  give  up  that  game  of  'Fair  Play'  * 
which  1  thought  of,  stick  to  my  old  pursuits,  and  keep  my  health 
and  temper  ?" 

His  actual  connection  with  Punch  lasted  for  about  ten  years, 
but  in  one  sense  it  was  never  discontinued.  Two  of  the  con- 
tributors, Mr.  Leech  and   Mr.  Doyle,  were  among  the  closest 

*  "Fair  Play"  was  the  name  of  a  small  daily  print  which  Mr.  Thackeray 
had  proposed.  It  was  to  be  something  after  the  pattern  of  the  old  Serials, 
Tatlers,  &c.  G.  M.  S. 

C 


XXXVl 


PTTNCIl 


friends  lie  ever  had.  It  was  Punch  wlio  liad  made  a  Iiorne  for 
liini.  We  still  possess  the  little  silver  Punch  from  Edinburoh, 
subscribed  for  by  friends  and  readers  in  that  city,  which  came 
with  its  friendly  inscriptions  and  outstretched  hands  to  greet 


SILVER    PUNCH. 


him  when  he  was  first  coming  into  recognition.  The  following 
letter*  was  written  in  acknowledgment  to  Dr.  John  Brown  of 
Edinburgh,  who  had  started  the  subscription : — 

"18  Young  Street,  Kensington  Square, 
''May  11,  1848. 

"  My  dear  Sir, — The  arms  and  the  man  arrived  in  safety  yes- 
terday, and  I  am  glad  to  know  two  of  the  names  of  the  eighty 

*  Dr.  John  Brown's  son  kindly  sent  me  this  letter  in  the  original,  us  well 
us  otliers,  to  quote  from. 


INTRODUCTION  xxxvii 

Edinburgh  friends  who  have  taken  such  a  kind  method  of  show- 
ing their  goodwill  towards  me.  If  you  are  grati,  I  am  gratior. 
Such  tokens  of  regard  and  sympathy  are  very  precious  to  a  writer 
like  myself,  who  have  some-ditRculty  still  in  making  people  un- 
derstand what  you  have  been  good  enough  to  find  in  Edinburgh 
— that  under  the  mask  satirical  there  walks  about  a  sentimental 
gentleman,  who  means  not  unkindly  to  any  mortal  person.  I  can 
see  exactly  the  same  expression  under  the  visard  of  my  little 
friend  in  silver,  and  hope  some  day  to  shake  the  whole  octogint 
by  the  \\&\\(\,gratos  and  y/-atas,  and  thank  them  for  their  friend- 
liness and  regard.  I  think  I  had  best  say  no  more  on  the  sub- 
ject, lest  I  should  be  tempted  into  some  enthusiastic  writing,  of 
which  I  am  afraid.  I  assure  you,  these  tokens  of  what  I  can't 
help  acknowledging  as  popularity,  make  me  humble  as  well  as 
grateful,  and  make  me  feel  an  almost  awful  sense  of  the  respon- 
sibility which  falls  upon  a  man  in  such  a  station.  Is  it  deserved 
or  undeserved  ?  Who  is  this  that  sets  up  to  preach  to  mankind, 
and  to  laugh  at  many  things  which  men  reverence  ?  I  hope  I 
may  be  able  to  tell  truth  always,  and  see  it  aright,  according  to 
the  eyes  which  God  Almighty  gives  me.  And  if  in  the  exercise 
of  my  calling  I  get  friends,  and  find  encouragement  and  sym- 
pathy, I  need  not  tell  you  how  much  I  feel  and  am  thankful  for 
this  support.  Indeed,  I  can't  reply  lightly  upon  this  subject,  or 
feel  otherwise  than  very  grave,  when  people  begin  to  praise  me, 
as  you  do.  Wishing  you  and  my  Edinburgh  friends  all  health 
and  happiness,  believe  me,  my  dear  Sir,  most  faithfully  yours, 

"  W.  iVl.  Thackeray." 


A.  I.  R. 


MISS    TICKLETOBY'S    LECTURES 

ON 

ENGLISH    HISTORY 


MISS   TICKLETOBY'S    LECTURES 
ON    ENGLISH    HISTORY 

A   CHARACTER 

(TO  IMTRODUCE  AXOTHER  CHARACTER) 

WE  have  the  pleasure  to  be  acquainted  with  a  young  fellow 
by  the  name  of  Adolphus  Simcoe,  who,  like  many  another 
person  of  his  age  and  rank  in  life,  has  been  smitten  with 
a  love  for  literary  pursuits,  which  liave  brought  him  to  early  rain. 

He  gained  a  decent  maintenance  as  assistant   in   the   shop  of 

Messrs.  ,  apothecaries,  Cheapside,  but  even  then  was  observed 

never  to  move  without  a  Byron  in  his  pocket,  and  used  to  amuse 
the  other  gents  in  the  establishment,  by  repeating  whole  passages 
from  Shelley,  Wordsworth,  and  Moore.  To  one  young  man  he 
confided  a  large  ledger  of  jwems,  of  his  own  composition  ;  but  being 
of  a  timid  turn,  and  the  young  man  felling  asleep  during  the  reading 
of  the  very  first  ballad,  Adolphus  never  attempted  a  similar  pro- 
ceeding with  any  of  his  comrades  again,  but  grew  more  morose  and 
poetical,  frequenting  the  theatres,  coming  late  to  business,  living 
alone,  and  turning  down  his  shirt-collars  more  and  more  every  day. 
Messrs.  Butler  had  almost  determined,  although  with  regret,  to 
turn  away  the  lad,  when  he  prevented  that  step  on  their  part  by 
signifying  his  own  intention  to  retire.  His  grandmother,  who,  we 
are  led  to  believe,  kept  a  small  shop  in  the  town  of  York,  left 
Adolphus  a  fortune  of  three  hundred  pounds  in  the  Three  per  Cents., 
which  sura  he  thought  fully  adequate  for  the  making  of  his  fortune 
in  his  own  way. 

His  passion  was  to  become  an  editor  of  a  Magazine  ;  to  assemble 
about  him  "  the  great  spirits  of  the  age,"  as  he  called  them  ;  and  to 
be  able  to  communicate  his  own  contributions  to  the  public,  aided  by 
all  the  elegances  of  type,  and  backed  by  all  the  ingenuities  of  puffery. 

That  celebrated  miscfljany,  the  Ladt/'s  Lute,  then  being  for 
3 


4  MISS    TICKLETOBY'S 

sale — indeed,  if  a  gentleinan  lias  a  iniijLd  to  part  with  his  money, 
it  is  very  hard  if  he  cannot  find  some  periodical  with  a  broom  at  its 
masthead — Adolphus,  for  the  sum  of  forty-five  pounds  became  the 
proprietor  and  editor  of  the  Lute ;  and  Iiad  great  pleasure  in  see- 
ing his  own  name  in  the  most  Gothic  capitals  upon  the  title-page 
— his  poems  occupying  the  place  of  honour  within.  The  honest 
fellow  has  some  good  mercantile  notions,  and  did  not  in  the  least 
hesitate  to  say,  on  the  part  of  the  proprietors,  and  on  the  fly-leaf  of 
the  Magazine,  that  the  Public  of  England  would  rejoice  to  learn, 
that  the  great  aid  of  Adolphus  Simcoe,  Esquire,  had  been  secured, 
at  an  immense  expense,  for  the  Lach/s  Lute  ;  that  his  contribu- 
tions woidd  henceforth  be  solely  confined  to  it,  and  that  the  delighted 
world  would  have  proofs  of  his  mighty  genius  in  song. 

Having  got  all  the  ])oets  by  heart,  he  had  a  pretty  knack  of 
imitating  them  all,  and  in  a  single  ballad  would  give  you  specimens 
of,  at  least,  half-a-dozen  different  styles.  He  had,  moreover,  an 
emphatic  way  of  his  own,  which  was  for  a  little  time  popular ;  and 
the  jiublic,  for  near  a  year,  may  be  said  to  have  been  almost  taken 
in  by  Adolphus  Simcoe — as  they  have  been  by  other  literary  char- 
acters of  his  kind.  It  is,  we  do  believe,  a  fact,  that  for  a  certain 
time  Adolphus's  Magazine  actually  paid  its  contributors;  and  it  is  a 
known  truth,  that  one  India-paper  proof  of  the  portrait  of  himself, 
which  he  published  in  the  second  year  of  his  editorship,  was  bought 
by  a  young  lady,  a  sincere  admirer  of  his  jioems. 

In  the  course  of  eighteen  months  he  exliausted  his  manuscript 
ledger  of  poetry — he  published  his  "  Ghoul,"  a  poem  in  Lord  Byron's 
style  ;  his  "  Leila,"  after  tlie  manner  of  Thomas  Moore  ;  his  "  Idiosyn- 
crasy," a  didactic  poem,  that  strongly  reminded  one  of  Wordsworth ; 
and  his  "  Gondola,  a  Venetian  Lay,"  that  may  be  considered  to  be 
slightly  similar  to  the  works  of  L.  E.  L.  Then  he  came  out  with  a 
Tragedy,  called  "  Perdition,  or  the  Rosicrucian  Gammons,"  of  which 
the  dulness  was  so  portentous,  that  at  the  end  of  the  fourth  act  it 
was  discovered  there  were  not  more  than  thirty-three  subscribers 
left  to  the  Miigazine. 

Suffice  it  to  say,  that  though  he  continued  the  work  desperately 
for  six  months  longer,  pouring,  as  he  said,  the  whole  energies  of  his 
soul  into  its  pages — (the  fact  was  that,  as  there  was  no  more  money, 
there  were  no  more  contributors) — though  he  wrote  articles  pathetic, 
profound,  and  humorous,  commenced  romances,  and  indited  the  most 
bitter  and  sarcastic  reviews,  the  Tody's  Lute  fell  to  the  ground — its 
chords,  as  he  said,  were  rudely  snapped  asunder,  and  he  who  had  swept 
tliem  with  such  joy  went  forth  a  wretched  and  heart-broken  man. 

He  passed  three  months  in  her  Majesty's  Asylum  of  the  Fleet, 
from  \vheuc(>  he  issued  in  brocade  robe-de-chambre,  and  the  possessor  of 


LECTURES    ON    ENGLISH    HISTORY  5 

the  cut-t;Ias,s  bottles  and  .sliaving  trumpery  of  a  dressing-case,  the  silver 
covers  of  which  he  had  pawned  in  order  to  subsist  while  in  durance. 

Our  belief  is  that  Miss  Tickletoby  is  his  relation  :  it  is  certain 
that  he  sleeps  in  her  back  garret  (and  the  venerable  age  of  the  lady 
puts  all  scandal  out  of  the  question) ;  lie  has,  we  are  fully  certain, 
instructed  her  pupils  in  penmanship,  filling  up  his  leisure  moments 
by  writing  what  would  have  been  contriljutions  to  the  Magazines,  if 
those  works  would  but  have  accepted  tlie  same. 

He  still  speaks  of  the  Ladys  Lute  as  of  the  greatest  periodical 
that  ever  was  produced,  and  but  the  other  day  apologised  warmly 
to  the  writer  of  this  for  having  abused  his  early  volume  of  Poems 
— "  Lyrics  of  the  Soul "  they  were  called — written  at  sixteen, 
when  we  were  students  at  the  University  of  London.  He  persists 
in  thinking  that  the  author  of  "  Lyrics  of  the  Soul  "  has  never  for- 
given him,  that  he  has  never  been  the  same  man  since,  but  has 
pined  away  imder  the  eft'ects  of  that  withering  sarcasm.  Our  next 
work,  he  says,  was  the  bitter  Slough  of  Despair — it  was  called  ''  The 
Downy  Dragsman  ;  or,  Love  in  Liquorpond  Street."  This,  at  least, 
the  reader  will  remember.  C'ould  anything  be  more  frank  than  its 
humour — more  joyously  low  than  every  one  of  the  scenes  in  that 
truly  racy  production  1 

It  is  needless  to  say,  we  have  no  sort  of  anger  against  poor 
Adolphus ;  but  that,  on  the  contrary,  meeting  him  very  wild  and 
gloomy,  and  more  than  usually  dirty,  at  the  "  Globe,"  in  Bow 
Street,  which  we  both  frequent,  it  was  a  great  pleasure  to  us  tcf 
lend  him  seven  shillings,  wiiicli  enabled  him  to  order  a  dish  of  meat 
in  addition  to  that  unhappy  half-pint  of  beer  which  seemed  really 
to  form  all  his  dinner. 

The  dinner  and  the  money  made  him  communicative ;  and  he 
was  good  enough  to  confide  to  us  the  history  of  a  vast  number  of 
hi;;  ilisappointments — "  His  blighted  opes — his  withered  dreams  of 
hearly  years — his  '  vain  hambition  '  "  (Adolphus  is  a  Londoner,  what- 
ever his  grandmother  may  have  been),  and  at  the  end  of  all,  he 
pulled  out  a  manuscri])t  (which  is  always  rather  a  frightful  object  to 
a  literary  man),  but  instead  of  reading  it  began,  thank  Heaven  ! 
only  to  discourse  about  it.     It  was  another's  writing,  not  his  own. 

"Halfred,"  said  he,  "  you  know  I  hoccupy  no  common  position  in 
the  literary  world.  I  ave  at  least  done  so,  until  misfortune  hover- 
took  me.  Since  my  sorrows,  I've  been  kindly  oused  by  a  munifi- 
cent being— a  woman  ("ere's  to  'er,' "  said  he,  draining  his  glass 
solemnly,  "  who  doubles  hall  our  joys,  and  alves  hall  our  sorrows — to 
woman  !  ").      Having  finisheil  his  brandy-and-water,  he  resumed :- — 

"  Hever  since  hi've  been  in  the  ouse  of  tliat  hangelic  being — 
she's  hold,  .Halfred,  hold  enough  to  be  my  grandmother,  and  so  I 


G  MISS    TICKLETOBY'S 

pray  you  let  the  sneer  pass  away  from  your  lips — hi've  not  neglected, 
has  you  may  himai,nne,  the  sacred  calling  for  whicli  hi  feel  hi  was 
born.  Poesy  has  been  my  solace  in  my  lonely  hagonies,  hand  I've 
tried  the  neAvspapers  hall  round.  But  they're  a  callous  and  ard- 
earted  set,  those  literary  men — men  who  have  feasted  at  my  table, 
and  quaffed  of  my  wine-cup — men,  who  in  the  days  of  my  prosperity 
have  grown  rich  from  my  purse — will  you  believe  it,  tliey  won't 
accept  a  single  harticle.  of  my  writing,  and  scornfully,  pass  me 
by !  Worse  than  this — they  refuse  to  elp  me  by  the  most  simple 
puff,  for  me  and  mine ;  Avould  you  believe  it,  my  dear  friend.  Miss 
Tickletoby  has  just  commenced  a  series  of  lectures,  for  which 
lii'm  hanxious  to  get  the  world's  good  opinion,  and  not  one  paper 
will  hinsert  the  little  description  I've  written  off.  The  Hage,  the 
Hargus,  the  Hera,  hi've  applied  to  'em  all,  and  they're  hall  the 
same — hall,  hall,  ungrateful." 

"  My  dear  fellow,  if  you  M'ill  write  verse,"  said  I 

"  It's  not  verse,"  answered  Adolphus,  "  it's  prose — a  report 
of  Miss  T.'s  lecture,  prefaced  by  a  modest  leading  harticle." 

"  I'll  see  if  I  can  get  it  into  Punch"  said  I. 

"  Hush,  Punch  !  "  shouted  he,  "  Heavens,  have  you  fallen  so 
low?  I,  write  in  Punch!  Gracious  powers!  In  Ptmch— in 
Punch  !  " 

"  Rum  or  brandy,  sir  ? "  said  Betsy,  the  waiter,  who  caught 
the  last  word. 

"Rum"  said  Adolphus  (with  a  good  deal  of  presence  of  mind)  ; 
and,  as  he  drank  the  steaming  liquor,  took  my  hand.  "Halfred," 
said  he,  "  tell  me  this  one  thing — does  Punch  pay  ?  for,  between 
ourselves,  ]\Iiss  Tickletoby  says  tliat  she'll  turn  me  out  of  doors 
unless  I  can  make  myself  useful  to  her  and — pay  my  bill." 

Adolphus  Simcoe  is  to  be  jiaid  for  his  contributions,  and  next 
week  we  shall  begin  Miss  Tickletoby's  I^ectures 


LECTURE   I 

WE  have  just  had  the  joy  to  be  present  at  one  of  the  most 
splendid  exhibitions  of  intelligence  which  has  been  wit- 
nessed in  our  splendid  and  intelligent  time. 
The    great    spirit    of   History,    distilled    in    a    mighty    mind's 
alembic,    outpouring,    clear,    rich,    strong,   intoxicating   oft  —  so   de- 
licious was  the  draught,  and  so  eager  the  surrounding  drinkers — 
the  figures  of  statesmen  and  lieroes,  wise  iieroes  and  heroic  states- 


LECTURES    ON    ENGLISH    HISTORY  7 

men,  caught  up  from  their  darkness  in  tlie  far  past,  and  made  by 
the  enchantress  to  shine  before  us  visil)le  ;  the  gorgeous  and 
gigantic  memories  of  old  Time  rising  stately  from  their  graves, 
and  looking  on  us  as  in  life  they  looked :  such  were  the  thoughts, 
sensations,  visions,  that  we  owe  to  the  eloquence  of  Miss  Tickletoby 
this  day. 

We  write  under  a  tremendous  emotion,  for  the  words  of  the  fair 
speaker  still  thrill  in  our  ears;  nor  can  we  render  account  of  one 
tithe  part  of  that  mystic  harmony  of  words,  that  magic  spell  of 
poesy,  which  the  elegant  oratrix  flung  round  her  audience — a  not 
readily-to-be-dissipated  charm. 

Sufiice  it  to  say,  that,  pursuant  to  her  announcements  in  the 
public  prints,  this  accomplished  lady  commenced  her  series  of 
lectures  on  English  History  to-day.  Her  friends,  her  pupils,  those 
who  know  and  esteem  her  (and  these  consist  of  the  rarest  of 
England's  talent,  and  the  brightest  of  her  aristocracy),  were 
assendjled  at  one  o'clock  punctually  in  her  modest  dwelling  (No.  3 
Leg-of-Veal  Court,  Little  Britain,  over  the  greengrocer's  ;  pull  the 
third  bell  from  the  bottom).  We  were  among  the  first  to  attend, 
and  gladly  give  the  publicity  of  our  columns  to  a  record  of  the 
glorious  transactions  of  the  day.  The  reporters  of  this  paper  were 
employed  in  taking  down  every  word  that  fell  from  the  speaker's 
lips — (would  that  they  could  have  likewise  transferred  the  thrilling 
tones  and  magic  glance  which  made  her  words  a  thousand  times 
more  precious) :  we,  on  the  other  hand,  being  from  our  habits  more 
accustomed  to  philosophic  abbreviation,  have  been  contented  with 
taking  down  rather  the  heads  and  the  siigfiestivity  (if  we  may  use 
the  phrase)  of  Miss  Tickletoby's  discourse,  and  we  flatter  ourselves 
that  upon  a  comparison  with  the  text,  the  analysis  will  be  found 
singularly  faithful. 

We  have  si)oken  of  the  puUic  character :  a  word  now  regarding 
Miss  Tickletoby  the  woman.  She  has  long  been  known  and  loved 
in  the  quarter  of  which  she  is  the  greatest  blessing  and  ornament 
—that  of  St.  Mary  Axe. 

From  her  early  life  practising  tuition,  some  of  the  best  families 
of  tiie  City  owe  to  her  their  earliest  introduction  to  letters.  Her 
S])e]ling-book  is  well  known,  and  has  run  through  very  nearly 
an  edition ;  "and  when  we  rank  among  her  pupils  the  daitrjhter  of 
one  of  the  clerks  of  Aldertnan  Ilarmer  and  a  niece  of  a  late 
HONOURED  Lord  Mayor,  we  have  said  enough  to  satisfy  the  most 
fastidious  votary  of  fashion  with  respect  to  the  worldly  position  of 
those  who  sit  at  Miss  Tickletoby's  feet. 

Miss  Tickletoby  believes  that  education,  to  be  effective,  should 
be  begun  early,  and  therefore  receives  her  pupils  from  the  age  of 


8  MISS    TIOKLETOBY'S 

two  iipwiu-ds.  Nny,  sho  has  often  lau,<fliini;ly  oliscrved  that  she 
would  liavo  no  obje(;tion  to  take  tlicni  tVom  the  month,  as  chihl- 
hood'.s  trahung  can  never  be  too  soon  (•(ininienced.  Of  course,  at  no 
tender  an  age,  sex  is  no  consideration.  J\liss  Tickleto])y's  cliil(h'en 
(as  she  loves  to  call  them)  are  both  of  the  sterner  and  tlie  softer 
varieties  of  our  human  species. 

^Vith  regard  to  her  educational  system,  it  is  slightly  coercive. 
She  has  none  of  the  new-fangled  notions  regarding  the  inutility 
of  corporal  jjunishments,  but,  remembering  their  effects  in  her 
own  case,  does  not  hesitate  to  apply  them  -whenever  necessity 
urges. 

On  Wednesdays  (halt-holidays)  she  proposes  to  deliver  a  series 
of  lectures  upon  English  history,  occasionally  (it  woidd  appear  from 
a  hint  in  the  present  discourse)  diversified  by  sulyects  of  a  lighter 
and  more  holiday  kind.  We  shdll  attend  them  all — nor  can  the 
public  of  this  city  do  better  than  follow  our  example.  The  price 
of  tickets  for  the  six  lectures  is — ninepence. 

Can  such  tilings  be, 
And  overcome  us  like  a  summer  cloud 
Without  our  special  wonder  ? 


THE    LECTURE-ROOM 

The  lecture  was  announced  for  one  o'clock,  and  arriving  at  that 
hour,  we  found  the  room  full  of  rank  and  fashion.  Excellent 
accommodation  was  arranged  for  the  public  press.  Flowers,  some 
of  those  cheap  but  lovely  and  odorous  ones  which  form  the  glory 
of  England's  garden,  were  placed  tastefully  here  and  there — on  the 
mantel,  on  the  modest  table  at  which  stood  the  lecturer's  chair,  and 
a  large  and  fragrant  bouquet  in  the  window-sill.  These  were  (with 
the  excei)tion  of  a  handsome  curtain  that  hung  before  the  door 
from  whi(;h  Miss  Tictkletoby  was  to  issue)  the  sole  ornaments  of  the 
simple  acadenuc  chamber. 

The  lovely  children,  with  wistful  eyes  and  cheeks  more  flushed 
than  any  roses  there,  were  accommodated  with  their  usual  benches, 
while  their  parents  were  comfortably  ranged  in  chairs  behind  them. 
'Twas  indeed  a  thrilling  sight — a  sight  to  bring  tears  into  the 
philanthropic  heart — happy  tears  though — such  as  those  spring 
showers  which  fall  from  the  lids  of  childhood,  and  which  rainbow 
joy  speedily  dries  up  again. 

The  bell  rings  :  one  moment — and  the  chintz  curtain  draws 
aside ;  and  'midst  waving  of  kerchiefs,  and  shouting  of  bravos,  and 
with  smiling  eyes  fixed  upon  her,  and  young  heai-fs  to  welcome  her. 


LECTURES    ON    ENGLISH    HISTORY  9 

THE  Lecturer  steps  forth.     Xov\  our  task  is  over.     Gentles,  let 
the  enchantress  speak  for  herself 

Having  cleared  her  voice,  and  gazing  round  the  room  with  a  look 
of  affection,  she  began 

THE    LECTURE 

My  Loves, — With  regard  to  the  early  history  of  our  beloved 
country,  before  King  Alfred  ascended  tlie  throne,  I  have  very  little 
indeed  to  say  ;  in  the  first  place,  because  the  story  itself  is  none  of 
the  most  moral — consisting  of  accounts  of  murders  agreeably  varied 
by  invasions  ;  and  secondly,  dears,  because  to  tell  you  tlie  truth,  I 
have  always  foiuid  those  first  cliapters  so  abominably  stupid,  that  I 
have  made  a  point  to  pass  them  over.  For  I  had  an  indulgent 
mamma,  who  did  not  look  to  my  education  so  much  as  I  do  to 
yours,  and  provided  she  saw  Howell's  "  Medulla  "  before  me,  never 
thought  of  looking  to  see  whether  "Mother  Goose"  was  within  the 
leaves.  Ah,  dears  !  that  is  a  pleasant  history,  too,  and  in  holiday 
time  we  will  have  a  look  at  that. 

Well,  then,  about  the  abominable,  odious  Danes  and  Saxons, 
the  Picts  and  the  Scots,  I  know  very  little,  and  must  say  have 
passed  through  life  pretty  comfortably  in  spite  of  my  ignorance. 
Not  that  this  should  be  an  excuse  to  you — no,  no,  darlings;  learn 
for  learning's  sake ;  if  not,  I  have  something  hanging  up  in  the 
cupboard,  and  you  knoAV  my  name  is  Tickletoby.    [Great  sensation^] 

How  first  our  island  became  inhabited  is  a  point  which  nobody 
knows.  I  do  not  believe  a  word  of  that  story  at  the  beginning  of 
the  "  Seven  Champions  of  Christendom,"  about  King  Brute  and 
his  companions ;  and  as  for  the  other  hypotheses  (let  Miss  Biggs 
spell  tlie  word  "hypothesis,"  and- remember  not  to  confound  it  with 
"  apothecary  ")  they  are  not  wortli  consideration.  For  as  the  first 
man  who  entered  tlie  island  could  not  write,  depend  on  it  he  never 
set  down  the  date  of  his  arrival ;  and  I  leave  you  to  guess  what  a 
confusion  about  dates  there  would  speedily  be — you  who  can't 
remember  whether  it  was  last  Thursday  or  Friday  that  you  had 
gooseberry  pudding  for  dinner. 

Those  little  dears  who  have  not  seen  Mrs.  Trimmer's  "History 
of  England  "  have,  no  doubt,  beheld  pictures  of  Mr.  Oldridge's  Balm 
of  Columbia.  The  ancient  Britons  were  like  the  lady  represented 
there,  only  not  black ;  the  excellent  Mrs.  T.'s  pictures  of  these,  no 
■doubt,  are  authentic,  and  tliere  our  ancestors  are  represented  as 
dressed  in  painted  skins,  and  wearing  their  hair  as  long  as  possible. 
I  need  not  say  that  it  was  their  own  skins  they  painted,  because, 
as  for  clothes,  they  were  not  yet  invented. 


10  MISS    TICKLETOBY'S 

rcrhajts  some  of  my  (larliii.ii;s  have  seen  at  their  papas'  evening 
parties  some  curious  (female)  Britons  who  exist  in  our  own  time, 
and  Avlio,  out  of  respect  for  the  country  in  which  they  were  born, 
are  very  fond  of  the  ))aint,  and  not  at  all  ])artial  to  clothes. 

As  for  the  relit^non  of  the  ancient  Britons,  as  it  was  a  false  and 
abominable  superstition,  the  less  we  say  about  it  the  better.  If 
they  had  a  religion,  you  may  l)e  sure  they  had  a  clergy.  This  body 
of  persons  were  called  Druids.  This  historian  Hume  says  that 
tliey  instructed  the  youth  of  the  country,  which,  considering  not 
one  boy  in  1,000,000,000,000  could  read*  couldn't  give  the  Druids 
much  trouble.  Tlie  Druids  likewise  superintended  the  law  matters 
and  government  of  Britain  ;  and,  in  return  for  their  kindness,  were 
handsomely  paid,  as  all  teachers  of  youth,  lawyers,  and  ministers 
ought  to  be.  ['7/mr,  hear  "  from  Lord  Abinger  and  Sir  Robert 
Peel.] 

The  ancient  Britons  were  of  a  Avarlike,  rude  nature  (and  loved 
broils  and  battles,  like  Master  Spry  yonder).  They  used  to  go 
forth  with  clubs  for  weapons,  and  bulls'  horns  for  trumpets ;  and 
so  with  their  clubs  and  trumps  they  would  engage  their  enemies, 
who  sometimes  conquered  them,  and  sometimes  were  conquered  by 
them,  according  to  luck. 

The  priests  remained  at  home  and  encouraged  them ;  i)raying 
to  their  gods,  and  longing  no  doubt  for  a  share  of  the  glory  and 
danger  ;  but  they  learned,  they  said,  to  sacrifice  themselves  for 
the  public  good.  Nor  did  they  only  sacrifice  themselves — I  grieve 
to  say  that  it  was  their  custom  to  sacrifice  other  people  :  for  when 
the  Britons  returned  from  war  with  their  prisoners,  the  ])riests 
carried  the  latter  into  certain  mysterious  groves,  where  they  slew 
them  on  the  horrid  altars  of  their  gods.  The  gods,  they  said, 
delighted  in  these  forests  and  these  dreadful  human  sacrifices,  and 
you  will  better  remember  the  facts  by  representing  these  gods  to 
you  as  so  many  wicked  Lovegroves,  and  their  victims  as  unfortunate 
Whitebait.      \^l7nmense  sensation.^ 

And  as  your  papas  have  probably  taken  some  of  you  to  see  the 
opera  of  "  Norma,"  Avhich  relates  to  these  very  Druids  that  we  are 
talking  about,  you  will  know  that  the  ancient  Britons  had  not  only 
priests,  but  priestesses — thaf  is,  clergywomen.  Remember  tins, 
and  don't  commit  an  error  which  is  common  in  society,  and  talk 
of  two  clerical  gentlemen  as  two  priestesses.  It  is  a  gross  blunder. 
One  might  as  well  speak  of  the  "  Blue  Posteses  "  (in  Cork  Street, 
Burlington  Gardens,  Avhere,  I  am  told,  excellent  beef-steaks  are 
served),  or  talk  of  having  your  hreakfasteses,  as  I  have  heard  the 

Duchess  of  often  do.       Remember,  then.    Priests ;  singular. 

Priest.     "Blue  Posts  '  (Cork  Street,  Burlington  Gardens)  ;■  singular 


LECTURES    ON    ENGLISH    HISTORY  11 

"Blue  Post."  "Breakfasts,"  singular — What  is  the  singular  of 
Breakfasts,  Miss  Higgins? 

Miss  in<:/<//ns.      I  don't  kuow. 

Master  Smith  {delighted  and  eager).     I  know. 

Miss  TicJdetohy.  Speak,  my  dear,  and  tell  that  inattentive 
Miss  Higgins  what  is  the  singufar  of  "  breakfasts. " 

Master  Smith  (dearinr/  his  'voice  h)/  rubbing  his  Jacket  sleeve 
across  his  nose).  The  most  singular  breakfast  /  know  is  old  John 
Wapshot's,  who  ijuts  sugar  in  his  muffins,  and  takes  salt  in  his  tea  ! 
[Master  Smith  ivas  2n'eparing  to  ascend  to  the  head  of  the  class, 
but  was  sternly  checked  by  Miss  Tickletoby  who  resumed  her 
discourse.^ 

It  was  not  to  be  supposed  that  the  wickedness  of  these  Priests 
could  continue  for  ever :  and  accordingly  we  find  (though  upon  my 
word  I  don't  know  upon  what  authority)  that,  eighteen  hundred  and 
ninety-seven  years  ago,  Julius  Caisar,  that  celebrated  military  man, 
landed  at  Deal.  He  conquered  a  great  number  of  induces  witli  jaw- 
breaking  names,  as  did  the  Roman  Emperors,  his  successors,  such  as 
the  Trinobantes,  the  Atrebates,  the  Silures,  all  richly  deserving 
their  fate,  doubtless,  as  I  fear  they  were  but  savages  at  best.  They 
were  masters  of  the  Britons  for  i^retty  near  five  hundred  years,  and 
tliough  the  Scotch  pretend  that  the  Romans  never  conquered  their 
part  of  it,  I  am  inc'lined  to  suppose  it  was  pretty  much  for  the 
reasons  tiiat  the  clotlies  are  not  taken  ofi"  a  scarecrow  in  the  fields, 
because  they  are  not  wortli  the  tttking. 

About  the  year  450,  the  Romans,  having  quite  enough  to  do  at 
home,  quitted  Britain  for  good,  when  the  Scots,  who  were  hungry 
then,  and  have  been  hungry  ever  since,  rushed  in  among  the  poor 
unprotected  Britoners,  who  were  forced  to  call  the  Saxons  to 
their  aid. 

'Twas  two  o'clo(;k — the  Lecturer  made  her  curtsey  and  reminded 
her  auditory  that  anotlier  Lecture  would  take  place  on  the  folloAving 
Wednesday,  and  the  Company  departed,  each  making  a  mental 
affidavit  to  return. 


LECTURE   II 

IN  the  lecture-room  we  observed  one  of  the  noblest  of  our  poet- 
philosopliers,  who  was  assiduously  taking  notes,  and  we  say 
tliat  it  is  to  Adolphus  Simook,  Esquire,  author  of  the 
"  Ghoul,"  "  Leila,"  "  Idiosyncrasy,"  &c.,  that  we  are  indebted  for 
the  following   Pliilosopliical    Synopsis    of  Miss    Ticklctoby's   First 


12  MISS    TIOKLETOBY'S 

Lecture   on   Englisli    History,   delivered    to  her    pupils   and    their 
friends  on  the  —  July  at  her  Scholastic  Hall,  Little  Britain. 

1.  On  the  painful  impression  occasioned  by  the  contemplation 
of  early  barbarism. 

2.  The  disposition  of  the  human  mind  to  avoid  such  a  study. 

3.  The  7n>/stic  and  the  historic :  their  comparative  beauty  and 
excellence — the  Lecturer  promises  on  a  further  occasion  to  speak 
upon  the  former  subject. 

4.  Spite  of  his  unwillingness,  'tis  the  duty  of  the  student  to 
ac(piaint  liimself  with  nil  the  facts  of  history,  whether  agreeable 
or  not,  and  of  the  tutor  to  urge  6?/  ('»e)-i/  means  the  unwilling. 

5.  Various  hypotheses  with  regard  to  the  first  colonisation  of 
Britain.  The  hypothesis  of  the  chivalric  ages,  and  of  the  cycle  of 
Arthur. 

6.  The  insufficiency  of  all  theories  upon  the  subject  proved  by 
a  familiar  appeal  to  the  student's  own  powers  of  memory. 

7.  The  Ancient  Britons — their  costume :  (8)  its  singular  re- 
semblances with  that  of  the  Transatlantic  savage ;  (9)  a  passing 
word  of  reprobation  upon  an  odious  modern  custom. 

10.  The  Religion  of  the  Britons. — IL  A  religion  insepar- 
able from  a  priesthood. — The  attributes  of  the  Druidical  priesthood, 
their  i:)rivileges  and  powers. — 12.  Of  the  rewards  that  the  State 
ought  to  grant  to  the  ministers  of  its  government,  its  laws,  and  its 
education. 

.  13.  The  Wars  of  the  Britons. — 14.  Their  weapons. — 15. 
Their  various  fortunes  in  the  field. 

16.  The  influence  of  the  Priests  upon  their  campaigns. — 
17.  The  barbaric  sacrifices  in  the  groves  of  Odin. — 18.  Fanciful 
simile 

19.  The  Priestesses:  grammatical  distinction  to  be  drawn 
between  them  and  the  Priests. 

20.  Episode  of  Miss  Higgins  and  Master  Smith  —  absurd 
blunder  of  the  latter. 

21.  The  Romans  in  Britain. — 22.  The  character  of  Caesar. 
— 23.  Of  his  successors. — 24.  Their  victories  over  the  barbarous 
Britons  a  blessing,  and  not  an  evil. — 25.  The  Scottish  boasts  of 
invincibility  ;  the  true  view  of  them. 

26.  The  Downfall  of  the  Roman  Empire. — The  legions 
withdrawn  from  Britain.  Depredations  of  the  Scots  in  that  un- 
happy island. 

The  following  questions  on  the  most  important  points  of  the 
Lecture  were  delivered  by  Miss  Tickletoby  to  her  pupils : — 


LECTURES    ON    ENGLISH    HISTORY  13 

Examination  Papek. 

July  1842. 

At  the  Academe,  Leg-of-Veal  Court,  London,  superintended 
by  WiLHELiiiNA  Maria  Tickletoby. 

Q.  By  whom  was  Britain  first  colonised  ;  and  at  what  period  ? 

A.  From  the  best  accounts  it  is  quite  uncertain.  It  was 
colonised  at  the  period  when  the  colonists  landed. 

Q.  What  was  the  date  of  the  landing  of  the  Romans  in  Britain  ? 

A.   A  day  or  two  after  they  quitted  Gaul. 

Q.  Why  were  they  obliged  to  jump  into  the  water  from  their 
boats  ? 

A.   Because  they  were  inwaders. 

Q.  When  Boadicea  harangued  the  Icenic  warriors  before  her 
supreme  combat  with  Suetonius,  why  did  slie  remind  the  latter  of 
a  favourite  vegetable  ? 

A.  Because  she  was  an  Icenean  (a  nice  inion).  The  alicampane 
prize  to  Miss  Parminter  (for  answering  this). 

THE    LECTURE 

Personages  present. 

Miss  Wilhelmina  Makia  Tickletoby. 

Master  Spry  {a  quarrelsome  boy). 

Miss  Pontifex  {a  good  girl). 

Master  Maximus  Pontifex  {her  brother,  a  worthy   r  Pupils. 

though  not  brilliant  lad). 
Master  Delancey  Mortimer  {says  nothing). 
Mr.  Desborouoh  Mortimer  {footman  in  the  service  of  Sir 

George  Gollop,  Bart.,  and  father  of  the  above). 
Miss  Budge,  an  assistant  {says  nothing). 
Boys,  Girls,  Parents,  &c. 

Scene  as  before. 

The  Picts,  the  Scots,  the  Danes  ;  Gregory  the  Satirist, 
THE  Conversion  of  the  Britons,  the  Character  of  Alfred. 
— I  did  not  in  my  former  Lecture  make  the  least  allusion  to  the 
speech  of  Queen  Boadicea  to  lier  troops  before  going  into  action, 
because,  although  several  reports  of  that  oration  have  been  handed 
down  to  us,  not  one  of  tliem,  as  I  take  it,  is  correct,  and  what  is 
the  use,  my  darlings,  of  reporting  words  (hers  were  very  abusive 
against  the  Romans) — of  reporting  words  that  never  were  uttered? 
There's  scandal  enough,  loves,  in  this  wicked  world  without  going 


14  MISS    TICKLETOBY'S 

liack  to  old  stories  :  real  seaiulal,  too,  which  may  satisfy  any  person. 
Nor  did  I  mention  King  Caractacus's  noble  behaviour  before  the 
Roman  Eni])eror  Claudius — for  that  history  is  so  aboniinal)ly  stale 
that  I  am  sure  none  of  my  })lessed  loves  require  to  be  tokl  it. 

AVheii  the  Britons  had  been  deserted  by  the  Romans,  and  found 
themselves  robbed  and  ])illaged  by  the  Picts  and  Scots,  they  sent 
over  to  a  people  called  Saxons  (so  called  because  they  didn't  live 
in  Saxony) :  ■who  came  over  to  help  their  friends,  and  having 
turned  out  the  Picts  and  Scots,  and  finding  the  country  a  ))leasant 
one  to  dwell  in,  they  took  possession  of  it,  saying  that  the  Britons 
did  not  deserve  to  liave  a  coimtry,  as  they  did  not  know  how 
to  keep  it.  This  sort  of  argument  was  considered  very  just  in 
those  days — and  I've  seen  some  little  boys  in  this  school  acting 
Saxon-fashion :  for  instance.  Master  Spry  the  other  day  took  away 
a  piece  of  gingerbread  from  Master  Jones,  giving  him  a  great 
thump  on  the  nose  instead ;  and  what  was  the  consequence  1  I 
showed  Master  Spry  the  injustice  of  his  action,  and  punished  him 
severely. 

To  Master  Spry.  How  did  I  punish  you,  my  dear? — tell  the 
comimny. 

Master  Spry.   You  ke])t  the  gingerbread. 

Miss  T.   {severely).   I  don't  mean  that :  how  else  did  I  punish 


you 


Master  Spry.  You  vipped  me :  but  I  kicked  your  shins  all 
the  time. 

Unruly  boy  ! — but  so  it  is,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  in  the  infancy 
of  individuals  as  in  that  of  nations :  we  hear  of  these  continual 
scenes  of  violence,  until  prudence  teaches  respect  for  property,  and 
law  becomes  stronger  than  force.  To  return  to  the  Saxons,  they 
seized  upon  the  goods  and  persons  of  the  effenunate  Britons,  made 
the  latter  their  slaves,  and  sold  them  as  such  in  foreign  countries. 
The  mind  shudders  at  such  horrors !  How  should  you  like,  you 
naughty  Master  Spry,  to  be  seized  and  carried  from  your  blessed 
mother's  roof — [immense  sensation,  and  andihle  sobbing  among  the 
ladies  present^^ — how  should  you  like  to  be  carried  off  and  sold  as 
a  slave  to  France  oj"  Italy  ? 

Master  S2^ry.  Is  there  any  schools  there  1  I  shouldn't  mind  if 
there  ain't. 

Miss  T.  Yes,  sir,  there  are  schools — and  rods. 

[Immense  u^n'oar.  Cries  of  "Shame!"  "  No  flogging  !  " 
"  Serve  him  right  /  "  "  Wo  tyranny  /  "  *'  Horse  him 
this  instant  !  "  With  admirable  presence  of  mind, 
however,  Miss  Tickletoby  stopped  the  disturbance 
by  unfolding  her  great  historical  picture  ! 


LECTURES    ON    ENGLISH    HISTORY  15 

It  chanced  that  two  lovely  British  children,  sold  like  thousands 
of  others  by  their  ruthless  Saxon  masters,  were  sent  to  Rome,  and 
exposed  upon  the  slave-market  there.  Fancy  those  darlings  in  such 
a  situation  ! 

There  they  stood — weepiflg  and  wretched,  thinking  of  their 
parents'  cot,  in  the  far  Northern  Isle,  sighing  and  yearning,  no 
doubt,  for  the  green  fields  of  Albin  !  * 

It  happened  that  a  gentleman  by  the  name  of  Gregory,  who 
afterwards  rose  to  be  Pope  of  Rome — but  who  was  then  a  simple 
clerical  gent,  passed  through  the  market,  with  his  friends,  and  came 
to  the  spot  where  these  poor  British  children  stood. 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Gregory  was  instantly  struck  by  their 
apijearance — by  their  rosy  cheeks,  their  golden  hair  ;  tlieir  little 
jackets  covered  all  over  wdth  sugar-loaf  buttons,  their  poor  nankeens 
grown  all  too  short  by  constant  wash  and  wear  :  and  demanded  of 
their  owner,  of  what  nation  the  little  darlings  were  1 

The  man  (wdio  spoke  in  Latin)  replied  that  they  were  Anr/li, 
that  is.  Angles  or  English. 

"Angles,"  said  the  enthusiastic  Mr.  Gregory,  "they  are  not 
Angles,  but  Angels  ; "  and  with  this  joke,  w^hich  did  not  do  much 
honour  to  his  head,  though  certainly  his  heart  was  good,  he 
approached  the  little  dears,  caressed  them,  and  made  still  further 
in(|uiries  regarding  them.f 

Miss  Fontifex  {one  of  the  little  girls).  And  did  J\Ir.  Gregory 
take  the  little  children  out  of  slavery,  and  send  them  home,  ma'am  ? 

INIr.  Hume,  my  dear  good  little  girl,  does  not  mention  this  fact ; 
but  let  us  hope  he  did  :  with  all  my  heart,  I'm  sm-e  /  hope  he  did. 
But  this  is  certain,  that  he  never  forgot  them,  and  when  in  process 
of  time  he  came  to  be  Pope  of  Rome 

Master  Maximus  Pontifex.  Pa  says  my  name's  Lat'n  for  Pope 
of  Rome  ;  is  it,  ma'ani  ? 

I've  no  doubt  it  is,  my  love,  since  your  papa  says  so  :  and  when 
Gregory  became  Pope  of  Rome,  he  despatched  a  number  of  his  clergy 
to  England,  who  came  and  converted  the  benighted  Saxons  and 
Britons,  and  they  gave  up  their  hideous  idols,  and  horrid  human 
sacrifices,  and  sent  the  wicked  Druids  about  their  business. 

The  Saxons  had  ended  by  becoming  complete  masters  of  the 
country,  and  the  peojile  were  now  called  Anglo  or  English  Saxons. 
There  were  a  great  number  of  small  sovereigns  in  the  land  then  : 

*  Albiu,  tlie  ancient  name  of  England :  not  to  be  confounded  with  Albin, 
hairdresser  and  wig-maker  to  the  Bar,  Essex  Court,  Temple. 

t  Miss  Tickletoby  did  not,  very  properly,  introduce  the  other  puns  which 
Gregory  made  on  the  occasion  ;  they  .-ire  so  atrociously  bad  that  they  could 
not  be  introduced  into  the  columns  of  Punch. 


16  MISS    TICKLETOBY'S 

but  about  tlic  year  830,  the  King  called  Egbert  became  the  master 
of  the  whole  country  ;  and  he,  my  loves,  was  the  father  of  Alfred. 

Alfred  came  to  the  throne  after  his  three  brothers,  and  you  all 
know  how  good  and  famous  a  king  he  was.  It  is  said  that  his 
father  indulged  him,  and  that  he  did  not  know  how  to  read  until 
he  was  twelve  years  old — but  this,  my  dears,  I  cannot  believe ;  or, 
at  least,  I  caimot  but  regret  that  there  were  no  nice  day-schools 
then,  Avhere  children  might  be  taught  to  read  before  they  were 
twelve,  or  ten,  or  even  eight  years  old,  as  many  of  my  dear 
scholars  can. 

[Miss  TicKLETOBY  here  paused  for  a  moment,  and  resumed 
her  lecture  with  rather  a  trenndous  voice. 

It  is  my  wish  to  amuse  this  company  as  well  as  I  can,  and 
sometimes,  therefore — for  I  am  by  nature  a  facetious  old  woman, 
heartily  loving  a  bit  of  fun — I  can't  helj)  making  jokes  about 
subjects  wliich  other  historians  treat  in  a  solemn  and  pompous  way. 

But,  dears,  I  don't  tliink  it  right  to  make  one  single  joke  about 
good  King  Alfred  ;  who  was  so  good,  and  so  wise,  and  so  gentle, 
and  so  brave,  that  one  can't  laugh,  but  only  love  and  honour  his 
memory.  Think  of  this,  how  rare  good  kings  are,  and  let  us  value 
a  good  one  when  he  comes.  We  have  had  just  fifty  kings  since  his 
time,  who  have  reigned  for  near  a  thousand  long  years,  and  he  the 
only  Great  one.  Brave  and  victorious  many  of  them  have  been, 
grand  and  sumptuous,  and  a  hundred  times  more  powerful  than  he  : 
but  who  cares  for  one  of  them  (except  Harry  the  Fifth,  and  I  think 
Shakspeare  made  that  king) — who  loves  any  of  them  except  him — 
the  man  who  spoiled  the  cakes  in  the  herdsman's  cottage,  the  man 
who  sang  and  played  in  the  Danes'  camp  % 

There  are  none  of  you  so  young  but  know  those  stories  about 
him.  Look,  when  the  people  love  a  man,  how  grateful  they  are  ! 
For  a  thousand  years  these  little  tales  have  passed  from  father  to 
son  all  through  England,  and  every  single  man  out  of  millions  and 
millions  who  has  heard  them  has  loved  King  Alfred  in  his  heart, 
and  blessed  him,  and  was  proud  that  he  was  an  Englishman's  Ring. 
And  then  he  hears  that  Alfred  fought  the  Danes,  and  drove  them  out 
of  England,  and  that  he  was  merciful  to  his  enemies,  and  kei)t  faith  at 
a  time  when  every  one  else  was  deceitful  and  cruel,  and  that  he  was 
tlie  first  to  make  laws,  and  establish  peace  and  liberty  among  us. 

Who  cares  for  Charles  the  Second,  secured  in  his  oak,  more 
than  for  any  other  man  at  a  pinch  of  danger  1  Charles  might  have 
stayed  in  his  tree  for  us,  or  for  any  good  that  he  did  when  he  came 
down.  But  for  King  Alfred,  waiting  in  his  little  secret  island,  until 
he  should  be  strong  enough  to  have  one  more  battle  with  his 
conquerors,  or  in  the  camp  of  the  enemy  singing  his  songs  to  his 


LECTURES    ON    ENGLISH    HISTORY  17 

harj),  who  does  not  feel  as  for  a  dear  friend  or  father  in  danger,  and 
cry  hurra  !  with  all  his  heart,  when  he  wins  ? 

All  the  little  Children.      Hurray  !  Alfred  for  ever  ! 

Yes,  my  dears,  you  love  him  all,  and  would  all  fight  for  him, 
I  know. 

Master  Spri/.   That  I  woidd. 

I'm  sure  you  would,  John,  and  may  you  never  fight  for  a  worse 
cause  !  Ah  !  it's  a  fine  thing  to  think  of  the  jjeople  loving  a  man 
for  a  thousand  years  !  We  shan't  come  to  such  another  in  the 
course  of  all  these  lectures — except  mayhap  if  we  get  so  far,  to  one 
George 

Mr.  Mortimer  (aloud,  and  with  much  conjidence).  George  the 
Fourth,  you  mean,  miss,  the  first  gentleman  in  Europe. 

Miss  T.  {sternli/).  No,  sir ;  I  mean  George  Washington, — 
the  American  Alfred,  sir,  who  gave  and  took  from  us  many  a  good 
beating,  and  drove  the  Enr/lish-DAnea  out  of  his  country. 

Mr.  Mortimer:  Disgusting  raddicle  ! — Delancey,  my  dear,  come 
with  me.     Mem  ! — I  shall  withdraw^  my  son  from  your  academy. 

l^Exennt  Mortimer,  Senior  and  Junior. 

Miss  T.  Let  them  go.  As  long  as  honest  jieople  agree  with 
me,  what  care  I  what  great  men's  flunkeys  choose  to  think  %  Miss 
Budge,  make  out  Mr.  Mortimer's  account.  Ladies  and  Gentlemen, 
on  AVednesday  next  I  hope  for  the  honour  of  resuming  these  lectures. 

\l*unc]i,  in  concluding  this  long  paper,  begs  to  hint  to  Mr.  Simcoe, 
whose  remuneration  will  be  found  at  tlie  ofiicc,  that  for  the  future  he 
may  spare  liis  own  remarks,  i)hilo80i)liical.  laudatory,  or  otherwise, 
and  confine  himself  simply  to  the  Lectures  of  Miss  Tickletoby.l 


LECTURE    III 

TEE  SEA-KINGS   IN  ENGLAND 

IN  the  olden  time  our  glorious  country  of  England,  my  dears, 
must  have  been  a  pleasant  place ;  for  see  what  numbers  of 
people  have  taken  a  fancy  to  it  !  First  came  the  Romans,  as 
we  have  seen,  then  the  Saxons, — and  when  they  were  comfortably 
established  here,  the  Danes,  under  their  Sea-kings,  came  gallantly 
over  the  main,  and  were  not  a  whit  less  charmed  with  the  island 
than  the  Saxons  and  Romans  had  been. 

Amongst  these  distinguished  foreigners  may  be  mentioned  the 
Sea-king  Swayn,  who  came  to  England  in  the  year  nine  hundred 


18  MISS    TICKLETOBY'S 

and  something,  landing  at  Mai'gate,  with  which  he  was  so  pleased 
as  to  (h'torniine  to  stop  tlicre  altoi^etlier, — heiiig,  as  he  said,  so  nuich 
attached  to  this  coinitry  th;it  nothiiii^  would  induce  him  to  go  back 
to  his  own.  Wasn't  it  a  complimeTit  to  us '?  Tliere  is  a  great  deal 
of  this  gallantry  in  the  people  of  tlie  North ;  and  you  may  have 
observed,  even  in  our  own  days,  tluit  some  of  them,  'specially 
Scotchmen,  when  once  landed  hero,  are  mighty  unwilling  to  go 
home  again. 

Well,  King  Swayn's  stay  became  preposterously  long :  and  his 
people  consumed  such  a  power  of  drink  and  victuals,  that  at  length 
our  late  beloved  monarcli.  King  Ethelred  the  Second,  was  induced 
to  send  to  him.  A  bard  of  those  days  lias  recorded,  witli  consider- 
able minuteness,  the  particulars  of  Swayn's  arrival ;  and  as  liis  work 
has  not  been  noticed  by  Turner,  Hallani,  Hume,  or  any  other  Englisli 
historian,  it  may  be  quoted  with  advantage  here.  Snoro  the  bard 
(so  called  from  the  exciting  effect  which  his  ])oem  produced  on  his 
audience)  thus  picturesquely  introduces  us  to  the  two  Kings : — 


"iETHELRED  KONING  MURNING  POST  REDINGE." 

B.  M.  MSS.  CLAUD.   XXV. XXVIL 

A-reading  of  the  newspaper  |  in  meditation  lost, 

Sate  ^tlielred  of  England  |  and  took  his  tea  and  toast ; 

Sate  Ethelred  of  England  |  and  read  the  Morning  Post. 

Among  the  new  arrivals  |  the  Journal  did  contain, 

At  Margate  on  the  twentieth  |  his  Majesty  King  Swayn, 

Of  Denmark  witli  a  retinue  |  of  horsemen  and  of  Dane  ! 

Loud  laugh'd  King  ethelred,  |  and  laid  the  paper  down  ; 

"  Margate  is  a  proper  place  i  for  a  Danish  clown." 

"  Take  care,"  said  the  Chancellor,  |  "  he  doesn't  come  to  town." 

"  This  King  Swayn,"  says  Witfrid  the  fool,  |  laughing  loud  and  free, 

"Sea-king  as  he  is,  |  a  boatswain  ought  to  be." 

"  It  is  none  of  our  seeking,"  \  said  the  Chancellor,  says  he. 

"  Let  him  come,"  said  the  King  (in  his  mouth  |  butter'd  toast  popping), 

"At  Wrapping  or  at  Redriff  |  this  boatswain  will  be  stopping." 

'•  Take  care,"  says  Chancellor  Wigfrid,  |  "  he  don't  give  you  a  wapping. 

"  I'm  certain,"  says  wise  Wigfrid,  |  "  the  Sea-king  means  us  evilly  ; 

Herald,  go  to  Margate  |  and  speak  unto  him  civilly  ; 

And  if  he's  not  at  Margate,  |  why  then  try  Ranisgate  and  Tivoli." 


LECTURES    ON    ENGLISH    HISTORY  19 

Herald,  in  obedience  |  to  his  master  dear, 

Goes  by  steam  to  Margate,  |  landing  at  the  Pier  ; 

Says  he,  "  King  Swayn  of  Denmark  |  I  think  is  lodging  here  ?  " 

Swayn,  the  bold  Sea-king,  |  with  his  captains  and  skippers, 
Walk'd  on  the  sea-beach  |  looking  at  the  dippers — 
Walk'd  on  the  sea-V)each  |  in  his  yellow  slippers. 

Tlie  ballad,  ■which  is  important  to  the  archteologian,  as  show- 
ing how  many  of  the  usages  of  the  present  day  prevailed  nine 
hundred  years  back  (thus  fondly  do  Englishmen  adhere  to  their 
customs  !),  and  which  shows  that  some  of  the  jokes  called  puns 
at  present  currentlj'  uttered  as  novelties  were  in  existence  at 
this  early  period  of  time,  goes  on  to  describe,  with  a  minuteness 
that  amounts  almost  to  tediousness,  the  interview  between  Swayn 
and  the  herald ;  it  is  angry,  for  the  latter  conveys  to  the  Danish 
monarch  the  strongest  exhortations,  on  the  part  of  King  Ethelred, 
to  quit  the  kingdom 

"  Nay,  I  cannot  go,"  said  Swayn,  |  "  for  my  ships  are  leaking." 

"  Yovi  shall  have  a  fleet,"  says  the  herald,  |  "if  that  be  what  you're  seeking." 

"  Well,  I  won't  go,  and  that's  flat,"  |  answered  Swayn  the  Sea-king. 

Falling  into  a  fury,  Swayn  then  abuses  the  King  of  England  in 
the  most  contumelious  terms ;  says  that  he  will  make  his  hack  into 
a  football,  and  employ  his  nose  for  a  bell-ro{)e ;  but  finally  recol- 
lecting himself  dismisses  the  herald  with  a  present  of  five-eighths  of 
a  groat — twopence  halfpenny  (a  handsome  largesse,  considering  the 
value  of  money  in  those  days),  bidding  him  at  the  same  time  order 
what  he  liked  to  drink  at  the  liotel  where  he  (King  Swayn)  resided. 
"\Yell,"  says  the  Chronicler  pathetically,  "  well  might  he  order 
what  he  thought  proper.  Kin;)  Svutyn  of  Denmark  never  2iaid  a 
copx>ery  A  frightful  jiicturc  of  the  insolence  and  rapacity  of  the 
invader  and  his  crew  ! 

A  battle,  as  is  natural,  ensues ;  the  invader  is  victorious — 
Ethelred  flies  to  France,  and  the  venerable  Chancellor  Wigfrid  is 
put  to  the  most  drea'dful  tortures,  being  made  by  the  ferocious 
despot  to  imdergo  the  indignities  which  (as  we  have  seen  in  the 
former  passage)  he  had  promised  to  inflict  on  the  royal  fugitive,  as 
well  as  many  more.  As  a  specimen  of  the  barbarian's  ingenuity, 
it  may  be  stated  that  the  martyr  Wigfrid  is  maile  to  administer  a 
mockery  of  justice,  seated  on  a  woolsack  stuffed  with — the  mind 
revolts  at  the  thought — stvfed  vnth  fe<ix  ! 

But  it  is  remarkable  that  tlie  bard  Siioro,  who  so  long  as  Swayn 
was  not  victorious  over  Ethelred  is  li])eral  in  his  abuse  of  the  Dane, 
4 


20  MISS    TICKTil'/roBY'S 

immediutoly  on  Ethelred's  defeat  cliaii.^cs  liis  note,  and  ])raises  with 
all  his  niii^ht  the  new  sovereign.  At  Swayn's  deatli  ho  is  lost  in 
grief —being,  however,  consoled  in  the  next  stanza  liy  the  succession 
of  his  son  Canute  to  the  throne. 

Snoro  gives  i)articular  accounts  of  Canute's  reign  and  actions— 
his  victories  in  foreign  lands,  and  the  great  drawn  battle  between 
him  and  Edminid  Ii'onsides,  about  wiiose  claims  the  bard  is  evi- 
dently puzzled  to  speak  ;  however,  on  Edmund's  death,  which  took 
place,  singtdarly  and  conveniently  enough,  about  a  month  after  Canute 
and  he  had  made  a  compromise  regarding  the  crown  (the  compromise 
left  the  kingdom  to  the' survivor),  Snoro  takes  up  the  strain  loudly 
and  decidedly  in  favour  of  Canute,  and  hints  at  the  same  time  his 
perfect  conviction  that  Ironsides  is  roasting  in  a  certain  place. 

And  then,  after  following  King  Canute  through  his  battles — in 
one  of  which  the  celebrated  Godwin  (who,  I  believe,  afterwards 
mari'ied  Mary  Wollstonecraft)  sh(jwed  the  valour  of  Englishmen — 
after  going  through  a  list  of  murders,  treasons,  usurpatit)ns,  which  the 
great  monarch  committed,  the  bard  comes  to  that  famous  passage  in 
his  history,  which  all  little  boys  know  ;  and  I  liave  the  pleasure  to 
show  a  copy  of  an  Anglo-Saxon  drawing  which  is  to  be  found  in 
the  MS.,  and  which  never  has  been  seen  until  the  present  day. 

[This  drawing  was  handed  round  to  the  company  by  ]\Iiss 
Tickletoby,  and  excited  an  immense  sensation,  which  having  sub- 
sided, the  lecturer  proceeded  to  read  from  the  same  MS.,  Claud. 
XXVII.,  XXVIIL,  "The  Song  of  King  Canute."  ='^] 

King  Canute  was  weary-liearted,  ]  lie  h:iil  reigned  for  years  a  score  ; 
Battling,  struggling,  pushing,  fighting,  |  killing  much,  and  robbing  more  ; 
And  he  thought  upon  his  actions  |  walking  by  the  wild  seashore. 

'Twixt  the  Chancellor  and  Bishop  |  walk'd  the  King  with  step  sedate  ; 
Chamberlains  and  grooms  came  after,  |  Silver-sticks  and  Cold-sticks  great ; 
Chaplains,  Aides-dc-Camp,  and  Pages,  |  all  the  officers  of  State. 

Sliding  after  like  his  .shadow,  |  pausing  when  he  chose  to  pause, 

If  a  frown  his  face  contracted  |  straight  the  courtiers  dropp'd  their  jaws  ; 

If  to  laughter  he  was  minded  |  out  they  burst  in  loud  he-haws. 

But  that  day  a  something  vex'd  him,  |  that  was  clear  to  old  and  young  ; 
Thrice  his  Crace  had  yawn'd  at  table  |  when  his  favourite  gleeman  sung — 
Once  the  Queen  would  have  con.soled  him  |  and  he  bid  her  hold  her  tongue. 


*  Th«  poems  are  translated,  word  for  word,  from  tlie  Anglo-Saxon,  by  the 
accomplished  Adolphus  Simcoe,  Esquire,  author  of  "Perdition,"  "The  Ghoul," 
editor  of  the  Lady's  Lute,  kc. 


LECTURES    ON    ENGLISH    HISTORY  21 

"  Something  ails  my  royal  master, "  |  cried  the  Keeper  of  the  Seal ; 
"Sure,  my  Lord,  it  is  the  lampreys  ]  served  at  dinner,  or  the  veal. 
Shall  I  call  your  Grace's  doctor?  "  |  "  Psha  !  it  is  not  that  I  feel. 

"  'Tis  the  lieart  and  not  the  stomach,  |  fool  !  that  doth  my  rest  impair  ; 

Can  a  king  be  great  as  I  am,  (  prithee,  and  yet  know  no  care  ? 

Oh  !  I'm  sick,  and  tired,  and  weary."  |  Some  one  cried,  "The  King's  armchair!  " 

Then  towards  the  lacquej's  turning,  |  quick  my  Lord  the  Keeper  nodded  ; 
Straight  the  King's  great  chair  was  brought  him  |  by  two  footmen  able-bodied  ; 
Languidly  he  sunk  into  it,  |  it  was  comfortably  wadded. 

"  Leading  on  my  fierce  companions,"  |  cried  he,  "  over  storm  and  brine, 
I  have  fought  and  I  have  conquer'd  :  |  where  is  glory  like  to  mine  ?" 
Loudly  all  the  courtiers  echoed,  |  "Where  is  glory  like  to  thine  ?" 

"  What  avail  me  all  my  kingdoms?  |  I  am  weary  now  and  old  ; 
Those  fair  sons  I  have  begotten  |  long  to  see  me  dead  and  cold  ; 
Would  I  were,  and  quiet  buried  ]  underneath  the  silent  mould. 

"Oh,  remorse  !  the  writhing  serpent,  |  at  my  bosom  tears  and  bites; 
Horrid,  horrid  things  I  look  on  |  though  I  put  out  all  the  lights, — 
Ghosts  of  ghastly  recollections  |  troop  about  my  bed  of  nights. 

*'  Cities  burning,  convents  blazing  ]  red  with  sacrilegious  fires  ; 

Mothers  weeping,  virgins  screaming,  |  vainly  to  their  slaughtered  sires." — 

"Such  a  tender  conscience,''  cries  the  |  Bishop,  "  every  one  admires. 

"  But  for  such  unj^leasant  bygones  |  cease,  my  gracious  Lord,  to  search  ; 
They're  forgotten  and  forgiven  |  by  our  holy  mother  Church. 
Never,  never  doth  she  leave  her  |  benefactors  in  the  lurch. 

"Look,  the  land  is  crown'd  with  minsters  |  which  your  Grace's  bounty  raised  ; 
Abbeys  fill'd  with  holy  men,  where  |  you  and  Heaven  are  daily  praised  ; — 
You,  my  Lord,  to  think  of  dying  !  |  on  my  honour  I'm  amazed." 

"  Nay,  I  feel,"  replied  King  Canute,  |  "  that  my  end  is  drawing  near." 
■'  Don't  say  so,"  exclaimed  the  C(jurtiers  |  (striving  each  to  squeeze  a  tear) ; 
"  Sure  your  Grace  is  strong  and  lusty  ]  and  will  live  this  fifty  year !  " 

"  Live  these  fifty  years !  "  the  Bishop  |  roar'd  (with  action  made  to  suit)  ; 
"  Are  you  mad,  my  good  Lord  Keeper,  |  thus  to  speak  of  King  Canute  ? 
Men  have  lived  a  thousand  years,  and  |  sure  his  Majesty  will  do't. 

"Adam,  Enoch,  Lamech,  Canan,  |  Mahaleel,  Methuselah, 

Lived  nine  hundred  j'oars  apiece  ;  and  |  is  he  not  as  good  as  they  ?  " 

"  Fervently,"  exclaimed  the  Keeper,  |  "  fervently  I  trust  he  may." 

"  He  to  die  ?"  resumed  the  Bishop  ;  |  "  he,  a  mortal  like  to  us  ? 
Death  was  not  for  him  intended,  |  though  communis  omnibus. 
Keeper,  you  are  irreligious  |  for  to  talk  and  cavil  thus. 


22  MISS    TIOKLETOBY'S 

"  With  his  woiuli-ous  «kill  in  hcaUny  |  ne'er  a  doctor  can  ooniiiete; 
IjoathsoMie  lepers,  if  he  touch  them,  |  start  up  clean  iipon  their  feet; 
Surely  ho  could  raise  the  dead  up  |  did  his  highness  think  it  meet, 

"  Did  not  once  the  Jewish  Captain  |  stop  the  sun  upon  the  hill. 
And  the  while  ho  slew  the  focman  |  bid  the  silver  moon  stand  still? 
So,  no  doubt,  could  gracious  Canute  |  if  it  were  his  sacred  will." 

"  Might  I  stay  the  sun  above  us,  |  good  Sir  Bishop  ? "  Canute  cried. 
"Could  I  bid  the  silver  moon  to  |  pause  upon  her  heavenly  ride? 
If  the  moon  obeys  my  orders,  |  sure  I  can  command  the  tide. 

"Will  the  advancing  waves  obey  me,  |  Bishop,  If  I  make  the  sign  ?" 
Said  the  Bishop,  bowing  lowly,  |  "Land  and  sea,  my  Lord,  are  thine." 
Canute  look'd  toward  the  ocean  :  |  "  Back,"  be  said,  "  thou  foaming  brine  ! 

• 

"  From  the  sacred  shore  I  stand  on,  |  I  command  thee  to  retreat 
Venture  not,  thou  stormy  rebel,  |  to  approach  thy  master's  seat  ; 
Ocean,  be  thou  still,  I  bid  thee,  |  come  not  nearer  to  my  feet." 

But  the  angry  ocean  answered  j  with  a  louder,  deeper  roar. 

And  the  rapid  waves  drew  nearer,  |  falling  sounding  on  the  shore, — 

Back  the  Keeper  and  the  Bishop,  |  back  the  King  and  courtiers  bore. 

And  he  sternly  bade  them  never  |  more  to  kneel  to  human  clay. 
But  alone  to  praise  and  worship  ]  that  which  earth  and  seas  obey  ; 
And  his  golden  crown  of  empire  |  never  wore  he  from  that  day. 
King  Canute  is  dead  and  gone  :  |  Parasites  exist  alway. 


LECTURE   IV 

EDIFARD   THE  CONFESSOR— HAROLD— II'ILLIAM   THE 
CONQUEROR 

KING  CANUTE,  whose  adventures  at  the  watering-place  my 
young  friend  Mr.  Simcoe  described  last  week  in  such  exquisite 
verse  (and  I  am  afraid  that  the  doings  at  watering-places  are 
not  often  so  moral),  died  soon  after,  having  repented  greatly  of  his 
sins.  It  must  have  been  Gravesend,  I  think,  where  the  King  grew 
BO  thoughtful. 

[He7'e  Miss  T.  was  rather  disappomted  that  nobody  laughed 

ather  jnin  ;  the  fact  is,  that  Miss  Budge,  the  usher,  had 

been  ordered  to  do  so   but,  as  usual,  missed  her  -point. 

Before  he  died,  lie  made  a  queer  sort  of  reparation  for  all  the 

sins,  robberies,  and  nuu-ders  that  he  committed — he  put  liis  crown 

on  the  head  of  the  statue  of  a  saint  in  Canterbury,  and  endowed  no 


LECTURES    ON    ENGLISH    HISTORY  23 

end  of  monasteries.  And  a  great  satisfaction  it  must  have  been  to 
the  relatives  of  the  murdered  people,  to  see  the  King's  crown  on  the 
Saint's  head  ;  and  a  great  consolation  to  those  who  had  l)een  robbed, 
to  find  the  King  paid  over  all  their  money  to  the  monks. 

Some  descendants  of  his  succeeded  him,  about  whom  there  is 
nothing  particular  to  say,  nor  about  King  Edward  the  Confessor, 
of  the  Saxon  race,  who  succeeded  to  the  throne  when  the  Danish 
family  failed,  and  who  was  canonised  by  a  Pope  two  hundred  years 
after  his  death — his  Holiness  only  knows  why. 

Spooney,  ray  dears,  is  a  strong  term,  and  one  which,  by  a  sensi- 
tive female,  ought  to  be  employed  only  occasionally ;  but  Spooney, 
I  emphatically  repeat  [iinmense  se7isatiori],  is  tlie  only  word  to  char- 
acterise this  last  of  the  regular  Saxon  kings.  He  spent  his  time  at 
church,  and  let  his  kingdom  go  to  rack  and  ruin.  He  had  a  pretty 
wife,  whom  he  never  had  the  spirit  to  go  near  ;  and  he  died,  leaving 
his  kingdom  to  be  taken  by  any  one  who  could  get  it. 

A  strong  gallant  young  fellow,  Harold  by  name,  stepped  forward, 
and  put  the  crown  on  his  head,  and  vow^ed  to  w^ear  it  like  a  man. 
Harold  was  the  son  of  Earl  Godwin  that  we  spoke  of  in  the  last 
lecture,  a  great  resolute  fellow,  who  had  been  fighting  King  Edwani's 
enemies  wdiile  the  King  was  singing  psalms  and  praying  the  saints 
to  get  rid  of  them,  and  turned  out  Avith  a  sword  in  his  hand,  and  a 
coat  of  mail  on  his  body,  whilst  the  silly  King  stayed  at  home  in  a 
hair-shirt,  scourging  and  mortifying  his  useless  old  body. 

Harold  then  took  the  crown  (though,  to  be  sure,  he  had  no 
right  to  it,  for  there  was  a  nephew  of  the  late  King,  who  ought  to 
have  been  first  served),  but  he  was  not  allowed  to  keep  undis- 
turbed possession  of  it  very  long,  for  the  fact  is,  somebody  else 
wanted  it. 

You  all  know  who  this  w\as — no  other  than  William,  Duke  of 
Normandy,  a  great  and  gallant  prince  (though  I  must  say  his  mother 
was  no  better  than  slie  sliouhl  be  *),  who  had  long  luid  a  wish  to 
possess  the  noble  reahn  of  England,  as  soon  as  the  silly  old  Confessor 
was  no  more.  Indeed,  when  Harold  was  abroad,  William  had  told 
him  as  much,  making  him  swear  to  help  him  in  the  undertaking. 
Harold  swore,  as  how  could  he  help  it  1  for  AVilliam  told  him  he 
•woidd  have  his  head  ofi"  if  he  didn't,  and  tlien  broke  his  oath  on  the 
first  opportunity. 

Some  nine  montlis,  then,  after  Harold  had  assumed  the  crown, 
and  just  as  he  had  come  from  killing  one  of  his  brothers  (tiiey  were 
pretty  quarrelsome  families,  my  dears,  in  those  days),  who  had 
come  to  England  on  a  robbing  excursion,  Harold  was  informed  that 

*  Miss  Tickletohy's  rancour  against  Edward's  treatment  of  his  wife,  and 
her  sneer  at  the  Conqueror's  mother,  are  characteristic  of  her  amiable  sex. 


24  MISS    TICKLETOBY'S 

the  Duke  of  Normandy  liad  landed  with  a  numerous  army  of  horse, 
foot,  and  marines,  and  i)ropose<l,  as  usual,  to  stay. 

Down  he  went  as  fast  as  the  eoacli  could  carry  him  (for  the 
Kentisli  railroad  was  not  then  open),  and  found  Duke  William  at 
Hastings,  where  l)oth  parties  prepared  for  a  fight. 

You,  my  darlings,  know  the  upshot  of  the  battle  very  well ; 
and  though  I'm  a  delicate  and  sensitive  female  ;  and  though  the 
Battle  of  Hastings  occurred — let  me  see,  take  1066  from  1842  — 
exactly  seven  hundred  and  seventy-six  years  ago ;  yet  I  can't  help 
feeling  angry  to  think  that  those  beggarly,  murderous  Frenchmen 
should  have  beaten  our  honest  English  as  they  did.  [Cries  of 
"  Never  mind,  we^ve  given  it  ^em  since."^  Yes,  my  dears,  I  like 
that  spirit — we  have  given  it  'em  since,  as  the  Duke  of  Wellington 
at  Badajos,  and  my  late  lamented  br-r-other.  Ensign  Samuel 
T-t-tickletoby,  at  B-b-bunhill  Row,  can  testify.  [The  Lectu7-er's 
voice  ivas  here  choked  ivith  emotion,  owing  to  the  early  death  of 
the  latter  lamented  hero.^  But  don't  let  us  be  too  eager  for  military 
glory,  my  friends.  Look  !  we  are  angry  because  the  French  beat 
us  eight  hundred  years  ago  !  And  do  you  suppose  they  are  not 
angry  because  we  beat  them  some  five-and- twenty  years  back  ? 
Alas  !  and  alas  !  this  is  always  the  way  with  that  fighting ;  you 
can't  satisfy  both  parties  with  it,  and  I  do  heartily  hope  that  one 
day  there'll  be  no  such  thing  as  a  soldier  left  in  all  Europe,  [xi 
voice,  "  And  no  iiolice  neither."^ 

Harold  being  dead,  his  Majesty  King  William — of  whom,  as  he 
now  became  our  legitimate  sovereign,  it  behoves  every  loyal  heart 
to  speak  with  respect — took  possession  of  England,  and,  as  is 
natural,  gave  all  the  good  places  at  his  disposal  to  his  party.  He 
turned  out  the  English  noblemen  from  their  castles,  and  put  his 
Norman  soldiers  and  knights  into  them.  He  and  his  people  had 
it  all  their  own  way ;  and  though  the  English  frequently  rebelled, 
yet  the  King  managed  to  quell  all  such  disturbances,  and  reigned 
over  us  for  one-and-twenty  years.  He  was  a  gallant  soldier,  truly — 
stern,  wise,  and  jirudent,  as  far  as  his  own  interests  were  concerned, 
and  looked  up  to  by  all  other  Majesties  as  an  illustrious  monarch. 

But  great  as  he  was  in  jiublic,  he  was  rather  uncomfortable  in 
his  family,  on  account  of  a  set  of  unruly  sons  whom  he  had — for 
their  Royal  Highnesses  were  alw^a'ys  quarrelling  together.  It  is 
related  that  one  day  being  at  tea  with  her  Majesty  the  Queen,  and 
the  young  Princes,  at  one  of  his  castles  in  Normandy  (for  he  used 
this  country  to  rob  it  chiefly,  and  not  to  live  in  it),  a  quarrel  ensued, 
which  was  certainly  very  disgraceful.  Fancy,  my  darlings,  three 
young  Princes  sitting  at  tea  with  their  papa  and  manuua,  and  being 
so  rude  as  to  begin  throwing  water  at   one   another !     The   two 


LECTURES    ON    ENGLISH    HISTORY  So 

younger,  H.R.H.  Prince  William  and  H.R.H.  Prince  Henry,  actually 
M\yj;  the  slop-basin,  or  some  such  thing,  into  the  face  of  H.R.H. 
Prince  Robert,  the  King's  eldest  son. 

His  Royal  Highness  was  in  a  furious  rage,  although  his  brothers 
declared  that  they  were  only  in  play ;  but  he  swore  that  they  had 
insulted  him  ;  that  his  papa  and  mamma  favoured  them  and  not  him, 
and  drawing  his  sword,  vowed  that  he  would  have  their  lives.  His 
Majesty  with  some  difficulty  got  the  young  Princes  out  of  the  way, 
but  nothing  would  appease '  Robert,  who  left  the  castle  vowing 
vengeance.  This  passionate  and  self-willed  young  man  was  called 
Coitrthose,  which  means  in  French  short  inexjyressihles,  and  he  was 
said  to  have  worn  shorts,  because  his  limbs  were  of  that  kind. 

Prince  Shorts  fled  to  a  castle  belonging  to  the  King  of  France, 
who  was  quite  jealous  of  Duke  Robert,  and  was  anxious  to  set  his 
family  by  the  ears ;  and  the  young  Prince  began  forthwith  robbing 
his  father's  dominions,  on  which  -ithat  nionarch  marched  with  an 
army  to  besiege  him  in  his  castle. 

Here  an  incident  befell,  which  while  it  shows  that  Prince 
Robert  (for  all  the  shortness  of  his  legs)  had  a  kind  and  brave 
heart,  will  at  the  same  time  point  out  to  my  beloved  pupils  the 
dangers — the  awful  dangers — of  disobedience.  Prince  Robert  and 
his  knights  sallied  out  one  day  against  the  besiegers,  and  engaged 
the  horsemen  of  their  jjarty.  Seeing  a  warrior  on  the  other  side 
doing  a  great  deal  of  execution.  Prince  Robert  galloped  at  him, 
sword  in  hand,  and  engaged  him.  Their  visors  were  down,  and 
they  banged  away  at  each  other,  like — like  good-uns.     [Hem;  hear.] 

At  last  Prince  Robert  hit  tlie  other  such  a  blow  that  he  felled 
him  from  his  horse,  and  the  big  man  tumbling  off  cried  "Oh, 
murder  ! "  or  "  Oh,  I'm  done  for  !  "  or  something  of  the  sort. 

Fancy  the  consternation  of  Prince  Robert  when  he  recognised 
the  voice  of  his  own  father  !  He  flung  himself  off  his  saddle  as 
quick  as  his  little  legs  would  let  him,  ran  to  his  father,  knelt  down 
before  him,  besought  him  to  forgive  him,  and  begged  him  to  take 
his  horse  and  ride  home.  The  King  took  the  horse,  but  I  am  sorry 
to  say  he  only  abused  his  son,  and  rode  home  as  sulky  as  possible. 

However  he  came  soon  to  be  in  a  good  humour,  acknowledged 
that  liis  son  Prince  Shortlegs  was  an  honest  fellow,  and  forgave 
him,  and  they  fought  some  Ijattles  together,  not  against  each  other, 
but  riding  bravely  side  by  side. 

So  having  prospered  in  all  his  undertakings,  and  being  a  great 
Prince  and  going  to  wage  war  against  the  French  King,  who  had 
offended  him,  and  whose  dominions  he  vowed  to  set  in  a  flame,  the 
famous  King  William  of  England,  having  grown  very  fat  in  his  old 
age,  received  a  hurt  while  riding,  which  made  him  put  a  stop  to 


2()  MISS    TICKLETOBY'S 

liis  projects  of  massacring  the  Frenchmen,  for  lie  felt  that  his  hour 
of  death  Avas  come. 

As  usual  aftci-  a  life  of  violence,  blood,  and  rapine,  he  began  to 
roi>ent  on  his  deatlibed  ;  uttered  some  religious  sentences  which  the 
cliroiiiclers  have  recorded,  and  gave  a  great  quantity  of  the  money 
which  he  had  robbed  from  the  people  to  the  convents  and  priests. 

The  moment  the  Vtreath  was  out  of  the  great  King's  liody,  all 
the  courtiers  ran  off  to  their  castles  ex])ecting  a  war.  All  the 
abbots  went  to  their  abbeys,  where  they  shut  themselves  uj).  All 
tlie  siiopkeepers  closed  their  stalls,  looking  out  for  riot  and  ]»lun(ler, 
and  tlie  King's  body  being  left  (juitc  alone,  the  servants  jiillagcd  the 
house  where  he  lay,  leaving  the  corpse  almost  naked  on  tlie  bed. 
And  this  was  the  way  they  served  the  greatest  man  in  Christendom ! 

\Much  sensation,  in  the  midst  of  which  the  Lecturer  retired. 


LECTURE    V 

WILLIAM    RUFUS 

JUST  before  the  breath  was  out  of  the  Conqueror's  body,  William 
Rufus,  his  second  son  (who  had  much  longer  legs  than  his  ht)nest 
elder  brother  Robert)  ran  over  to  England,  took  possession  of 
some  castles  and  his  fiither's  money,  and,  so  fortified,  had  himself 
proclaimed  King  of  England  without  any  difficulty.  Honest  Robert 
remained  Duke  of  Normandy ;  and  as  for  the  third  son.  Prince 
Henry,  though  not  so  handsomely  provided  for  as  his  elder  brothers, 
it  appears  he  managed  to  make  both  ends  meet  by  robbing  on  his 
own  account. 

"William's  conduct  on  getting  hold  of  the  crown  was  so  violent, 
that  some  of  the  nobles  whom  he  plundered  were  struck  with 
remorse  at  having  acknowledged  him  King  instead  of  honest  Court- 
hose,  his  elder  brother.  So  they  set  up  a  sort  of  rebellion,  which 
Rufus  quelled  pretty  easily,  appealing  to  the  people  to  support  him, 
and  i)romising  them  all  sorts  of  good  treatment  in  return.  The 
people  believed  him,  fought  for  him,  and  when  they  had  done  what 
he  wanted,  namely,  quelled  the  rebellion,  and  aided  him  in  seizing 
hold  of  several  of  Robert's  Norman  castles  and  towns — would  you 
believe  it  1 — William  treated  them  not  one  bit  better  than  before. 
[Cries  of  "  Shame  I  "] 

At  these  exclamations  Miss  Tickletoby  looked  round  very 
sternly.  Young  people,  young  people  (exclaimed  she),  I'm  aston- 
ished at  you.     Don't  you  know  that  such  cries  on  your  part  are 


LECTURES    ON    ENGLISH    HISTORY  27 

hi.^hly  improper  and  seditions'?  Don't  you  know  that  by  crying 
out  "  Slianie  !  "  in  that  way,  you  insult  not  only  every  monarch, 
but  every  ministry  that  ever  existed  1  Shame,  indeed  !  Shame 
on  t/ou,  for  daring  to  insult  our  late  excellent  Whig  Ministry,  our 
present  admiralile  Conservative  Cabinet,  Sir  Robert,  Lord  John, 
and  all,  every  minister  tliat  ever  governed  us.  They  all  promise 
to  better  us,  tliey  all  never  do  so.  Learn  respect  for  your  betters, 
young  p(!0j)le,  and  do  not  break  out  into  sucli  j)rematm-e  rebellion. 
[7'Ae  children  being  silent,  Miss  T.  jmf  on  a  less  severe  cou7ite-  ^ 
nance  ami  continued] — • 

I  will  tell  you  a  pleasant  joke  of  that  wag,  his  late  Majesty 
King  William  Rufus.  He  put  the  kingdom  into  a  great  fury 
against  the  Normans,  saying,  I  have  no  doubt,  that  they  were  our 
natural  enemies,  and  called  a  huge  army  together,  with  which, 
he  said,  he  would  go  and  annihilate  them.  Tlie  army  was  obliged 
to  assend:)le,  for  by  the  laws  of  the  country  each  nobleman,  knight, 
thane,  and  landholder  was  bound  according  to  the  value  of  his 
land  to  furnish  so  many  soldiers,  knowing  that  the  King  would 
come  down  on  their  estates  else  ;  and  so  being  all  come  together, 
and  ready  to  cross  the  water,  the  King  made  them  a  speech. 

"  Friends,  Countrymen,  and  Fellow  Soldiers  (said  he)  ;  com- 
panions of  my  toil,  my  feelings,  and  my  fame  ;  the  eyes  of  Europe 
are  upon  you.  You  are  about  to  embark  on  a  most  dangerous 
enterprise  ;  you  will  have  to  undergo  the  liorrors  of  a  sea  voyage, 
of  which  I  need  not  describe  to  you  the  discomforts  (the  army 
began  to  look  very  blue).  You  will  be  landed  in  a  hostile  country, 
which  has  been  laid  waste  by  me  already  in  my  first  invasions,  as 
also  by  the  accursed  policy  of  the  despot  who  governs  it.  [Cries 
of  "  Down  tvith  Robert  Shorthose  !  "  "  ])fo  tijrannj/  !  "  "  A^o 
Normans  !  "]  In  this  afflicted  naked  country  the  greater  part  of 
you  will  inevitably  starve ;  a  considerable  number  will  be  cut  to 
pieces  by  the  ferocious  Norman  soldiery ;  and  even  if  it  please 
Heaven  to  crown  my  just  cause  with  success,  what  will  ray 
triumph  benefit  yo^i,  my  friends  1  Yori,  will  be  none  the  better  for 
it ;  but  will  come  back  many  of  you  without  your  arms  and  legs, 
and  not  a  penny  richer  than  when  you  went.     [Immense  sensation.)^ 

"  Now,  I  appeal  to  you  as  men,  as  Englishmen,  as  fathers  of 
families,  will  it  not  be  better  to  make  a  peaceful  and  honourable 
compromise  than  to  enter  u])on  any  such  campaign  1  Yes  !  I  knew 
you  would  say  yes,  as  becomes  men  of  sense,  men  of  honour — 
Englishmen,  in  a  word.  [Hear,  hear.]  I  ask  you,  then— your 
sovereign  and  father  asks  you — will  it  not  be  better  to  pay  me 
ten  sliillings  apiece  all  round,  and  go  home  to  your  happy  families 
— to  your  lovely  wives,  who  will  thus  run  no  risk  of  losing  the 


28  MISS    TICKF.KTOl'.Y'S 

l)artnors  of  their  bods — to  .smiling  {■liildivn,  who  may  still  for  many, 
many  years  have  their  fathers  to  bless,  maintain,  and  educate  thenW 
Officers,  carry  the  hats  round,  and  take  the  sense  of  the  army." 

Putting  his  haiulkenthief  to  his  eyes,  the  beneticent  monarch 
here  sat  down  :  and  what  was  the  consequence  of  his  atiecting 
appeal  1  The  liats  were  sent  round — the  whole  army  saw  the 
propriety  of  subscribing — fifteen  thousand  pounds  were  paid  down 
on  the  spot — a  bloody  war  was  avoided — and  thus,  as  the  King 
said,  all  parties  were  benefited. 

For  all  this,  however,  he  was  not  long  before  he  had  tiiem  out 
again,  and  took  a  great  number  of  his  towns  and  castles  from  his 
brother  Robert.  At  last  he  got  possession  of  his  whole  dukedom ; 
for  at  this  time  all  Europe  was  seized  with  a  strange  fit  of  frenzy 
and  hatred  against  the  Turks  ;  one  Peter,  a  hermit,  went  abroad 
preaching  hatred  against  these  unbelievers,  and  the  necessity  of 
taking  Palestine  from  them,  and  murdering  every  mother's  .son  of 
them.  No  less  than  a  million  of  men  set  off  on  this  errand.  Three 
hundred  thousand  of  them  jnarched  ahead,  without  food  or  fore- 
tliought,  expecting  that  Heaven  would  i)rovide  them  with  nourish- 
ment on  their  march,  and  give  them  the  victory  over  the  Saracens. 
But  this  pious  body  was  cut  to  pieces ;  and  as  for  the  doings  of 
the  other  .seven  hundred  thousand,  what  heroes  commanded  them, 
what  dangers  they  overcame,  what  enchanters  they  destroyed,  how 
they  took  the  Holy  City,  and  what  came  of  their  conquest — all 
this  may  be  read  in  the  veracious  history  of  one  Tasso,  but  has 
nothing  to  do  with  the  history  of  William  Rufus. 

That  .shrewd  monarch  would  not  allow  his  islanders  to  meddle 
with  the  business ;  but  his  brother,  honest  Robert,  quite  sick  of 
fighting,  drinking,  and  governing  in  his  own  country,  longed  to  go 
to  Palestine,  and  having  no  money  (as  usual),  William  gave  him  a 
sum  for  which  the  other  handed  over  his  inheritance  to  him  ;  and 
so  Robert  was  got  rid  of,  and  William  became  King  of  England 
and  Duke  of  Normandy. 

But  he  did  not  keep  his  kingdoms  long.  There  is  a  tract  of 
land  called  the  New  Forest,  in  Hampshire,  which  has  been  called 
so  ever  since  the  Conqueror'.s  time.  Once  it  was  a  thriving  district 
covered  with  fanns  and  villages  and  churches,  with  many  people 
living  in  it.  But  conquering  King  William  had  a  fancy  to  have 
a  hunting-ground  there.  Churches  and  villages  he  bui'nt  down ; 
orchards  and  cornfields  he  laid  waste  ;  men,  women,  and  children 
he  drove  pitilessly  away,  and  gave  up  the  land  to  boar  and  deer. 
So  the  people  starved  and  died,  and  lie  had  his  hunting-gri)und. 
And  such  a  keen  sportsman  was  he,  and  so  tender  and  humane 
towards  tiie  ilumb  animals,  that  he  gave  orders,  if  any  man  killed 


LECTURES    ON    ENGLISH    HISTORY  29 

a  boar,  a  deer,  or  even  a  hare,  he  should  be  killed,  or  have  his  eyes 
13ut  out.  Up  to  a  late  period,  our  country  enjoyed  many  of  the 
blessings  of  that  noble  code  of  laws. 

His  Majesty  King  William  Rufus  loved  sport  as  well  as  his 
Royal  father,  and  this  New  Forest  above  all.  There  were  all  sorts 
of  legends  concerning  it.  The  people  said  (but  this  was,  no  doubt, 
from  their  superstitious  hatred  of  his  Majesty's  person  and  race), 
that,  on  account  of  the  crimes  the  Contjueror  had  committed  in  the 
spot,  it  was  destined  to  be  fatal  to  his  family.  One  of  Rufus's 
brothers,  and  his  nephew,  were  actually  killed  while  hunting  there  ; 
and  one  morning  in  the  year  1100,  wlien  his  Majesty  was  going 
out  hunting,  a  monk  came  and  prophesied  death  to  him,  and  warned 
him  to  stay  at  home. 

But  the  scent  was  lying  well  on  the  ground ;  the  King  ordered 
the  prophet  a  purse  of  money,  and  rode  off  with  his  dogs. 

He  was  found  dead  in  the  wood,  with  an  arrow  in  his  breast ; 
and  nobody  knows  who  shot  it :  and  what's  more,  my  loves,  I  fear 
nobody  cares.  A  Frenchman  by  the  name  of  Tyrrell  Avas  supposed 
to  have  done  the  deed  ;  but  Tyrrell  denied  the  charge  altogether. 
His  Royal  Highness  Prince  Henry  was  hunting  with  the  King  when 
the  accident  took  place,  and  as  poor  Robert  Shorthose  was  away 
fighting  the  Turks,  Prince  Henry  slipped  into  his  brother's  shoes, 
and  ruled  over  the  land  of  England. 

Talking  about  shoes,  a  dreadful  religious  disturbance  occurred  in 
England  a  propos  de  bottes.  It  was  the  fashion  to  wear  these  Avith 
immense  long  toes ;  and  the  priests,  who  could  pardon  all  sorts  of 
crimes,  wouldn't  pardon  the  long-toed  boots.  You  laugh  ?  It  is  a 
fact,  upon  my  word ;  and  what  is  more,  tliese  popes  and  priests, 
who  could  set  up  kings  and  pull  them  down,  and  send  off  millions 
of  people*  to  fight  in  crusades,  never  were  strong  enough  to  overcome 
the  long-toed  boots.  The  Fashion  was  stronger  than  the  Pope  ; 
and  long  toes  continued  to  flourish  in  spite  of  his  curses,  and  never 
yielded  a  single  inch  until — until  Squaee-toes  came  in. 


LECTURE   VI 
HENRY  I.— MAUDE— STEPHEN— HENRY  II. 

WE  have  stdl  a  little  more  to  hear  of  honest  Robert  Shorthose. 
With  his  usual  luck,  the  poor  fellow  came  posting  back 
from  Jerusalem,  a  month  after  his  brother  Henry  had 
taken  possession  of  the  English  crown  ;  and  though  at  first  he  made 
a  great  noise,  and  got  an  army  together,  with  which,  as  he  was  a 


30  MISS    TICKLETOBY'S 

valiant  captain,  iio  niiij;ht  have  done  liis  brotlier  sonio  hurt,  yet  the 
hitter  punthased  him  off  with  some  money,  of  which  Siiorthose  was 
always  in  want,  and  tlie  tw^o  came  to  a  compromise,  it  being  agreed 
that  Robert  shoukl  keep  Normandy,  and  Henry  England,  and  that 
the  survivor  should  have  both. 

So  Shorthose  went  home  with  the  money  his  brother  gave  him, 
and  lived  and  matle  merry  as  long  as  it  lasted ;  and  the  historians 
say  that  he  was  such  a  spendthrift  of  a  fellow,  and  kept  such  a 
Castle  Rackrent  of  a  house,  that  he  was  comjjelled  to  lie  in  bed 
several  days  for  want  of  a  pair  of  breeches. 

[Much   litiujhter  at  the  imperturhed  way  in   which   Miss 
TicKLETOBY  j»>roH6i?i«r«Z  the  fatal  laord  "breeches." 

But  Henry,  for  all  the  agreement,  would  not  let  his  brother 
keep  i)ossession  of  that  fine  Dukedom  of  Normandy.  He  pi(!ked 
continual  quarrels  with  him,  and  ended  by  taking  ])OSsession  of  the 
Duchy,  and  of  Shortlegs,  in  si)ite  of  his  bravery,  whom  he  shut  up 
in  a  castle,  where  he  lived  for  near  five-and-twenty  years  after.  His 
fixte  inspires  one  with  some  regret,  for  he  was  a  frank  open  fellow, 
and  had  once,  in  a  siege,  saved  fi-om  starvation  this  very  brother 
who  robbed  him ;  but  he  was  a  fool,  and  did  not  know  how  to 
keep  what  he  had,  and  Henry  was  wise;  so  it  was  better  for 
all  parties  that  poor  Shortlegs  should  go  to  the  wall.  Peace 
be  with  him  !  We  shall  hear  no  more  of  him  ;  but  it  is  some- 
thing in  the  midst  of  all  these  lying,  swindling  tyrants  and  knaves, 
to  find  a  man  who,  dissolute  and  brutal  as  he  was,  was  yet  an 
honest  fellow. 

King  Henry,  the  first  of  his  name,  was,  from  his  scholarship 
(which,  I  take  it,  was  no  great  things  ;  and  am  sure  that  many  a 
young  lady  in  this  seminary  knows  more  than  ever  he  did),  sur- 
named  Beauclerc — a  sharp,  shifty  fellow,  steering  clear  amidst  all 
the  glooms  and  troubles  of  his  times,  and  somehow  always  arriving 
at  his  end.  He  was  admired  by  all  Europe  for  his  wisdom.  He 
had  two  fair  kingdoms  which  had  once  been  riotous  and  disorderly, 
but  which  he  made  quiet  and  profitable ;  and  that  there  might  be 
no  doubts  about  the  succession  to  the  throne,  he  caused  his  son, 
Prince  William,  to  be  crowned  co-king  with  him,  and  thus  put  the 
matter  beyond  a  doubt. 

There  was,  however,  one  obstacle,  and  this  was  the  death  of 
Prince  William.  He  was  drowned,  and  his  father  never  smiled 
after.  And  after  all  his  fighting  and  shufliing,  and  swindling  and 
cleverness  and  care,  he  had  to  die  and  leave  his  throne  to  be  fought 
for  between  his  daughter,  and  his  nejjhew,  one  Stephen  ;  of  the 
particulars  of  whose  reign  it  need  only  be  said,  that  they  fought 
for  the  crown,  like  the  Devil  and  the  baker,  and  sometimes  one  had 


LECTURES    ON    ENGLISH    HISTORY  31 

it  and  sometimes  tlie  other.     At  last  Stephen  died,  and  Maude's 
son,  Henry  II.,  came  to  reigu  over  us  in  the  year  1154. 

He  was  a  great  prince,  wise,  brave,  and  tender-hearted  ;  and  he 
would  have  done  much  for  his  country,  too,  which  was  attached  to 
him,  if  the  clergy  and  the  ladies*  had  left  him  a  moment's  peace. 

For  a  delicate  female — [a  blush  covered  Miss  T.'s  coiintenance 
with  roses  as  she  sjwke] — the  subject  which  I  am  now  called  upon 
to  treat  is — ahem  ! — somewhat  dangerous.  The  fact  is,  the  King 
had  married  in  very  early  life  a  lady  possessing  a  vast  deal  of  money, 
but  an  indifterent  reputation,  and  who,  having  been  wicked  when 
young,  became  very  jealous  being  old,  as  I  am  given  to  understand 
is  not  unfrequently  the  case  with  my  interesting  sex. 

Queen  Eleanor  bore  four  sons  to  her  husband,  who  was  dotingly 
fond  of  them  all,  and  did  not,  I  h^ve  reason  to  suppose,  bestow 
upon  them  that  coi^rection — [a  great  sensation  in  the  school^ — 
which  is  necessary  for  all  young  people,  to  prevent  their  becoming 
self-willed  and  licentious  in  manhood.  Such,  I  am  sorry  to  say, 
were  all  the  young  Princes.  The  elder,  whom,  to  prevent  mis- 
takes, his  father  had  crowned  during  his  lifetime,  no  sooner  was 
crowned,  than  he  modestly  proposed  to  his  father  to  give  up  his 
kingdom  to  him,  and  Avhen  he  refused,  rebelled,  and  fled  to  the 
King  of  France  for  protection.  All  his  brothers  rebelled,  too  ; — ■- 
there  was  no  end  to  the  trouble  and  perplexity  which  the  unhappy 
King  had  to  sufter. 

I  have  said  that  the  Queen  was  jealous,  and,  oh  !  I  am  ashamed 
to  confess,  when  speaking  of  his  late  Sacred  Majesty,  a  King  of 
England,  that  the  Queen,  in  this  instance,  had  good  cause.  A 
worthless,  wicked,  naughty,  abandoned,  i)rofligate,  vile,  improper, 
good-for-nothing  creature,  whom  historians,  forsooth,  have  handed 
down  to  us  under  the  name  of  Fair  Rosamund — (Fair  Rosamund, 
indeed  !  a  pretty  pass  things  are  come  to,  when  hussies  like  this 
are  to  be  bepraised  and  bei)itie(l !) — I  say,  a  most  wicked,  horrid, 
and  abandoned  person,  by  name  Miss  Rosamund  Clifford,  had  weaned 
the  King's  affections  from  iiis  lady.  Queen  Eleanor. 

Suppose  she  was  old  and  contumacious :  *  do  not  people  marry 
"for  better,  for  worse"?  Suppose  she  had  a  bad  temper,  and  a 
worse  character,  when  the  King  married  her  Majesty  :  did  not  he 
know  what  sort  of  a  wife  he  was  taking? — A  pretty  pass  would 
the  world  come  to,  if  men   were   allowed  to  give  up  their  wives 

*  We  grieve  to  remark  that  Miss  Tickletoby,  with  a  violence  of  language 
that  is  not  uncommon  amongst  the  pure  and  aged  of  her  sex,  loses  no  oppor- 
tunity of  twitting  Queen  Eleanor,  and  abusing  Fair  Rosamund.  Surely  that 
unhappy  woman's  fate  ought  to  disarm  some  of  the  wrath  of  the  virgin 
Tickletoby. 


32  MISS    TICKLETOBY'S 

bocaiise  tlioy  Avoro  ill-tcinpered,  or  go  liankering  alter  other  people's 
ladies  because  their  own  were  a  little  plain,  or  so  ! 

l^Tnwiense   ap])lause  from   the   ladies  present.     And  it   uhis 

here  remarked- — though  loe  do  not  believe  a  xvo7xi  of  the 

story — that  Mrs.  Binks  looked  ^xirticularly  hard  at  Mr. 

BiNKS,  sayiiKj,  "  B.,  do  yon,  hear   that?"   and  Binks, 

on  his  part,  looked  'jiarticularly  foolish. 
How  this  intimacy  with  this  disreputable  Miss  Clifford  com- 
menced, or  how  long  it  endured,  is  of  little  matter  to  us  :  but,  my 
friends,  it  is  quite  clear  to  you,  that  such  a  connection  could  not 
long  escape  the  vigilance  of  a  watcliful  and  affectionate  wife.  'Tis 
true,  Henry  took  this  person  to  Woodstock,  where  he  shut  her  up 
in  a  castle  or  labyrinth  :  but  he  went  to  see  her  often — and,  I 
appeal  to  any  lady  here,  could, her  husband,  could  any  man,  make 
continual  visits  to  Woodstock,  which  is  five  and  forty  miles  from 
London,  without  exciting  suspicion  1     \_]S[o,  no  !] 

"  It  can't  be  to  buy  gloves,"  thought  her  injured  Majesty,  Queen 
Eleanor,  "  that  he  is  always  travelling  to  that  odious  Woodstock  :  " 
— and  she  sent  her  emissaries  out ;  and  what  was  the  consequence  1 
she  found  it  was  not  glove-making  that  the  King  was  anxious 
about — but  glove-making  without  the  g  I  She  instantly  set  oft" 
to  Woodstock  as  fast  as  the  coach  would  carry  her;  she  pro- 
cured admission  into  the  place  where  this  saucy  hussy  was,  and, 
drawing  from  her  pocket  a  dagger  and  a  bowl  of  poison,  she  bade 
her  to  take  one  or  the  other.  She  preferred,  it  is  said  the  prussic 
acid,  and  died,  I  have  no  doubt,  in  extreme  agonies,  from  the 
effects  of  the  draught.  [Cries  of  Shame  !  "]  Shame  ! — who  cries 
shame?  I  say,  in  the  name  of  injured  woman,  that,  considering 
the  rude  character  of  the  times,  when  private  revenge  was  practised 
commonly,  Queen  Eleanor  served  the  woman  right  !  ["  Hear, 
hear  !  "  from  the  ladies  ;  "  No,  No  !  "  from  the  men  ;  i7nmense 
uproar  from  the  scholars  in  general.^ 

After  this,  for  his  whole  life  long,  Henry  never  had  a  moment's 
quiet.  He  was  always  fighting  one  son  or  other,  or  all  of  them 
together,  with  the  King  of  France  at  their  back.  He  was  almost 
always  victorious ;  but  he  was  of  a  forgiving  temper,  and  the  young 
men  began  and  rebelled  as  soon  as  he  had  set  them  free.  In  the 
midst  of  one  of  these  attacks  by  one  of  the  Princes,  an  attack  was 
made  upon  the  young  man  of  a  sort  which  neither  young  nor  old 
can  parry.  He  was  seized  with  a  fever,  and  died.  He  besought 
his  father's  forgiveness  when  dying,  but  his  death  does  not  appear 
to  have  altered  his  brothers'  ways,  and  at  last,  of  a  sheer  broken 
heart  at  their  perverseness,  it  seems  that  Henry  himself  died :  nor 
would  he  forgive  his  sons  their  shameful  conduct  to  him. 


LECTURES    ON    ENGLISH    HISTORY  33 

And  whom  had  he  to  thank  for  all  this  disobedience  1  Himself 
and  Fair  Rosamund.  Yes,  I  repeat  it,  if  he  had  not  been  smitten 
witli  her,  the  Queen  would  not  have  been  jealous ;  if  she  had  not 
been  jealous,  she  would  not  have  quarrelled  with  him ;  if  she  had 
not  quarrelled  with  him,  she  would  not  have  induced  her  sons  to 
resist  him,  and  he  might  have  led  an  easy  and  comfortable  life,  and 
have  bettered  thus  the  kingdoms  he  governed. 

Take  care,  then,  my  dear  young  friends,  if  yoii  are  called  upon 
to  govern  kingdoms,  or  simply,  as  is  more  probable,  to  go  into 
genteel  businesses  and  keep  thriving  shops,  take  care  never  to  offend 
your  wives.  [Hear,  hear.]  Think  of  poor  King  Henry,  and  all 
the  sorrows  he  brought  upon  himself; — and  in  order  not  to  offend 
your  wives,  the  best  thing  you  can  do  is  to  be  very  gentle  to  them, 
and  do  without  exception  every  single  thing  they  bid  you. 

At  the  end  of  this  Lecture,  several  ladies  present  came  up,  and 
shook  Miss  Tickletoby  by  the  hand,  saying  they  never  heard  better 
doctrine.  But  the  gentlemen,  it  must  be  confessed,  made  very  light 
of  the  excellent  lady's  opinions,  and  one  of  them  said  that,  after  her 
confession,  even  if  she  were  young  and  handsome,  nobody  would  ask 
her  to  marry. 

"  Nobody  wants  you,  sir,"  said  Miss  Tickletoby ;  and  she  was 
more  than  usually  rigid  in  her  treatment  of  that  gentleman's  little  boy 
the  next  day. 


LECTURE   VII 

RICHARD    THE    FIRST 

The  danger  of  extolling  too  much  the  qualities  of  a  warrior— In  kings  they  are 
more  especially  to  be  reprehended — Frightful  picture  of  war — Its  conse- 
quences to  men — To  women — Horrible  danger  that  Miss  Tickletoby  might 
have  undergone— The  Crusades — Jealousy  of  Philip  Augustus — Gallantry 
of  Richard — Saladin,  his  character,  and  the  reverence  entertained  for  him 
by  the  British  monarch  —  Ascalon  —  Jerusalem  —  Richard's  return  from 
Palestine — His  captivity — Romantic  circumstances  attending  his  ransom— 
His  death — A  passing  reflection. 

THIS  is  a  prince,  my  dear  young  creatures,  whom  I  am  afraid 
some  of  you.  Master  Spry  especially,  will  be  inclined  to 
admire  vastly,  for  he  was  as  quarrelsome  and  brave  a  man  as 
ever  lived.  He  was  fighting  all  his  life  long— fighting  his  brothers, 
figliting  his  father,  fighting  with  anybody  who  would  fight,  and,  I 
have  no  doubt,  domineering  over  anybody  who  wouldn't.     When  his 


34  MISS    TICKLETOBY'S 

poor  old  father,  wearied  out  by  tlic  quarrels  of  his  sons,  the  intrigues 
of  the  i)riests,  and  tlie  ceaseless  cares  and  anxieties  of  reigning,  died 
in  sadness  and  sorrow,  he  left  Prince  Richard,  surnanied  Lion- 
Heart,  Ids  kingdom,  and  his  cnu'se  along  with  it,  he  having  acted 
so  undutifully  towards  him,  and  eml)ittered  the  last  years  of  his 
life. 

Richard  was  exceedingly  sorry  for  the  pain  he  had  caused  Ins 
father,  and,  instead  of  revenging  himself  upon  his  father's  Ministers 
(who  had  treated  him  as  severely  as  they  could  during  King  Henry's 
reign,  and  who  now,  I  dare  say,  quaked  in  their  shoes  lest  King 
Ricliard  should  deal  hardly  by  them),  he  of  the  lion-heart  kept 
them  in  their  places — and  good  places,  let  us  be  sure,  they  were ; 
and  said  that  they  had  done  their  duty  by  his  father,  and  would  no 
doubt  be  as  faithful  to  him.  For,  truth  to  say,  Richard  had  a 
heart  which  harboured  no  malice ;  all  he  wanted  was  plenty  of 
figliting,  which  he  conducted  in  perfect  good-humour. 

Master  Spri/.   Hurra  !  that's  your  sort. 

Silence,  Master  Spry,  you  silly  boy,  you.  It  may  be  very  well 
for  Mr.  Cribb,  or  the  Most  Noble  the  Marquis  of  Wat — ford,  to 
rejoice  in  punclung  people's  heads  and  breaking  their  noses,  and  to 
shake  hands  before  and  after;  but  kings  have  other  duties  to  attend  to, 
as  we  nowadays  know  very  well.  Now  suppose  you  were  to  break  a 
score  of  lamps  in  the  street,  or  to  twist  off  as  many  knockers,  or  to 
knock  down  and  injure  a  policeman  or  two,  who  Avould  be  called  on, 
as  you  have  never  a  sixpence  in  your  pocket,  to  pay  the  damage  1 

Master  tS])?-//.     Pa  'd  pay,  of  course. 

Yes,  rather  than  see  you  on  the  treadmill,  he  would ;  and  so, 
my  dears,  it's  the  case  with  these  great  kings — they  fight,  but  we 
have  to  pay.  The  poor  subjects  suffer :  the  men,  who  have  no 
(piarrel  with  any  ])rince  in  Christendom — as  how  should  they,  never 
having  seen  one  ■? — nuist  pay  taxes  in  the  first  {ilace,  and  then  must 
go  and  fight,  and  be  shot  at  and  die,  leaving  us  poor  women,  their 
wives  and  daughters,  to  deplore  their  loss,  and  to  nurse  their 
wounds  when  they  come  home.  Some  forty  years  since  (when  I 
was  young,  my  loves,  and  reported  to  be  extremely  good-looking). 
King  Bonaparte  and  the  French  were  on  the  point  of  invading 
this  country.  Fancy  what  a  situation  we  should  have  been  in  had 
tliey  come — the  horrid  monsters !  My  mind  shudders  at  the  very 
idea  even  now.  Fancy  my  dear  father,  the  ensign  of  volunteers, 
brought  home  wounded — dying.  Fancy  a  dozen  of  horrible  soldiers 
billeted  in  the  house.  Fancy  some  tall  ferocious  Frencli  general, 
with  great  black  whiskers  —  Bonaparte  himself,  very  likely,  or 
Marshal  Ney,  at  the  very  least — falling  in  love  with  a  beauteous 
young  creature,  and  insisting  upon  lier  mari'ying  him  '      My  loves. 


LECTURES    ON    ENGLISH    HISTORY  3.5 

I    would   have  flung   myself  off  London    Bridge   first.      [Immense 
cheerinf/,  j^rt  of  which,  however,  seemed  to  he  ironical.^ 

Sncii — such  is  war  !  and,  for  my  part,  I  profess  the  greatest 
alihorrence  of  all  such  dreadful  kinds  of  glory ;  and  hope  for  the 
days  when  cocked-liats  and  bayoiiets  will  only  be  kept  as  curiosities 
in  nuiseums,  and  scarlet  cloth  will  be  kept  to  make  cloaks  for  old 
women. 

But  to  return  to  King  Richard — though  he  professed  to  be 
very  sorry  for  his  turbulent  conduct  during  his  father's  reign,  his 
sorrow  did  not  lead  him  to  mend  his  ways  at  all ;  as,  alas  !  is 
usual  with  all  quarrelsome  people.  The  very  first  thing  he  did 
was  to  prepare  for  a  great  fight;  and  in  order  to  get  money  for 
this,  he  not  only  taxed  his  people  very  severely,  but  sold  for  a 
trifle  tlie  kingdom  of  Scotland,  which  his  father  had  won.  I  don't 
know  what  the  sum  was  which  might  be  considered  as  trifling  for 
the  purchase  of  that  country,*  and  indeed  historians  difi'er  about 
it :  but  I  leave  you  to  imagine  how  hardly  he  must  have  been  pressed 
for  coin,  when  he  could  bring  such  an  article  as  that  to  pawn. 

What  was  called  the  Christian  world  then  was  about  this  time 
bent  upon  taking  Jerusalem  out  of  the  hands  of  the  Turks,  who 
possessed  it,  and  banded  together  in  immense  numbers  for  this 
purpose.  Many  of  the  princes  so  leagued  were  as  false,  wicked, 
and  tyrannous  men  as  ever  lived ;  but  Richard  Coeur-de-Lion  had 
no  artifice  at  all  in  his  nature,  and  entered  into  the  undertaking, 
whi(;h  he  thought  a  godly  one,  with  all  his  heart  and  soul.  To 
batter  out  Turks'  brains  with  his  great  axe  seemed  to  him  the 
height  of  Christianity,  and  no  man  certainly  performed  this  question- 
able duty  better  than  he.  He  and  the  King  of  France  were  the 
leaders  of  the  crusade ;  but  the  latter,  being  jealous,  or  prudent,  or 
disgusted  with  the  enterprise,  went  sjieedily  back  to  his  kingdom, 
and  left  all  the  glory  and  all  the  fighting  to  King  Richard.  There 
never  was,  they  .say,  such  a  strong  and  valiant  soldier  seen.  In 
Ijattle  after  battle  the  Turks  gave  way  before  him,  and  especially  at 
the  siege  of  Ascalon,  he  and  his  army  slew  no  less  than  forty  thousand 
Saracens,  and  defeated  consequently  Sultan  Saladin,  their  leader. 

In  the  intervals  of  fighting  it  seems  that  a  great  number  of 
politenesses  passed  between  these  two  princes  :  for  when  Richard 
was  ill,  Saladin  sent  him  a  box  of  pills  from  his  own  particular 
druggist ;  and  as  for  Richard,  it  is  said  at  one  time  that  he  wanted 

*  Miss  Tickletoby's  extreme  prejudice  against  Scotland  and  the  Scotch  may 
Vie  accounted  for  by  the  fact,  that  an  opposition  academy  to  hers  was  kept  by 
Mr.  M'Whirter,  who,  report  .says,  once  paid  his  addresses  to  Miss  T.  Having 
Miccceded  in  drawing  off  a  considerable  number  of  her  pupils  to  his  school,  Mr. 
M'W.  at  once  discontinued  his  suit. 
5 

\ 


36  MISS    TICKLETOBY'S 

to  kniglit  the  gallant  Saracen,  as  though  for  all  the  world  he  were 
an  Alderman  or  a  Koyal  Academician.  And  though  the  Lion- 
heartod  King  felt  it  his  Christian  duty  to  pursue  the  Turk,  and 
knock  liis  brains  out  if  he  could  catch  him,  yet  he  would  not  deny 
tliat  he  was  a  noble  and  generous  prince,  and  admired  him  more  than 
any  sovereign  in  his  own  camp.    Wasn't  it  magnanimous?    Oh,  very! 

At  last,  after  a  great  number  of  victories,  Richard  came  in  sight 
of  the  City  of  Jerusalem,  which  was  strongly  fortified  by  the 
Turkisli  Sultan ;  and  there  the  Lion-hearted  King  had  the  mis- 
fortune to  find  that  there  was  not  a  single  chance  for  him  ever  to 
win  it.  His  army,  by  the  number  of  glorious  victories,  was  wasted 
away  greatly.  The  other  kings,  dukes,  and  potentates,  his  allies, 
grumbled  sadly ;  and  the  end  Avas,  that  he  was  obliged  to  march 
back  to  the  sea  again — and  you  may  fancy  Sultan  Saladin's  looks 
as  he  went  off. 

So  he  quitted  the  country  in  disguise,  and  in  disgust  too — (as 
for  his  army,  never  mind  what  became  of  that :  if  we  lose  our  time 
])itying  the  common  soldiers,  we  may  cry  till  we  are  as  old  as 
Metliuselah,  and  not  get  on) — Richard,  I  say,  quitted  tlie  country 
in  disguise  and  disgust,  and,  in  company  with  a  faithful  friend  or 
two,  made  for  home. 

But  as  he  was  travelling  through  Austria,  he  was  recognised  by 
some  people  in  that  country,  and  seized  upon  by  the  Duke  of 
Austria,  who  hated  him,  and  clapi)ed  him  without  any  ceremony 
into  prison.  And,  I  dare  say,  while  there  he  heartily  regretted 
that,  instead  of  coming  home  over  land,  he  hadn't  at  once  taken 
the  steamer  to  Malta,  and  so  got  home  that  way. 

Fancy  then,  my  beloved  hearers,  this  great  but  unhappy 
monarch  in  prison  : — 

Fancy  him,  in  a  prison  dress  very  likely,  made  to  take  his  turn 
on  the  mill  with  other  offenders,  and  to  live  on  a  pint  of  gruel  and 
a  penny  loaf  a  day ;  he  who  had  been  accustomed  to  the  best  of 
victuals,  and  was,  if  we  may  credit  the  lat'e  celebrated  Sir  Walter 
Scott,  particularly  partial  to  wine  !  There  he  was — a  king — a  great 
warrior — but  lately  a  leader  of  hundreds  of  thousands  of  men,  a 
captive  in  an  odious  penitentiary  !  Where  was  his  army  1  again 
one  can't  help  thinking.  Oh,  never  mind  them :  they  were  done 
for  long  since,  and  out  of  their  pain.  So  you  see  it  is  King  Richard 
who  is  tlie  object  of  compassion,  for  he  tvasn't  killed. 

I  am  led  to  believe  that  the  prison  regimen  in  Austria  was  not 
so  severe  as  it  is  nowadays  with  us,  when  if  a  prisoner  were  heard 
singing,  or  playing  the  fiddle,  he  would  be  prettily  tickled  by  the 
gaoler's  cane ;  for  it  appears  that  King  Richard  had  the  command 
of  a  piano,  and  was  in  the  habit  of  playing  upon  the  guitar.     It  is 


LECTURES    ON    ENGLISH    HISTORY  37 

probable  that  the  Duke  of  Austria  thought  there  could  be  no  harm 
in  his  amusing  himself  in  the  lonely  place  in  which,  unknown  to  all 
the  world,  King  Richard  was  shut. 

As  for  his  subjects,  I  don't  know  whether  they  missed  him 
very  much.  But  I  have  remarked  that  we  pretty  speedily  get 
accustomed  to  the  absence  of  our  kings  and  royal  families ;  and 
though,  for  instance,  there  is  our  beloved  Duke  of  Cumberland  gone 
away  to  be  King  of  Hanover,  yet  we  manage  to  bear  our  separation 
from  that  august  prince  with  tolerable  resignation. 

Well,  it  was  lucky  for  the  King  that  he  was  allowed  his  piano  ; 
for  it  chanced  that  a  poor  wandering  minstrel  (or  organ-grinder,  we 
should  call  him),  who  had  no  doubt  been  in  the  habit  of  playing 
tunes  before  the  King's  palace  in  Saint  James's  Street, — for,  you 
know,  the  new  police  wasn't  yet  invented,  to  drive  him  off — I  say 
the  organ-grinder  Blundell  happened  to  be  passing  by  this  very 
castle  in  Austria  where  Richard  was,  and  seeing  a  big  house, 
thought  he  might  as  well  venture  a  tune;  so  he  began- that  sweet 
one  "Cherry  ripe,  che-erry  ripe,  ri-ip  I  cry-y;"  and  the  Austrian 
soldiers,  who  were  smoking  their  pipes,  and  are  very  fond  of  music, 
exclaimed  "  Potztausend,  was  ist  das  fiir  ein  herrliches  Lied?" 

When  Richard  heard  that  well-known  melody,  which  in  happier 
days  he  had  so  often  heard  Madame  Vestris  sing,*  he  replied  at 
once  on  the  piano  with  "  Home,  sweet  Home." 

"  Hullo ! "  says  Blondell,  or  Blundell,  "  there  must  be  an 
Englishman  here,  and  straightway  struck  up  "  Rule  Britannia " — 
"  When  Britain  feh-eh-eh-erst  at  He-evn's  command,"  &c. — to  which 
the  King  answered  by  "  God  save  the  King." 

"Can  it  be — is  it  possible? — no — yes — is  it  really  our  august 
monarch  1 "  thought  the  minstrel — and  his  fine  eyes  filled  with  tears 
as  he  ground  the  sweet  air,  "  Who  are  you  1 " 

To  which  the  King  answered  by  a  fantasia  composed  of  the  two 
tunes  "  The  King,  God  bless  him,"  and  "  Dicky  Gossip,  Dicky  Gossip 
is  the  man  " — for  though  his  name  wasnH  Gossip,  yet  you  see  he 
had  no  other  way  of  explaining  himself. 

Convinced  by  these  melodies,  Mr.  Blundell  replied  rapidly  by 
"  Charlie  is  my  Darling,"  "  All's  Well,"  "  We  only  part  to  meet 
again,"  and,  in  short,  with  every  other  tune  which  nught,  as  he 
thought,  console  the  royal  prisoner.  Then  (only  stopping  to  make 
a  rapid  collection  at  the  gate)  he  posted  back  to  London  as  fast  as 
his  legs  would  carry  him,  and  told  the  Parliament  there  that  he 
had  discovered  the  place  where  our  adored  monarch  was  confined. 

Immense  collections  were  instantly  made  throughout  the  country 

•  This  settles  the  great  question,  mooted  every  week  in  the  Sunday  Times, 
as  to  the  age  of  that  lady. 


38  MISS    TICKLETOBY'S 

— soino  suhscril)0(l  of  tlieir  own  at-conl,  others  were  inade  to  subscribe; 
and  the  Emperor  ofClerniany,  who  was  made  aoiuaintcd  with  the  fact, 
now,  though  the  Duke  of  Austria  had  never  said  a  word  about  it  pre- 
viously, caused  the  hxtter  prince  to  give  up  his  prisoner ;  and  I  be- 
Hevc  liis  Imperial  Majesty  took  a  good  part  of  tlie  ransom  to  himself 

Thus  at  last,  after  years  of  weary  captivity,  our  gracious  King 
Richard  w^as  restored  to  us.  Fancy  how  glad  he  must  have  been 
to  see  Hyde  Park  once  more,  and  how  joyful  and  happy  his  people 
were  ! — I  dare  say  he  vowed  never  to  quit  Buckingham  Palace 
again,  and  to  remain  at  home  and  make  his  people  happy. 

But  do  you  suppose  men  so  easily  change  their  natures  1 
Fiddlestick ! — in  about  a  month  King  Richard  was  fighting  in 
France  as  hard  as  ever,  and  at  last  was  killed  before  a  small  castle 
which  he  was  besieging.  He  did  not  pass  six  months  in  England  in 
the  wliole  course  of  his  four  years'  reign  :  he  did  more  luirm  to  the 
country  than  many  a  worse  king  could  do ;  and  yet  he  was  loved  by 
his  people  for  his  gallantry ;  and  somehow,  although  I  know  it  is 
wrong,  I. can't  help  having  a  sneaking  regard  for  him,  too. 

My  loves,  it  is  time  that  you  should  go  to  play. 

[Imviense  enthusiasm,  in  the  midst  of  which  Miss  T.  retires. 


LECTURE  VIII 

AS  it  is  by  no  means  my  wish  to  .say  anything  disrespectful  of 
l\  any  sovereign  who  ever  ascended  the  British  throne,  we  must, 
^  *■  my  loves,  pass  over  the  reign  of  his  late  Majesty  King  John 
as  brietiy  as  possible ;  for,  between  ourselves,  a  greater  rascal  never 
lived.  You  have  many  of  you  read  of  his  infamous  conduct  to 
Rowena,  Cedric  the  Saxon,  and  others,  in  the  history  of  Sir  Wilfrid 
of  Ivanhoe ;  and  I  fear  there  are  other  facts,  though  perhaps  not  on 
So  good  autliority,  which  are  still  more  disreputable. 

In  the  plays  of  the  ingenious  Shakspeare,  some  of  which  I  have 
seen  at  Covent  Garden,  his  Majesty's  nephew,  Prince  Arthur,  is 
made  to  climb  over  a  canvas  wall  of  about  three  feet  high,  and  die 
lamentably  of  the  fall  in  a  ditch,  in  which  a  mattress  has  been  laid  ; 
l)ut  the  truth,  I  fear,  is,  that  Prince  Arthur  did  not  commit  suicide 
voluntary  or  involuntary,  but  that  his  Royal  Uncle  killed  him,  for 
Ills  Royal  Highness  was  the  son  of  his  Majesty's  elder  brother,  and, 
by  consequence,  our  rightful  king.  Well,  well,  there  are  ugly 
stories  about  high  personages  at  Court,  and  you  know  it  makes  very 
little  difterence  to  either  of  the  i)rinces,  now,  which  reigned  and 


LECTURES    ON    ENGLISH    HISTORY  39 

which  didn't ;  and  I  dare  say,  if  the  truth  were  known,  King  John 
by  this  time  is  heartily  sorry  for  his  conduct  to  his  august  nephew. 

It  may  be  expected  that  I  should  speak  in  this  place  of  a 
celebrated  document  signed  in  this  reign,  by  some  called  the  com- 
mencement of  our  liberties,  by  ethers  Magna  Charta.  You  may 
read  this  very  paper  or  parchment  at  the  Britisli  Museum  any  day 
you  please,  and  if  you  find  anything  in  it  about  our  liberties,  I  am 
a  Dutchman — that  is,  a  Dutchwoman  [hear,  hear~\  ;  whereas,  as  the 
Register  of  Saint  Bartliolomew's,  Smithfield,  of  the  year  seventeen 
liundred  and — ahem  ! — as  the  Register,  I  say,  proves,  I  am  a  Briton, 
and  glory  in  the  title. 

The  Poj)e  of  Rome  who  lived  in  those  days  was  almost  as 
facetious  a  person  as  Pope  Gregory,  of  whom  before  we  have  spoken  ; 
and  what  do  you  think  he  did  1  I'm  blessed  if  he  did  not  make  a 
present  of  the  kingdom  of  England  to  the  King  of  France  !  [i7timense 
lnH(jhter\  then  afterwards  he  made  a  present  of  it  to  King  John 
very  kindly ;  and  the  two  kings  were  about,  as  usual,  to  fight  for 
it,  when  the  French  King's  army  was  in  part  shipwrecked,  and 
partly  beaten ;  and  King  John  himself  was  seized  with  an  illness, 
which  put  an  end  to  him.  And  so  farewell  to  him.  He  rebelled 
against  his  father,  he  conspired  against  liis  brother,  he  murdered  his 
nephew,  and  he  tyrannised  over  his  people.  Let  us  shed  a  tear  for 
his  memory,  and  pass  on  to  his  son.  King  Henry  III.,  who  began  to 
reign  in  the  year  1216,  and  was  King  for  no  less  than  fifty-six  years. 

I  think  the  best  thing  he  did  during  that  long  period  was,  to 
beget  his  gallant  son,  who  reigned  after  him,  under  the  title  of  King 
Edward  the  First.  The  English  lords,  in  King  Henry's  time,  were 
discontented  with  his  manner  of  reigning — for  he  was  always  in  the 
hands  of  one  favourite  or  another ;  and  the  consequence  was,  that 
there  were  i^erpetual  quarrels  between  the  lords  and  the  prince,  who 
was  continually  turned  out  of  his  kingdom  and  brought  back  again, 
or  lockeil  up  in  prison  and  let  loose  again.  In  the  intervals  the 
barons  ruled,  setting  up  what  is  called  an  oligarchy :  when  Henry 
governed  himself,  he  was  such  a  soft  effeminate  creature,  that  I 
think  they  might  have  called  his  reign  a  mollygarchy. 

As  not  the  least  applause  or  laughter  followed  this  pun.  Miss  T., 
somewhat  disconcerted,  said,  I  see  you  do  not  wish  to  hear  anything 
more  regarding  Henry  III.,  so,  if  you  please,  we  will  pass  on  to  the 
liistory  of  liis  son,  a  wise  king,  a  stern  and  great  warrior.  It  was 
lie  wlio  first  gave  the  Commons  of  England  in  Parliament  any 
authority  or  i)ower  to  cope  with  the  great  barons,  who  had  hitherto 
carried  all  ])efore  them  ;  which,  with  the  most  sincere  respect  for 
their  lordsliips,  I  cannot  but  think  was  a  change  for  the  better  in 
our  glorious  Constitution. 


40  MISS    TICKLETOBY'S 

He  was  in  tho  Holy  Land  wlicn  his  father's  tloatli  was  announced 
to  him,  toUowini,'  tho  fashion  of  that  day,  to  fight  against  the  Turks, 
and  murder  them  for  the  honour  of  religion.  And  here  I  cannot 
lielp  pointing  out,  how  necessary  it  is  that  men  sliould  never  part 
from  tlioir  wives;  for  the  King,  by  having  his  witli  him,  esca})e(l  a 
great  danger.  A  man  of  a  certain  tribe  called  the  Assassins  (wiio 
have  given  their  names  to  murderers  ever  since)  stal)l)ed  the  King 
in  his  tent  with  a  dagger,  whereupon  the  Queen,  and  honour  be  to 
her,  supposing  tliat  the  knife  which  inflicted  the  wound  might  have 
been  poisoned,  sucked  the  wound  with  her  own  royal  lips,  and 
caused  Prince  Edward  to  say,  that  a  good  wife  was  the  very  best 
doctor  in  the  world. 

This  good  Queen  died  abroad,  and  her  husband  caused  crosses 
to  be  erected  at  the  difterent  places  where  her  body  rested  on  its 
way  to  its  burial,  where  the  i)eople  might  stop  and  pray  for  her 
soul.  I  wonder  how  many  i)eople  who  pass  by  Cliaring  Cross 
nowadays  ever  think  of  her,  or  whether  the  omnibuses  stop  there 
in  order  that  the  cads  and  coachmen  may  tell  their  beads  for  good 
Queen  Elinor? 

From  1272,  when  he  began  to  reign,  until  1307,  when  he  died, 
King  Edward  was  engaged  in  ceaseless  wars.  Being  lord  of  the 
largest  portion  of  the  island  of  Great  Britain,  he  had  a  mind  to 
possess  the  whole  of  it ;  and,  in  order  to  do  so,  had  to  subdue  the 
Welsh  first,  and  the  Scots  afterwards.  Perhaps  some  of  you  have 
read  an  ode  by  Mr.  Gray,  beginning  "Ruin  seize  thee,  ruthless 
king "  1  But  as  not  a  single  person  in  the  company  had.  Miss  T. 
said,  "  At  any  rate,  my  loves,  you  have  heard,  no  doubt,  of  tiie 
bards  ? " 

3fiss  Binge.  Papa  calls  Shakspeare  the  immoral  bard  of 
Heaven.     What  is  a  bard,  ma'am  1 

Miss  T.  Why,  the  bards,  as  I  a"m  led  to  believe,  are  Welsh 
poets,  with  long  beards,  who  played  Welsh  airs  upon  Welsh  harps. 
Some  people  are  very  fond  of  tliese  airs ;  though,  for  my  part,  I 
confess,  after  hearing  '•  Poor  Mary  Ann "  played  for  fourteen  con- 
secutive hours  by  a  blind  harper  at  Llangollen,  I  rather  felt  as  if  I 
should  prefer  any  other  tune  to  that. 

Master  Spri/.  Pray,  ma'am,  hare  the  Welsh  airs  hanything 
like  the  Welsh  rabbits'?  If  so  mother  can  perform  'em  very 
prettily.  [A  laugh,  which  Miss  Tickletoby  severely  checks,  and 
continues — ] 

This  country  of  Wales  King  Edward  deterinined  should  be 
Ids  own,  and  accordingly  made  war  upon  the  princes  of  the 
Principality,  who  withstood  him  in  many  bloody  actions,  and  at 
one  time  were  actually  puffed  up  with  the  idea  that  one  of  their 


LECTURES    ON    ENGLISH    HISTORY  41 

princes  should  become  King  of  England,  on  account  of  an  old 
l^rophecy  of  Merlin's — 

"  Llwlhvi/n  pdwdlwdl  ci<7OT?w»i."— Merlin's  Prophecies. 

'  Let  Wales  attend  !  the  bard  prophetic  said  : 
I.  V.  at  Y.  shall  crown  Llewellyn's  Z."— SiMCOE. 

From  which  obscure  phrase  the  people,  and  Llewellyn  himself,  were 
led  to  believe  that  they  would  overcome  the  stern  and  powerful 
King  of  England. 

But  the  prophecy  was  fulfilled  in  a  singular  way.  On  the  two 
armies  meeting  together  on  the  river  Wye,  Llewellyn  was  slain  by 
an  English  knight,  and  his  head  in  derision  crowned  with  ivy.  The 
other  Welsh  sovereign.  Prince  David,  met  with  a  worse  fate  than  to 
die  in  battle  :  he  repeatedly  rebelled  against  King  Edward,  and  was 
forgiven  until  the  last  time,  when  he  was  taken  in  arms,  and  judged 
to  die  as  a  rebel,  so  forming  the  last  of  his  line. 

If  the  King  had  had  trouble  with  the  Welsh,  with  the  Scots  he  had 
still  more,  and  was  occupied  during  almost  the  whole  of  his  reign  in 
settling  (after  his  own  fashion,  to  be  sure)  that  unruly  nation. 

In  one  of  his  invasions  of  Scotland,  he  carried  off  the  famous 
stone  on  which  the  Scottish  kings  used  to  sit  at  their  coronation — 
and  a  very  cold  seat  it  must  have  been  for  their  Majesties,  consider- 
ing their  unhappy  custom  of  wearing  no  small-clothes ;  which  are 
not  the  least  of  the  inestimable,  I  may  say  inexpressible,  benefits 
the  Scots  have  derived  from  commerce  with  this  country. 

The  regular  line  of  the  Scotch  kings  having  ended — (never  mind 
in  whose  person,  for,  after  all,  a  king  without  pantaloons  is  a  sorry 
subject  to  trouble  one's  head  about) — the  regular  line  being  ended, 
there  started  up  several  claimants  to  the  throne  ;  and  the  lords  of  the 
country,  in  an  evil  hour,  called  upon  Edward  to  decide  who  should 
succeed.  He  gave  a  just  award,  assigning  the  crown  to  one  John 
Baliol ;  but  he  caused  Baliol  to  swear  fealty  to  him  for  his  crown, 
and  did  not  scruple  about  having  him  up  to  London  whenever  he  was 
minded.  It  is- said  that  he  summoned  him  to  Court  six:  times  in  one 
year,  when  Edinburgh  was  at  least  a  month's  journey  from  London. 
So  thus  the  i)Oor  fellow  must  have  passed  the  whole  year  upon  the 
road,  bumping  up  and  down  on  a  rough-trotting  horse ;  and  he  without 
what-d'ye-call-'ems,  too  ! — after  the  fashion  of  Humphry  Clinker. 

The  consequence  may  be  iirtagined.  Baliol  was  quite  worn  out 
by  such  perpetual  jolting.  Flesh  and  blood  couldn't  bear  twelve 
of  these  journeys  in  a  year  ;  and  he  wrote  to  King  Edward,  stating 
his  determination  no  longer  to  be  saddled  with  a  throne. 

Wisely,  then,  he  retired.     He  took  up  his  residence  in  Nor 


42  MISS    TICKLETOBY'S 

inandy,  whoro,  he  passed  his  life  (juietly  in  devotion,  it  is  said,  and 
the  cultivation  of  literature.  The  Master  of  Baliol  College,  Oxford, 
has  kindly  eominunieated  to  nie  a,  MS.,  in  the  handwriting  of  the 
retired  prince,  accompanied  with  designs,  which,  though  rude,  are 
interesting  to  the  antiquary.  One  represents  John  of  Baliol  on  the 
North  road,  which  must  have  been  in  a  sad  condition  indeed  at  the 
close  of  the  thirteenth  century. 

The  motto  placed  beneath  the  illumination  by  the  royal  bard  is 
a  quaint,  simple,  and  pathetic  one.     He  says  touchingly — 

"  To  Scotys  withouten  brychys  rydinge  is  not  swete. 
I  mote  have  kept  my  crowne,  I  shold  have  lost  my  seate." 

He  retired,  then  ;  iTut  a  greater  than  he  arose  to  battle  for  the 
independence  of  his  country. 


LECTURE    IX 

EDWARD  I. —THE  SCOTS  AND   THEIR  CLAIMS 

SCOTCHMEN,  my  dears,  you  know  are  my  antipathy,  and  I 
had  at  one  time  thought,  in  these  lectures,  of  so  demolishing 
the  reputation  of  William  Wallace,  that  historians  would  never 
more  have  dared  to  speak  about  him,  and  the  numbers  who  hear  me, 
the  millions  who  read  me  in  Punch,  the  countless  myriads  who  in 
future  ages  will  refer  to  that  work  when  we,  young  and  old,  are  no 
more,  would  have  seen  at  once  that  the  exploits  ascribed  to  him, 
were  fabulous  for  the  most  part,  and  his  character  as  doubtful  as 
his  history. 

Some  late  writers  have  been  very  hard  upon  him.  Dr.  Lingard, 
especially,  has  fallen  foul  of  his  claims  to  be  a  hero  ;  and  another 
author,  Mr.  Keightley,  has  been  to  the  full  as  severe,  quoting  sentences 
from  the  old  chroniclers  strongly  defamatory  of  Wallace's  character. 
One  of  these  calls  him  "  quidam  latro  publicus,"  a  certain  common 
thief ;  another,  writing  of  his  family,  Says  he  was  "  ex  infima  gente 
procreatus  " — sprung  from  the  lowest  of  the  low  ;  but  these  writers, 
it  must  be  remembered,  were  of  the  English  nation  and  way  of 
thinking.  Washington  was  similarly  abused  during  the  American 
war ;  and  I  make  no  doubt  that  some  of  my  darlings,  who  read  the 
English  newspapers,  have  seen  exactly  the  same  epithets  applied  to 
Mr.  Daniel  O'Connell. 

It  is  easy  to  call  names  in  this  way,  but  let'  us,  my  beloved 
young  friends,  be  more  charitable ;  in  the  case  of  these  Scots  especi- 
ally ;  for  if  we  take  Wallace  from  them,  what  hero  do  we  leave  to 


LECTURES    ON    ENGLISH    HISTORY  43 

the  poor  creatures  ?  Sir  Walter  Scott  has,  to  be  sure,  invented  a 
few  good  Scotchmen  in  his  novels,  and  perhaps  their  actions,  and 
those  of  Wallace,  are  equally  true. 

But  even  supposing  that  he  did  come  of  a  low  stock — tliat  he 
was  a  freebooter  once — it  is  clear  that  he  came  to  command  the 
Scotch  armies,  that  he  was  for  a  short  time  Regent  of  the  kingdom. 
So  much  the  more  creditable  to  him  then  was  it  that,  by  his  skill 
and  valour,  he  overcame  those  brave  and  disciplined  troops  that 
were  sent  against  him,  and  raised  himself  to  the  position  he  occu- 
pied for  a  while  over  the  heads  of  a  powerful,  ignorant,  cowardly, 
sordid,  treacherous,  selfish  nobility,  such  as  that  of  the  Scots  was. 

Even  poor  John  Baliol  made  one  or  two  attempts  to  rescue 
his  crown  from  the  domineering  Edward ;  but  these  nobles,  though 
they  conspired  against  the  English  King,  were-  the  first  to  truckle 
down  to  him  when  he  came  to  assert  what  he  called  his  right ;  and 
the  proof  of  their  time-serving  conduct  is,  that  King  Edward  forgave 
every  one  of  them,  except  Wallace,  who  was  the  only  man  who 
refused  to  come  to  terms  with  the  conqueror. 

During  the  King's  absence  Wallace  had  tolerable  success  :  he 
discomfited  the  English  leaders  in  many  small  skirmishes  and 
surprises,  and  defeated,  at  Cambuskenneth,  a  great  body  of  the 
English  troops.  He  thought,  too,  to  have  as  easy  work  with  the 
King  himself,  when  Edward,  hearing  of  his  Lieutenant's  defeat^ 
came  thundering  down  to  avenge  him.  But  the  Scot  was  no  match 
for  the  stern  English  warrior.  At  Falkirk  the  King  gave  Wallace's 
army  such  a  beating  as  almost  annihilated  it,  and  Wallace  was 
obliged  to  fly  to  the  woods,  where  he  was  finally  seized  by  one  of 
his  former  friends  and  adherents ;  and,  being  sent  to  London,  there 
died  the  death  of  a  traitor. 

Be  warned  then,  my  little  dears,  when  you  come  to  read  the 
History  of  the  Scottish  Chiefs,  by  ray  dear  friend  Miss  Porter,  that 
William  Wallace  was  by  no  means  the  character  which  that  charming 
historian  has  depicted,  going  into  battle,  as  it  were,  with  a  tear  in  his 
eye,  a  cambric  handkerchief  in  his  hand,  and  a  flounce  to  his  petti- 
coat ;  nor  was  he  the  heroic  creature  of  Tytler  and  Scott ;  nor,  most 
probably,  the  rufiian  that  Doctor  Lingard  would  have  him  to  be. 

He  appears,  it  is  true,  to  have  been  as  violent  and  ferocious 
a  soldier  as  ever  lived  ;  in  his  inroads  into  England  nuirdering  and 
ravaging  without  pity.  But  such  was  the  custom  of  his  time ;  and 
such  being  the  custom,  as  we  excuse  Wallace  for  murdering  the 
English,  we  nnist  excuse  Edward  for  hanging  Wallace  when  he  caught 
him.  Hanging  and  murdering,  look  you,  were  quite  common  in  those 
days  ;  nay,  they  were  thought  to  be  just  and  laudable,  and  I  make 
no  doubt  that  jieople  at  that  period  who  objected  to  such  murders 


41  MISS    TICKLETOBY'S 

at  all  were  accused  of  "  sickly  sentimentality,"  just  as  they  are  now, 
who  presume  to  be  hurt  when  the  law  orders  a  fellow-creature  to 
be  killed  before  the  Old  Bailey.  Well,  at  any  rate,  allow  us  to  be 
thankful  that  we  do  not  live  in  those  days,  when  each  of  us  would 
have  had  a  thousand  more  chances  of  being  hanged  than  now.  There 
is  no  sickly  sentimentality  about  such  a  preference  as  tknt. 

Let  us  allow,  then,  the  claims  of  Wallace  to  be  a  hero  and 
l)atriot.  Another  hero  arose  in  Scotland  after  Wallace's  discomfiture, 
who  was  more  lucky  than  he ;  but  stern  King  Edward  of  the 
Longshanks  was  dead  when  Bruce's  triumphs  were  secured ;  and 
his  son,  Edward  of  Carnarvon,  was  making  believe  to  reign. 

This  Bruce  had  been  for  a  long  time  shilly-shallying  as  to  the 
side  he  should  take  ;  whetlier  he  should  join  his  (countrymen  over 
whom  he  might  possibly  become  king  ;  or  whether  he  should  remain 
faithful  to  King  Edward,  and  not  risk  his  estates  or  his  neck.  The 
latter  counsel  for  some  time  prevailed ;  for  amongst  other  causes  he 
had  to  take  sides  against  his  country,  a  chief  one  was,  hatred  of 
the  Baliols.  When  John  of  Baliol  died,  his  son  being  then  a 
prisoner  in  London,  a  nephew  of  John  Baliol,  called  Comyn  of 
Badenoch,  became  the  head  man  in  Scotland.  He  had  always  ]>een 
found  gallantly  in  arms  against  King  Edward,  doing  his  duty  as 
a  soldier  in  Falkirk  tight,  and  in  many  other  actions,  with  better  or 
similar  fortune — not  sneaking  in  the  English  camp  as  Bruce  was. 

The  King,  however,  who  had  pardoned  the  young  man  many 
times,  at  last  got  wind  of  some  new  consjjiracies  in  which  he  was 
engaged,  and  vowed,  it  was  said,  to  make  away  with  him.  Bruce 
got  warning  in  time,  made  for  Scotland,  called  a  meeting  with  the 
Regent,  Comyn  of  Badenoch,  who  granted  the  interview,  and  here- 
upon Bruce  murdered  Comyn  in  God's  church,  and  at  once  pro- 
claimed himself  King  of  Scotland.  The  Scotch  historians  have 
tried  to  apologise  as  usual  for  this  foul  and  dastardly  assassination, 
saying  that  it  was  done  in  a  heat — unpremeditated,  and  so  forth. 
Nonsense,  my  loves  ;  Robert  Bruce  had  been  shuffting  and  intriguing 
all  his  life.  He  murdered  the  man  who  stood  between  him  and  the 
crown — and  he  took  it,  and  if  you  read  Sir  Walter  Scott's  "  Lord  of 
the  Isles,"  you  will  see  what  a  hero  he  has  made  of  him.  0  these 
Scotchmen  !  these  Scotchmen  !  how  they  do  stand  by  one  another  ! 

Old  Edward  came  tearing  down  to  the  Borders  on  the  news, 
vowing  he  would  kill  and  eat  Robert  Bruce ;  but  it  was  not  so 
ordained ;  the  old  King  was  carried  off  by  a  much  more  powerful 
enemy  than  any  barelegged  Scot ;  and  his  son,  Edward  of  Carnarvon 
(who  reigned  1307-1327)  had  not  the  energy  of  his  father;  and 
though  he  made  several  attempts  to  punish  tlie  Scots,  was  usually  left 
in  the  lurch  by  his  nobility,  and  on  one  occasion,  at  Bannockburn, 


LECTURES    ON    ENGLISH    HISTORY  45 

cruelly  beaten  by  thein.  They  have  made  a  pretty  pother  about  that 
battle,  I  warrant  you,  those  Scots ;  and  you  may  hear  tailors  from 
Glasgow  or  Paisley  still  crow  and  talk  big  about  it.  Give  the  fellows 
their  battle,  my  dears ;  we  can  afford  it.  \G7'eat  sensation^]  As 
for  the  murderer,  Robert  Bruce,  he  was,  it  must  be  confessed,  a  wary 
and  gallant  cai)tain — wise  in  good  fortune,  resolute  in  bad,  and  he 
robbed  the  English  counties  to  the  satisfaction  of  his  subjects.  It 
is  almost  a  jiity  to  think  he  deserved  to  be  hanged. 

During  the  dissensions  in  England,  Robert  Bruce,  having  pretty 
well  secured  Scotland,  took  a  fancy  to  Ireland,  too, — invaded  the 
country  himself,  came  rather  suddenly  back  again,  and  sent  his 
brother  Edward,  who  even  had  the  impudence  to  be  crowned  King 
of  Ireland  :  but  the  English  forces  coming  up  with  him,  took  his 
crown  from  him  with  his  head  in  it — and  so  ended  the  reigns  of 
the  Bruccs  in  Ireland. 

As  for  Edward  of  Carnarvon,  little  good  can  be  said  of  him  or 
his  times.  An  extravagant  idle  king,  insolent  favourites  (though 
Gaveston,  it  must  be  confessed,  was  a  gallant  and  dashing  fellow), 
bullying  greedy  barons,  jealous  that  any  one  shoidd  have  power  but 
themselves,  and,  above  all  (alas  !  that  I  should  have  to  say  it),  an 
infamous  disreputable  wretch  of  a  French  wife,  fill  the  whole  pages 
of  this  wretched  King's  reign  with  their  quarrels,  their  vices,  and 
their  murders.  In  the  midst  of  their  quarrels,  they  allowed  the 
country  to  be  bullied  by  the  French,  and  even  the  Scots  ;  the  people 
were  racked  and  torn  by  taxes  and  tyranny  ;  the  King  was  finally 
deposed,  and  murdered  by  the  intrigues  of  his  wicked  vixen  of  a 
wife,  who  did  not,  however,  enjoy  her  ill-gotten  honours  long  as 
Regent  of  the  kingdom.  Edward  the  Third  came  to  the  throne, 
and  of  him  we  will  speak  in  the  next  Lecture. 

In  the  year  1356,  the  Black  Prince,  who  had  commenced  his 
career  ten  years  earlier  as  a  gallant  young  soldier  at  Crdcy,  had  an 
oppoi"tunity  of  achieving  for  himself  a  triumph  to  the  full  as  great 
as  that  former  famous  one.  Robbing  and  murdering  for  ten  years, 
as  he  had  been,  he  had  become  naturally  a  skilful  captain ;  and  now 
in  1356,  say  the  historians,  having  left  his  chief  city  of  Bordeaux 
with  12,000  men,  crossing  the  Garonne,  overrunning  Querci,  the 
Limousin,  Auvergne,  and  Bcrri,  slaughtering  the  peasantry,  destroy- 
ing the  corn,  wine,  and  provisions,  and  burning  the  farmhouses, 
villages,  and  towns,  he  was  surprised  near  Poictiers,  in  the  province 
of  Poitou,  by  a  large  army,  led  by  King  John  of  France.  The 
French  army  was  very  large — that  of  the  Black  Prince  very  small. 
"  Heaven  helj)  us  !  "  sai<l  his  Royal  Highness  ;  "  it  only  remains  for 
us  to  fight  bravely." 

He  was,  however    so  doubtful  as  to  the  result  of  the  action, 


46  MISS    TICKLETOBY'S 

that  he  sent  ratlier  modest  proposals  to  the  French  King,  offering 
to  give  up  his  phinder  and  prisoners,  and  to  promise  not  to  serve 
against  France  for  seven  years,  if  tlie  Frencli  would  but  let  him  off 
this  time.  King  John,  however,  replied,  that  he  nmst  have  the 
Black  Prince  and  a  hundred  of  his  chief  kiiiglits  as  prisoners,  befon^ 
lie  would  listen  to  any  terms  of  accommodation,  which  idea  his 
Koyal  Highness  "  indignantly  rejected."* 

He  beat  the  King  of  France,  whose  goods  he  was  carrying  off; 
lie  killed  tlie  friends  who  came  to  help  the  King,  he  drove  the 
King's  servants  away  ;  he  took  King  John  to  England,  and  would  not 
let  him  return  to  France  again  until  he  had  paid  an  enormous  siuii 
for  Ills  ransom.  And  this  was  the  man  who  called  upon  Heaven 
to  defend  the  right !  Ah,  my  dears,  thei'e  is  not  a  crowned  ruffian 
in  Europe  who  has  not  uttered  the  same  cry  these  thousand  years 
past,  attesting  Heaven  in  behalf  of  his  luijust  quarrel,  and  murdering 
and  robbing  with  the  most  sacred  of  all  names  in  his  mouth. 

Perhaps  the  most  annoying  part  of  the  whole  imprisonment  to 
poor  King  John  must  have  been  the  abominable  politeness  and 
humility  of  his  captor.  Taken  prisoner,  and  his  grand  array  routed 
by  a  handful  of  starving  brigands,  tlie  King  was  marched  to  supper 
in  the  conqueror's  tent,  the  Prince  complimenting  him  by  saying 
that  his  victory  was  all  chance,  that  the  King  ought  to  have  won  it 
(and  so  he  ought,  and  no  mistake),  and  that  his  Majesty  was  the 
"garland  of  chivalry."  Nor  woidd  he  sit  down  in  his  Majesty's 
I»resence — not  he — he  said  he  was  the  subject  and  only  fit  to  wait 
uiion  the  King  (to  wait  upon  him  and  rob  him)  ;  so  he  fet(thed  the 
dishes,  drew  the  corks,  and  performed  all  the  duties  of  his  Majesty's 
Yellowplush. 

His  conduct  in  carrying  his  prisoner  to  London  was  of  the  same 
sort.  He  had  a  triumphal  entry  :  the  King  being  placed  on  a  great 
horse,  the  Prince  meekly  riding  a  pony  beside  him,  and  all  the  people, 
of  course,  shouting  "  Long  live  the  Prince!"  What  humility!  cry  the 
historians ;  what  noble  conduct !  No,  no,  my  loves,  I  say  it  was 
sham  humility,  the  very  worst  sort  of  pride  :  if  he  wanted  to  spare 
his  prisoner's  feelings,  why  didn't  the  Prince  call  a  hackney-coach  1 

In  the  year  1376,  twenty  years  after  his  victory  of  Poictiers, 
the  gallant  Black  Prince  (who  in  France  and  Si)ain,  at  the  head 
of  his  famous  free  comi)anie8,  had  fought  many  a  hard  fight  since 
tlicn)  died,  leaving  an  only  son  behind  him.  Old  King  Edward, 
who  had  been  battling  and  fighting  as  much  as  his  son,  now  in  his 
old  age  had  grown  dotingly  fond  of  a  wicked  hussy,  Alice  Pierce 
by  name,  that  had  been  maid-of-honour  to  the  good  Queen  Philipjia. 
The  King  gave  to  this  good-for-nothing  creature  all  the  Queen's 
jewels,  she  had  the  giving  away  of  all  the  places  about  the  Court, 


LECTURES    ON    ENGLISH    HISTORY  47 

and  behaved  in  such  a  way  that   tlie  Parliament  was  obliged  to 
stop  her  extravagance. 

A  year  after  his  son,  the  famous  old  warrior,  King  Edward  the 
Third,  "felt  that  death  was  coming  upon  him  ;  and  called  his  beloved 
Alice  Pierce  to  come  and  console  him  ere  he  died.  She,  seeing 
death  on  his  face,  took  the  expiring  monarch's  hand  in  hers,  and 
pulled  his  ring  off  his  finger.  The  servants  pillaged  the  wardrobes 
and  the  hangings  of  the  Bed,  and  dying  Edward,  the  terror  of 
Frenchmen,  lay  unheeded  upon  his  bed,  until  a  priest  came  by 
chance  into  the  room,  and  knelt  down  by  the  King's  side,  and  said 
a  prayer  with  him  for  the  safety  of  his  soul,  at  the  end  whereof 
the  priest  alone  had  the  power  of  saying  "  Amen." 

Here  Miss  Tickletoby  paused  with  a  very  solemn  voice,  and 
the  little  children  retired  quite  wistfully  and  silently,  and  were  all 
particularly  good  in  school  the  next  day. 


LECTURE    X 

EDIf'ARD  III 

THE  reign  of  the  third  Edward  has  always  been  considered  a 
gloi'ious  period  of  our  annals — the  fact  is,  he  beat  the  French 
soundly,  and  ic  is  always  a  comfort  to  read  of  those  absurd 
vapouring  vainglorious  Frenchmen  obtaining  a  beating — and  he  has 
had  for  an  historian  of  his  battles  one  Jolin  Froissart,  a  very  bad 
clergyman,  as  I  make  no  doubt,  but  a  writer  so  exceedingly  lively 
and  pleasant,  that  tire  scenes  of  the  war  are  made  to  pass  befoi-e 
tlie  reader  as  if  he  saw  them.  No— not 'as  if  he  saw  them  in 
reality,  by  the  way,  but  as  if  he  beheld  them  well  acted  in  a  theatre, 
the  principal  characters  represented  by  Mr.  Charles  Kean  and  other 
splendid  stars  of  the  stage. 

So  there  is  nothing  but  fighting  in  the  works  of  the  Reverend 
John  Froissart— nothing  but  fighting  and  killing:  yet  all  passes 
with  such  brilliancy,  sjilendour,  and  good  humoin-,  that  you  can't 
fancy  for  the  world  that  anybody  is  hurt ;  and  though  the  warriors 
of  whom  he  speaks  are  sometimes  wounded,  it  re<illy  seems  as  if 
tliey  liked  it.  It  is — "Fair  sir,  shall  we  for  the  honour  of  our 
ladies,  or  the  love  of  the  blessed  Virgin  of  Heaven,  cut  each  other's 
heads  offi"  "I  am  unworthy  to  have  the  honour  of  nmning 
through  the  body  such  a  flower  of  chivalry  as  you,"  replies  the 
other;  and  herewith   smiling  sweetly  on   each   other,  gaudy  with 


48  MISS    TICKLETOBY'S 

l>lume!<,  and  gold,  and  blazing  coats  of  armour,  bestriding  prancing 
war-horses  covered  also  with  gay  housings  and  bright  steel,  at  it 
the  two  gentlemen  go,  with  lances  in  i-est,  shouting  their  war-cries 
gaily.  "  A  Manny  !  a  Manny  !  our  Lady  for  Alencon  !  "  says  one 
or  the  other.  "  For  the  love  of  the  saints  parry  nie  that  cut,  sir," 
says  Sir  Walter  Manny,  delivering  it  gracefully  with  his  heavy 
battle-sword.  "  Par  la  Sambleu,  beau  sire,  voilk  un  beau  coup 
d'espde,"  says  the  constable  to  the  other  politely,  who  has  just 
split  his  nose  in  two,  or  carried  oft"  his  left  whisker  and  cheek : — 
and  the  common  people  go  to  work  just  as  genteelly  ; — whizz  !  how 
the  bowstrings  thrum,  as  the  English  archers,  crying  "  Saint  George 
for  England  '  "  senil  their  arrows  forth  ! 

Montjoie  Saint  Denis  ! — how  the  French  men-at-arms  come 
thundering  over  the  cornfields,  their  lances  and  corslets  shining  in 
the  sun  ! — As  for  me,  my  dears,  when  I  read  the  story  I  fancy 
myself,  for  a  moment  or  two,  Jane  of  Montfort,  dressed  in  armour, 
and  holding  up  my  son  in  my  arms,  calling  upon  my  faithful  nobles 
of  Bretagne  to  defend  me  and  him. 

[^Ilere  Miss  Tickletoby,  seizituj  playfully  hold  of  Master 

TiMSON,    lifted  hivi  gaily  in  one   of  her  arms,   and 

stood  for  a  inoment  in  an  heroic  attitvde  ;  but   the 

children,    never    having    before    heard    of   Jane    of 

Montfort  or  her  history,  were  quite  frightened,  and 

fancied  their  venerable  instructress  mad — tvhile  Master 

TiMSON,  who  believed  he  had  been  elevated  for  the  pur- 

pose  of  being  flogged,  set  up  a  roar  which  caused  the 

rvorthy  lady  to  init  him  quickly  down  again. 

But  to  speak  of  King  Edward  III.     The  first  act  of  his  reign 

may  be  said  to  have  been  the  seizing  of  one  Mortimer,  the  Queen's 

lover,  whom  he  caused  to  be  hanged,  and  of  her  Majesty,  whom  he 

placed  in  a  castle,  where  she  lived  for  the  last  seven-and-twenty 

years  of  her  life,  with  a  handsome  allowance  made  to  her  by  her  son. 

The  chief  of  his  time  hereafter  was  filled  up  with  wars — those 

wars  which  are  so  pleasant  to  read  of  in  Froissart,  before  mentioned, 

but  which  I  need  not  tell  any  little  child  here  who  ever  by  chance 

has   had  a  black  eye   or  a  whipping,  are  by  no  means  pleasant 

in  reality.     When  we  read  that  the  King's  son,  the  Black  Prince, 

burned  down  no  less  than  five  hundred  towns  and  villages,  in  the 

South  of  France,  laying  the  country  waste  round  about  them,  and 

driving  the  population  Heaven  knows  where,  you  may  fancy  what 

the  character  of  these  wars  must  have  been,  and  that  if  they  were 

good  fun  to  the  knights  and  soldiers,  they  were  by  no  means  so 

pleasant  to  tiie  people. 

By  such  exploits,  however,  the  reign  of  Edward  is  to  be  noted. 


LECTURES    ON    ENGLISH    HISTORY  49 

Robert  Bruce  being  dead,  and  his  son  a  child,  Edward  fell  on  the 
Scots,  slaughtered  forty  thousand  of  them  at  Halidon  Hill,  and 
aided  the  younger  Baliol,  who  in  return  promised  the  submission 
of  himself  and  kingdom  to  England,  to  take  a  temporary  possession 
of  the  throne.  The  Scotch,  hewever,  soon  rose  against  Baliol ;  and 
Edward  Bruce  got  back  his  crown — ;sueh  as  it  was. 

Then  our  Lord  Sir  Edward  took  a  fancy  to  France,  and,  upon 
a  most  preposterous  claim  advanced  by  him,  assumed  the  French 
arms,  called  himself  King  of  that  country,  and  prepared  to  take 
possession  of  the  same.  The  first  thing  he  did,  to  this  end,  was  to 
obtain  a  glorious  victory  over  the  French  navy,  taking  no  less  than 
two  hundred  and  forty  of  their  ships,  and  killing  I  don"t  knoAV  how 
many  thousands  of  their  men. 

I  don't  know  if  the  French  wore  "wooden  shoes"  in  those 
days,  but  the  English  hated  them  for  that  or  some  other  equally 
good  cause ;  and  the  Parliaments  for  ever  granted  the  King  money 
to  carry  on  the  war  in  assertion  of  his  just  rights.  Just  rights, 
forsooth  ! — a  private  man  putting  forward  such  claims  to  another's 
purse,  and  claiming  his  just  rights  with  a  pistol  at  your  head,  would 
be  hanged  for  his  pains.  Bishops  and  priesfs  said  prayers  for  King 
Edward,  and  judges  and  lawyers  wrote  long  lying  documents  in 
support  of  his  cause. 

In  spite  of  the  hundreds  of  thousands  of  pounds  which  his 
subjects  gave  him,  and  the  hundreds  of  thousands  of  men  he 
brought  into  the  field  against  the  King  of  France,  Edward  for  some 
time  made  very  little  way,  and  did  not  overcome  the  French  King's 
armies — for  the  very  good  reason,  that  the  latter  would  never  meet 
him.  And  it  is  a  singular  thing,  that  when  the  two  armies  did 
meet,  and  the  English  obtained  those  two  victories  about  which  we 
have  been  bragging  for  near  five  hundred  years,  we  did  i^ot  fight 
until  we  were  forced,  and  because  we  could  not  help  it.  Burning, 
robbing,  ravaging,  Edward's  troops  had  arrived  at  the  gates  of  Paris, 
not  with  the  hope  of  conquering  the  country,  but  of  plundering  it 
simply ;  and  were  making  the  best  of  their  way  home  again  from 
the  pursuit  of  an  immense  French  army  which  was  pressing  them 
very  hard,  wdien  Edward,  finding  he  could  not  escape  without  a 
fight,  took  a  desperate  stand  and  the  best  ground  he  could  find  on 
the  famous  hill  of  Cressy. 

Here,  sheltered  amidst  the  vines,  the  English  archers  and 
chivalry  took  their  posts ;  and  tlie  blundering  French,  as  absurdly 
vain  and  supercilious  in  those  days  as  they  are  at  this  moment, 
thinking  to  make  easy  work  oi  ces  coquins  d'Anf/laix,  charged  the 
hill  and  the  vineyards — not  the  English,  who  were  behind  them, 
and  whose  arrows  slaughtered  them  without  pity. 


50  MISS    TICKLETOBY'S 

When  tlie  liutje  mass  of  the  Freiicli  army  was  thrown  into 
disonlt'r  l)y  these  arrows,  tlie  En<;lish  riders  issued  out  and  plunged 
auioni;  them,  murderin.if  at  their  ease  ;  and  the  result  was  a  glorious 
tnunij)h  to  the  British  arms.  King  Edward's  son,  a  lad  of  fourteen, 
distinguished  himself  in  the  figlit,  holding  his  ground  bravely  against 
the  only  respectable  attaek  whieh  the  French  seem  to  have  made  in 
the  course  of  the  day.  And  ever  since  that  day,  the  Princes  of 
Wales,  as  you  know,  have  had  for  a  crest  that  of  an  old  King  of 
Bohemia  (the  blind  old  fool !),  who  could  not  see  the  Englisli,  but 
bade  his  squires  lead  him  towards  them,  so  that  he  might  exchange 
a  few  coups  de  lance  with  them.  So  the  squires  laced  their  bridles 
into  his,  made  their  attack,  and  were  run  through  the  body  in  a 
minute  ;  and  serve  'em  right,  say  I. 

Whilst  Edward  was  fighting  this  battle,  those  marauding 
Scotchmen,  under  David  Bruce  their  new  king  (as  great  a  robber, 
my  dears,  as  his  father),  thought  they  might  take  advantage  of  the 
unprotected  state  of  the  kingdom,  and  came  across  the  Border  in 
great  force,  to  plunder  as  usual.  But  I  am  happy  to  state  that 
her  Majesty,  Queen  Plulippa,  heading  a  small  English  army 
caught  them  at  a  plac'e  called  Nevil's  Cross,  and  utterly  defeated 
the  thievish  rogues,  killing  vast  niunbers  of  them.  She  was  as 
kind-liearted,  too,  as  she  was  brave.  For  at  the  siege  of  Calais, 
after  Edward  ha<l  reduced  the  town,  he  swore,  in  his  rage  at  the 
resistance  of  the  garrison,  that  he  would  hang  six  of  the  ])rincipal 
inhabitants.  These  unhappy  six  came  before  him  "  in  their  shirts, 
with  halters  round  their  necks,"  the  old  chroniclers  say. 

The  Queen  interceded  for  their  lives ;  the  monarch  granted  her 
prayer,  and  her  Majesty  gave  the  poor  burghers  what  must  have 
been  very  acceptable  to  them  after  six  months'  starvation,  a  com- 
fortable meal  of  victuals. 

"  I  "liope  they  went  home  first  to  dress  for  dinner,"  here 
remarked  an  intelligent  pupil. 

"  Of  course  they  must  have  done  so,  my  dear,"  answered  Miss 
Tickletoby  ;  '"but,  for  my  part,  I  believe  that  the  whole  scene 
nuist  have  been  arranged  previously  between  the  King  and  Queen  ; 
indeed,  neither  of  them  could  help  laughing  at  the  ridiculous  figure 
the  burgesses  cut." 

The  company  separated  in  immense  good-humour,  saying  that 
the  Lecturer  had,  on  this  occasion,  mingled  amusement  with  much 
stern  instruction. 


PAPERS 

BY   THE 

FAT    CONTRIBUTOR- 


PAPERS 

BY 

THE    FAT    CONTRIBUTOR 

WANDERINGS  OF  OUR  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR 


[The  fattest  of  our  contributors  left  London  very  suddenly  last  week,  with- 
out giving  the  least  idea  of  his  movements  until  we  received  the  following 
communication.  We  don't  know  whether  he  is  going  to  travel,  nor  do  we 
pledge  ourselves  in  the  least  to  publish  another  line  of  the  Fat  Contributor's 
correspondence.  As  far  as  his  tour  goes  at  present,  it  certainly  is,  if  not  novel, 
at  least  treated  in  a  novel  manner  ;  for  the  jeader  will  remark  that  there  is 
not  a  word  about  the  places  visited  by  our  friend,  while  there  is  a  prodigious 
deal  of  information  regarding  himself.  Interesting  as  our  Fat  Contributor  is, 
yet  it  may  chance  that  we  shall  hear  enough  about  him  ere  many  more  letters 
are  received  from  him. — Editor.] 

THERE  were  eleven  more  diuuers  hustling  one  another  in  my 
invitation-book.  "  If  you  eat  two  more,  you  are  in  for  an 
apoplexy,"  said  Glauber,  my  medical  man.  But  Miss  Twad- 
dlings  is  to  be  at  the  Macwliirters'  on  Thursday,  I  expostulated,  "and 
you  know  what  money  she  has."  "  She'll  be  a  widow  before  she's 
married,"  says  Glauber,  "  if  you  don't  mind. — Away  with  you  ! — 
Take  three  grains  of  blue  pill  every  night,  and  my  draught  in  the 
morning — if  you  don't,  I  won't  answer  for  the  consequences. — You 
look  as  white  as  a  sheet — as  puffy  as  a  bolster — this  season  you've 

grown  so  inordinately  gross  and  ta " 

It's  a  word  I  can't  ]>ear  applied  to  myself.     I   wrote  letters 

round  to  decline  my  dinnere  ;  and  agreed  to  go 

But  whitlier  ?    Why  not  to  Brighton  '?    I  went  a  few  days  before 
the  blow-up.*     I  was  out  for  four  liours  in  a  Hy  on  that  day.     I  saw 

*  On  July  23,  1844,  a  good  deal  of  excitement  was  caused  by  the  trial 
at  Brighton  of  Cnptain  Warner's  invention  for  destroying  ships  at  sea. 


54     WANDERINGS    OF    OUR    FAT    CONTRIBUTOR 

Lord  Brou.i^'liain  in  a  wliite  hat  and  tele.s('oi)e — I  saw  the  sea  hglited  up 
with  countless  smiles — I  saw  the  eliain-])ier,and  the  midtitudes  SAvarni- 
\u<i  on  it  -  I  saw  tlie  bueks  sniokinif  ci.^ars  on  the  terrace  of  the  Albion. 

/  could  not  smoke — I  Avas  with  three  ladies  in  the  fly — they 
were  all  fat,  and,  oh  !  how  hot !  The  .sun  beat  down  upon  us 
ruthlessly.  Cajitain  Warner  wouldn't  come.  We  drove  and  j)ut 
back  the  dinner.  Tlien  Miss  Bogle  said  she  would  like  to  drive  to 
the  Library  for  the  last  volume  of  Grant's  "Visit  to  Paris." 

While  we  were  at  Folthorpe's,  their  messenger  came  running  in 
-^he  had  been  out  but  one  minute  that  day ;  he  had  seen  it.  We 
had  been  out  four  houi's ;  it  was  all  over !  All  that  we  could  see 
when  we  got  back  was  the  sea,  and  a  mast  sticking  up  in  it. 

That  was  what  I  had  come  to  Brighton  for — to  eat  prawns  for 
breakfast — to  pay  five  shillings  for  a  warm  bath — and  not  to  see 
the  explosion  ! 

I  set  off  for  London  the  next  day.  One  of  my  dinners  was 
coming  off  that  day — I  had  resigned  it.  There  would  very  likely 
be  turtle ;  and  I  wasn't  there  !  Flesh  and  blood  couldn't  stand  it. 
"I  will  go  to  Dover  to-morrow,"  I  said,  "and  take  the  first  packet 
that  goes — that  goes  anywhere." 

I  am  at  Dover.  This  is  written  from  the  Ship  Hotel :  let  me 
recollect  the  adventures  of  the  day. 

The  Dover  trains  go  from  two  places  at  once  :  but  my  belief  is, 
the  cabmen  try  and  perplex  you.  If  it  is  the  turn  of  the  Brick- 
layers' Arms  train,  they  persuade  you  to  London  Bridge ;  if  of  the 
London  Bridge,  they  inveigle  you  to  the  Bricklayers'  Arms — through 
that  abominable  suburb  stretching  away  from  Waterloo  Bridge,  and 
into  the  Greater  London,  which  seems  as  it  were  run  to  seed. 

I  passed  a  theatre — these  creatures  have  a  theatre  it  appears — it 
is  called  (to  juflge  from  a  painted  ])lacard)  the  Victoria.  It  is  a  brick 
building,  large,  and  with  the  windows  cracked  and  stuft'ed  with  coats. 

At  the  Bricklayers'  Arms,  whi(;h  we  reached  at  length  after 
paying  several  base  turnpikes,  and  struggling  through  a  noisy,  dirty, 
bustling,  dismal  city  of  small  houses  and  (lueer  shoi)s  and  gin-palaces 
— -the  policeman  comes  grinning  up  to  the  cab,  and  says,  "  No  train 
from  here,  sir — next  train  from  London  Bridge — lioften  these  mistakes. 
Cab  drove  away  only  just  this  minute.     You'll  be  in  time  if  you  go." 

The  cabman  gallofjs  off,  with  a  grin.  The  brute  !  he  knew  it 
well  enough.     He  went  for  an  extra  fare. 

As  I  do  not  wish  to  have  a  coup-de-soleil  :  or  to  be  blinded 
with  dust ;  or  to  have  my  nerves  shattered  by  the  infernal  screaming 
of  the  engine  as  we  rush  howling  through  the  tunnels  :  as  I  wish  to 
sit  as  soft  as  I  can  in  this  life,  and  find  a  hoard  by  no  means  so 
elastic  as   a  cushion,  I   take   the  first-class,   of  course. — I   should 


WANDERINGS    OF    OUR    FAT    CONTRIBUTOR     55 

prefer  liaving  some  of  the  third-class  peoj^le  for  company,  though — 
I  find  them  generally  less  vulgar  than  their  betters. 

I  selected,  as  may  be  imagined,  an  empty  carriage  :  in  which  I 
lived  pretty  comfortably  until  we  got  to  Reigate,  where  two  persons 
with  free  tickets — engineers  and-  Scotchmen — got  into  the  carriage. 

Of  course  one  insisted  upon  sitting  down  in  the  very  seat 
opposite  me.  There  were  four  seats,  but  he  must  take  that,  on 
purpose  to  mingle  his  legs  with  mine,  and  make  me  uncomfortable. 
I  removed  to  the  next  seat — the  middle  one.  This  was  wliat  the 
wretch  wanted.  He  plumped  into  my  place.  He  had  the  two 
places  by  the  window — the  two  best  in  the  coach — he  leered  over 
my  shoulder  at  his  comrade  a  great,  coarse,  hideous  Scotch  smile. 

I  hate  engineers,  I  hate  Scotchmen,  I  hate  brutes  with  free 
tickets,  who  take  the  places  of  gentlemen  who  pay. 

On  alighting  at  Dover,  and  remembering  the  extravagance  of 
former  charges  at  the  "  Ship,"  under  another  proprietor  (pray 
heavens  the  morrow's  little  bill  may  be  a  mild  one  !),  I  thought  of 
going  elsewhere.  Touters  were  about  seizing  upon  the  passengers 
and  recommending  their  hotels — "Now",  Gents,  the  'Gun,'" 
roared  one  monster.  .  I  turned  sickening  away  from  him.  "  Take 
me  to  the  '  Ship,'  "  I  faintly  gasped. 

On  proposing  dinner,  the  waiter  says  with  an  air  as  if  he  was  in- 
venting something  extremely  clever,  "Whiting,  sirl    Nice  fried  sole"?" 

Mon  Dien  !  what  have  I  done  to  be  pursued  in  this  way  by 
whiting  and  fried  sole  ?  Is  there  nothing  else  in  the  world  ?  Ain't 
I  sick  of  fried  sole  and  whiting — wdiiting  and  fried  sole  1  Having 
eaten  them  for  long  years  and  years  until  my  soul  is  weary  of  them. 
"  You  great  ass,"  I  felt  inclined  to  exclaim,  "  I  can  get  whiting  and 
sole  in  London,  give  me  something  new  !".... 

Ah  for  that  something  new !  I  have  seen  the  dry  toast  come 
up  for  my  breakfast  so  many  many  times — the  same  old  tough  stiff 
leathery  tasteless  choky  dry  toast,  that  I  can  bear  it  no  longer. 
The  other  morning  (I  had  been  rather  feverish  all  night)  it  came  up 
and  I  declare  I  burst  into  tears. 

"  Why  do  you  haunt  me,"  I  said,  "  you  demd  old  toast  1  What 
liave  I  done  that  there  is  no  other  companion  for  me  but  you  ?  I  hate 
and  spurn  you — and  yet  up  you  come.  Day  by  day,  heartless  brute, 
I  leave  you  in  the  rack,  and  yet  it's  not  you  that  suffer  torture:"  and 
I  made  a  passionate  speec^h  to  that  toast  full  of  eloquence,  and 
howled  and  flung  tiie  plateful  at  the  door — ^just  as  Mary  came  in. 

She  is  the  maid.  She  could  not  imderstand  my  feelings.  She 
is  contented  with  toast  for  breakfast,  with  bread,  I  believe,  poor 
wretch  !  So  ;ire  cows  contented  with  grass.  Horses  with  corn. 
The  fine  spirit  pants  for  novelty — and  mine  is  sick  of  old  toast. 


/)()     WANDERINdS    OF    OUK    FAT    CONTRIBUTOR 


"  Gents  "  are  spoken  of  familiarly  even  at  this  hotel.  During 
dinner  a  messenger  comes  to  ask  if  a  young  "  gent "  was  dining  in 
the  coffee-room  1 

"  No,"  says  the  waiter. 

"How  is  that,"  thinks  I,  "am  I  not  a  young  gent  myself?" 
He  continues,  "  There's  two  holdish  ladies  and  a  veri/  young  gent  in 
No.  24  ;  hi/t  there's  oii/i/  a  middi.k-haged  gent  in  the  coffee-room^ 
Has  it  come  to  tliis,  tlien  ?  Thirty  something  last  birthday, 
and  to  })c  called  a  middle-aged  gent  ?  Away!  Away!  I  can  bear 
this  ribaldry  no  more.     Perhaps  the  sea  may  console  me. 

And  howl  it's  only  a  dim  straight  line  of  horizon,  with  no 
gaiety  or  variety  in  it.  A  few  wretched  little  vessels  are  twiddling 
up  and  down.  A  steam-tug  or  two — yachts  more  or  less — the  town 
is  hideous,  except  for  a  neat  row  of  houses  or  two — the  cliffs  only 

respectable.  The  castle  looks  tolerable. 
But  who,  I  should  like  to  know,  would 
be  such  a  fool  as  to  climb  up  to  if? 
Hark  !  There  is  a  band  playing — it  is 
a  long  mile  on,  and  yet  I  go  to  listen 
to  it. 

It  is  a  band  of  wind-instruments, 
of  course,  a  military  band,  and  the 
wretches  listening  in  their  stupid  good- 
humour  are  giving  the  players — beer. 
I  knew  what  would  happen  immedi- 
ately upon  the  beer  (I'm  forbidden  it 
myself).  They  played  so  infernally  out 
of  tune  that  they  blasted  me  off  the 
ground — away  from  the  Dover  bucks, 
and  tlie  poor  girls  in  their  cheap  finery, 
and  the  grinning  yokels,  and  the  maniacs 
riding  velocipedes. 

This  is  what  I  saw  most  worthy  of 
remark  all  day.  This  person  was  stand- 
ing on  the  beach,  and  her  garments  flapped  round  about  her  in  the 
breeze.  She  stood  and  looked  and  looked  until  somebody  came — to 
lier  call  apparently.  Somebody,  a  male  of  her  species,  dressed  in 
corduroys  and  a  frock.  Then  they  paired  off"  quite  happy. 
Tliat  thini:  had  a  lover  ! 


Good-niglit,  I  can  say  no  more.  A  monster  has  just  told  me 
that  a  vessel  starts  at  seven  for  Ostend  :  I  will  take  it.  I  would 
take  one  for  Jericho  if  it  started  at  six. 


WANDERINGS    OF    OUR   FAT    CONTRIBUTOR     57 

II 

THE  SEA 

1HAD  one  comfort  in  quitting  Dover.  It  was  to  see  Towzer, 
my  tailor,  of  Saint  James's  Street,  lounging  about  the  pier  in 
a  marine  jacket,  with  a  tuft  to  his  chin. 

His  face,  when  he  saw  me  in  the  boat,  was  one  of  the  most 
intense  agony.     I  owe  Towzer  £203. 

"  Good-bye,  Towzer,"  I  said.  "  I  shall  be  back  in  four  years." 
And  I  laughed  a  demoniac  yell  of  scorn,  and  tumbled  clattering 
down  the  brass  stairs  of  the  cabin. 

An  Israelite  had  already  taken  the  best  place,  and  was  pre- 
paring to  be  unwell.  I  have  observed  that  the  "  Mosaic  Ai-abs," 
as  Coningsby  calls  them,  are  always  particularly  amenable  to  mari- 
time discomfiture.  The  Jew's  internal  commotions  were  frightful 
during  the  passage. 

Two  Oxford  youths,  one  of  whom  had  been  growing  a  moustache 
since  the  commencement  of  the  vacation,  began  to  smoke  cigars, 
and  assume  particularly  piratical  airs. 

I  took  the  pictiu-e  of  one  of  them  an  hour  afterwards— stretched 
lifeless  on  the  deck,  in  the  agonies  of  sea-sickness. 

I  will  not  print  that  likeness.  It  is  too  excellent.  If  his 
mamma  saw  it,  she  would  catch  her  death  of  fright,  and  order 
her  darling  Tommy  home.  I  will  rather  publish  the  one  on  the 
following  page. 

That  man  is  studying  Levizac's  grammar.  He  is  a  Scotchman. 
He  has  not  the  least  sense  of  modesty.  As  he  gets  up  phrases  out 
of  that  stale  old  grammar  of  1803  (bought  cheap  on  a  stall  in 
Glasgow),  the  wretch  looks  up,  and  utters  the  sentences  he  has 
just  acquired — serves  them  up  hot  in  his  hideous  jargon.  "  Parly 
voo  Fransis,"  says  he,  or  "  Pranny  garde  de  mong  tait."  He  thinks 
he  has  quite  the  accent.  He  never  doubts  but  that  he  is  in  a 
situation  to  cope  with  the  natives.  And  au/ait,  he  speaks  French 
as  well  as  many  Belgians  or  Germans  in  those  lands  whither  he  is 
wandering. 

Poor  Caledonian  youth  !  I  have  been  cramming  him  witli  the 
most  dreadful  lies  all  the  way.  I  should  have  utterly  bewildered 
him,  and  made  him  mad  with  lies,  but  for  this  circumstance : — 

In  the  middle  of  a  very  big  one,  which  (administered  by  me) 


r.8     WANDERINGS   OF   OUR   FAT    CONTRIBUTOR 

was  slippin.i;  down  his  tliroat  as  glibly  as  an  oyster,  there  came  up 
from  the  eai)iu  a  young  woman,  not  very  pretty,  but  kind-looking,  antl 
she  laid  lier  hand  upon  the  shoulder  of  tliat  Levizac.-reading  Scotch- 
man, and  smiled,  and  he  said  with  an  air  of  immense  superiority — 
"  ]V(tU,  Eliza,  are  ye  batter  nool" 

It  was  his  wife  !  "  Slie  loved  him.  She  was  partial  to  that 
snob.  She  did  not  mind  the  strings 
of  his  shirt  collar  sticking  out  be- 
hind his  back. 

Gentle  Eliza !  a  man  whom  you 
love  and  whose  exposed  follies  would 
give  you  ])ain,  shall  never  be  made 
the  butt  of  the  Fat  Contributor. 

It  will  hardly  be  credited — but, 
upon  my  honour,  there  are  four 
people  on  deck  learning  French  dia- 
logues as  hard  as  they  can.  There 
is  the  Oxford  man  who  is  not  sick. 
A  young  lady  who  is  to  be  the 
spokeswoman  of  her  party  of  nine. 
A  very  pompous  man,  who  swore 
last  night  in  my  hearing  that  he 
was  a  capital  hand  at  French,  and  the  Caledonian  student  before 
mentioned. 

What  a  wise  race  !  They  learn  French  phrases  to  speak  to 
German  waiters,  who  understand  English  perfectly. 

The  couriers  and  gentlemen's  servants  are  much  the  most 
distitifj lie-looking  people  in  the  ship.  Lord  Muffington  was  on 
board,  and  of  course  I  got  into  conversation  with  his  Lordship — a 
noble-looking  person.  But  just  when  I  thought  he  might  be  on 
the  point  of  asking  me  to  Muffington  Castle,  he  got  up  suddenly, 
and  said,  "  Yes,  my  Lord,"  to  a  fellow  I  never  should  have  suspected 
of  a  coronet.  Yet  he  was  the  noble  Earl,  and  my  friend  was  but 
his  flunkey. 

Such  is  life  !  and  so  may  its  most  astute  observers  be  sometimes 
deceived. 

OsTEND  :  August  6. 

While  the  couriers,  commissioners,  footmen,  gentlemen,  ladies'- 
maids,  Scotchman  with  the  shirt-collar,  the  resuscitated  Oxford 
youth,  the  family  of  nine,  and  the  whole  ship's  passengers  are 
struggling,  puffing,  stamping,  squeezing,  bawling,  cursing,  tumbling 
over  their  boxes  and  one  another's  shins,  losing  their  keys,  screaming 
to  the  commissioners,  having  their  treasures  unfolded,  their  wonder- 


WANDERINGS    OF    OUR   FAT    CONTRIBUTOR     59 

fill  packed  boxes  unpacked  so  that  it  is  iinjiossible  ever  to  squeeze 
the  articles  back  into  their  receptacles  again ;  while  there  is  such 
a  scene  of  Babel  clatter  and  confusion  around  me,  ah  I  let  me  thank 
Heaven  that  I  have  but  a  carpet-bag  ! 

Any  man  going  abroad  who 'purchases  this  number  of  Punch  a 
day  previous  to  his  departure,  will  bless  me  for  ever.  Only  take 
a  carpet-bag !  You  can  have  everything  there  taste  or  luxury 
demands;  six  shirts,  a  fresh  suit  of  clothes,  as  many  razors  as 
would  shave  the  beards  of  a  regiment  of  Turks,  and  what  more  does 
a  traveller  require  ?  Buy  nothing  1  Get  a  reading  of  Murray's 
Guide-book  from  your  neighbour,  and  be  independent  and  happy. 

My  acquaintance,  the  Hon.  James  Jillyfiower,  was  in  the  boat 
with  fifteen  trunks  as  I  am  a  sinner.  He  was  induced  to  take 
packages  for  his  friends.  This  is  the  beauty  of  baggage— if  you 
have  a  bag,  you  can  refuse.  On  this  score  I  refused  twenty-four 
numbers  of  tlie  Jletrojjolitan  Magazine,  a  teapot,  and  a  ham,  which 
he  accepted. 

Lady  Scramjaw — the  packet  was  opened  before  my  eyes  by 
the  custom-house  ofiicers  at  Ostend — gave  Jillyfiower  a  parcel  of 
law  papers  to  carry  to  Italy — "only  deeds,  upon  her  honour"-— 
and  deeds  they  were,  but  with  six  pair  of  gloves  inside.  All  his 
fifteen  trunks  were  opened  in  consequence  of  that  six  pair  of  gloves. 
He  is  made  miserable  for  those  gloves.  But  what  cares  Lady 
Scramjaw"?  Let  all  travellers  beware,  then,  and  again  and  again 
bless  me  for  the  hint. 

I  have  no  passport.     They  have  arrested  me. 
I  am  about  to  be  conducted  to  the  police.     I  may  be  put  into  a 
dungeon  like  O'Connell.     Tyrants  1  lead  on  ! 

I  was  not  led  to  prison,  as  might  have  been  expected.  I  was 
only  conducted  to  a  corner  of  the  room,  where  was  an  official  with 
large  mustachios  and  a  conical  cap.  Eyeing  me  with  lowering 
brows,  the  following  dialogue  took  place  between  me  and  this 
myrmidon  of  tyrants  : — 

Man  in  the  Caj).  Monsieur,  votre  passeport. 

Fat  Contributor.   Monsieur,  je  n'en  ai  pas. 

3fan  in  the  Cap.  Alors,  Monsieur,  vous  pourrez  passer  k 
votre  hotel. 

Fat  Contributor.  Bonjour,  Monsieur  (tci  le  Gros  Redacteur 
tire  un  pi'ofond  coup  de  chajyeau). 

Man  in  the  Cap.  Monsieur,  je  vous  salue. 

We  separated.  I  want  to  know  how  long  Britons  are  to  be 
subjected  to  such  grinding  oppression  1 


(io     WAN  DM  KINGS    OF    OUR    FAT    CONTRIBUTOR 

Wf  went  then  to  our  hotel — the  Hotel  des  Bains.  Wc  were 
so  foolish  as  to  order  champagne  for  dinner.  It  is  the  worst 
champagne  I  ever  drank  in  my  life  :  worse  than  champagne  at 
Vauxhall — worse  than  used  to  be  supplied  by  a  wine-merchant  at 
the  University — worse  even  than  tlie  Bordeaux  provided  in  the 
Hotel  des  Bains.     Good  heavens  !  is  it  for  this  I  am  come  abroad  ? 

Is  it  for  this "?  To  drink  bad  wine — to  eat  fried  soles  as  tough 
as  my  shoe — to  have  my  nerves  agitated  about  a  passport — and,  by 
way  of  a  second  course,  to  be  served  with  flabby  raw  mutton-chops  1 
Away  !  I  can  get  these  in  Chancery  Lane.  Is  tliere  not  such  a 
place  as  Greenwich  in  the  world ;  and  am  I  come  two  hundred 
miles  for  such  an  iniquitous  dinner  as  this  1 

I  thought  of  going  back  again.  Why  did  I  come  away  ?  If 
there  had  been  a  gig  at  the  door  that  instant  to  carry  me  to  my 
native  country,  I  would  have  jumped  in.  But  there  is  no  hope. 
Look  out  of  the  window,  miserable  man,  and  see  you  are  a  stranger 
in  a  foreign  land.  There  is  an  alehouse  opposite,  with  "hier 
VERKOOPT  MAN  TRANKEN  "  ovcr  the  porch.  A  woman  is  standing 
before  me — a  woman  in  wooden  slioes.  She  has  a  Belgic  child  at 
her  neck,  another  at  her  side  in  little  wooden  shoekins. 

To  them  approaches  their  father — a  mariner — he  kisses  his 
wife,  he  kisses  his  children,  and  what  does  he  do  next  1  Why,  he 
wipes  the  nose  of  the  eldest  child,  and  then  the  fond  father  wipes 
the  nose  of  the  youngest  child.  You  see  his  attitude — his  portrait. 
You  cannot  see  his  child's  face  because  'tis  hidden  in  the  folds  of 
the  paternal  handkerchief. 

Fancy  its  expression  of  gratitude,  ye  kind  souls  who  read  this. 
I  am  a  fat  man,  but  somehow  that  touch  of  nature  pleased  me. 
It  went  to  the  heart  through  the  nose.  Ah  !  liappy  children,  sua 
si  bona  norint ;  if  they  did  but  know  their  luck !  They  have  a 
kind  father  to  tend  them  now,  and  defend  their  delicate  faces  from 
the  storms  of  life.  I  am  alone  in  the  world — sad  and  lonely.  I  have 
nobody  to  blow  my  nose.  There  are  otliers  yet  more  wretched,  who 
must  steal  the  handkerchief  with  which  they  perform  the  operation. 

I  could  bear  tliat  feeling  of  loneliness  no  longer.  Away  !  let 
us  hasten  to  the  dyke  to  enjoy  the  pleasures  of  the  place.  All 
Ostend  is  there,  sitting  before  tlie  Restaurant,  and  sipping  ices  as 
the  sun  descends  into  the  western  wave. 

Look  at  his  round  disc  as  it  sinks  into  the  blushing  waters  ! — - 
look,  too,  at  that  fat  woman  bathing — as  round  as  the  sun.  She 
wears  a  brown  dressing-gown — two  bathers  give  her  each  a  hand — 
she  advances  backwards  towards  tlie  coming  wave,  and  as  it  reaches 
her — plop  !  she  sits  down  in  it. 

She   emerges,    puffing,    wheezing,    and   shaking   herself      She 


WANDERINGS    OF    OUR    FAT    CONTRIBUTOR     (il 

retires,  creeping  up  the  steps  of  the  bathing  machine.  She  is 
succeeded  by  other  stout  nymphs,  dispoi-ting  in  the  waves.  For 
hours  and  hours  the  Ostenders  look  on  at  this  enchanting  sight. 

The  Ostend  oyster  is  famous  in  Paris,  and  the  joy  of  the 
gormandiser.  Our  good-natured  ^neighbours  would  not  enjoy  them, 
perhaps,  did  they  know  of  what  country  these  oysters  are  natives. 

At  Ostend  they  are  called  English  oysters.  Yes ;  they  are 
born  upon  the  shores  of  Albion.     They  are  brought   to  Belgium 


'■^    -  pLAISANClE 


young,  and  educated   there, 
see  their  country  again. 


Poor  moUuscoua  exiles !   they  never 


We  rose  at  four,  to  be  ready  for  the  train.  A  ruffianly  Bwts 
(by  what  base  name  they  denominate  the  wretch  in  this  country  I 
know  not)  was  pacing  the  corridors  at  half-past  two. 

Why  the  deuce  will  we  get  up  so  confoundedly  early  on  a 
journey  1      Why  do  we   persist  in  making  ourselves  miserable  — 

G 


(r2     WAXDERINGS    OF    OUR    FAT    CONTRIBUTOR 

depriving  our  souls  of  sleep,  scuttling  througli  our  blessed  meals, 
that  we  may  he  early  on  the  road  1  Is  not  the  sight  of  a  gootl 
romfortahle  hreakfast  more  lovely  than  any  landscape  in  any 
country  1  And  what  turn  in  the  prospect  is  so  charming  as  the 
turn  in  a  clean  snug  bed,  and  another  snooze  of  ludt'-an-hour  ? 

This  alone  is  worth  a  guinea  of  any  man's  money.  If  you  are 
going  to  t]-avel,  never  lose  your  natural  rest  for  anything.  The 
prospect  that  you  want  to  see  will  be  there  next  day.  You  can't 
'see  an  object  fairly  luiless  you  have  had  your  natural  sleep.  A 
woman  in  curl  papers,  a  man  unshorn,  are  not  fit  to  examine  a 
landscape.  An  empty  stomach  makes  blank  eyes.  If  you  would 
enjoy  exterior  objects  well,  dear  friend,  let  your  inner  man  be 
comfortable. 

Above  all,  young  traveller,  take  my  advice,  and  never,  never, 
be  such  a  fool  as  to  go  up  a  mountain,  a  tower,  or  a  steeple.  I 
have  tried  it.  Men  still  ascend  eminences  to  this  day,  and,  descend- 
ing, say  they  have  been  delighted.  But  it  is  a  lie.  They  have 
been  miserable  the  whole  day.  Keep  you  down  :  and  have  break- 
fast while  the  asinine  hunters  after  the  picturesque  go  braying  up 
the  hill. 

It  is  a  broiling  day.  Some  arduous  fellow-countrymen,  now 
that  we  have  arrived,  think  of  mounting  the  tower  of 

Antwerp. 

Let  you  and  me  rather  remain  in  the  cool  Cathedral,  and  look 
at  the  pictures  there,  painted  by  the  gentleman  whom  Lady 
Londonderry  calls  Reuben. 

We  examined  these  works  of  art  at  our  leisure.  We  thought 
to  ourselves  what  a  privilege  it  is  to  be  allowed  to  look  at  the 
works  of  Reuben  (or  any  other  painter)  after  the  nobility  have 
gazed  on  them!  "What  did  the  Noble  Marquis  think  about 
Reuben  1  "  we  mentally  inquired — it  would  be  a  comfort  to  know 
his  opinion  :  and  that  of  the  respected  aristocracy  in  general. 

So  thought  some  people  at  the  table-d'hote,  near  whom  we  have 
been  sitting.  Poor  innocents  !  How  little  they  knew  that  the  fat 
gentleman  opposite  was  the  contributor  of — ha  !  ha  ! 

My  mind  fills  with  a  savage  exultation  every  now  and  then,  as, 
liearing  a  piece  of  folly,  I  say  inwardly — "  Ha,  my  fine  fellow  !  you 
are  down."  The  poor  wretcli  goes  pottering  on  with  his  dinner : 
he  little  knows  he  will  be  in  Punch  that  day  fortnight. 

There  is  something  fierce,  mighty,  savage,  inquisitorial,  demoniac, 
in  the  possession  of  that  power  !     But  we  wield  the  dreadful  weapon 


WANDERINGS    OF    OUR    FAT    CONTRIBUTOR     CvA 

justly.     It  would  be  death  in  the  hands  of  the  inexperienced  to 
hold  the  thunderbolts  of  Punch. 

There  they  sit,  poor  simple  lambs  !  all  browsing  away  at  their 
victuals ;  frisking  in  their  innoctyit  silly  way — making  puns,  some 
uf  them — quite  unconscious  of  their  fate. 

One  man  quoted  a  joke  from  Punch.  It  was  one  of  my  own. 
Poor  wretch  !  And  to  think  that  you,  too,  must  submit  to  the 
knife  ! 

Come,  gentle  victim  !     Let  me  plunge  it  into  you. 

But  my  paper  is  out.  I  will  reserve  the  slaughter  for  the  next 
letter. 


Ill 

[The  relations,  friends,  and  creditors  of  the  singular  and  erratic  being  who, 
under  the  title  of  the  Fat  Contributor  (he  is,  by  the  way,  the  thinnest  mortal 
that  ever  was  seen),  wrote  some  letters  in  August  last  in  this  periodical,  have 
been  alarmed  by  the  sudden  cessation  of  his  correspondence  ;  and  the  public, 
as  we  have  reason  to  know  from  the  innumerable  letters  we  have  received,  has 
participated  in  this  anxiet.y. 

Yesterday,  by  the  Peninsular  and  Oriental  Company's  steamship  Tagus, 
we  received  a  packet  of  letters  in  the  strange  handwriting  of  our  eccentric 
friend  ;  they  are  without  date,  as  might  be  expected  from  the  author's  usu;d 
irregularity,  but  the  first  three  letters  appear  to  have  been  written  at  sea, 
between  Southampton  and  Gibraltar,  the  last  from  the  latter-named  place. 
The  letters  contain  some  novel  descriptions  of  the  countries  which  our  friend 
visited,  some  neat  and  apposite  moral  sentiments,  and  some  animated  descrip- 
tions of  maritime  life  ;  we  therefore  hasten  to  lay  them  before  the  public. 

He  requests  us  to  pay  his  laundress  in  Lincoln's  Inn  "a  small  forgotten 
account."  As  we  have  not  the  honour  of  that  lady's  acquaintance,  and  as  no 
doubt  she  reads  this  Miscellany  (in  company  with  every  lady  of  the  land),  we 
beg  her  to  apply  at  our  office,  where  her  claim,  upon  authentication,  shall  be 
settled.— Editor.] 

HAVING  been  at  Brussels  for  three  wiiole  ays  (during  which 
time,  I  calculate,  I  ate  no  less  than  tifty-four  dishes  at  tliat 
admirable  tahU-cVhote  at  the  Hotel  de  Suede),  time  began  to 
liang  heavily  upon  me.  Although  I  am  fat,  I  am  one  of  the  most 
active  men  in  the  universe — in  fact,  I  roll  like  a  ball — and  possess  a 
love  of  locomotion  which  would  do  credit  to  the  leanest  of  travellers, 
George^  Borrow,  Captain  Clapperton,  or  Mungo  Park.  I  therefore 
l)ursue(l  a  rapid  course  to  Paris,  and  thence  to  Havre. 

As  Havre  is  the  dullest  place  on  earth,  I  quitted  it  the  next 
day  by  the  Ariadne  steamer — the  weather  was  balm,  real  balm. 
A  myriad  of  twinkling  stars  glittered  down  on  the  deck  which  bore 


6i     WANr>ET^TNrrS    OF    OUR    FAT    CONTRIBUTOR 

the  Fut  CoiilriltulDr  to  his  luitive  shores — the  crescent  moon  shone 
in  a  sky  of  the  most  elegant  azure,  and  myriads  of  dimples  decked 
the  smiling  countenance  of  tlu^  ])ea('eful  main.  I  was  so  excited  I 
would  not  turn  into  l)ed,  l)ut  i>a'ced  the  ([uarter-deck  all  night,  sing- 
ing my  favourite  sea  songs — all  the  pieces  out  of  all  the  operas 
wliich  I  had  ever  heard,  and  many  more  tunes  which  I  invented  on 
the  spot,  but  have  forgottt'n  long  since. 

I  never  passed  a  more  delicious  night.  I  lay  down  liapi)ily  to 
rest,  folded  in  my  cloak — the  eternal  stars  above  nie,  and  beneath 
me  a  horsehair  mattress,  which  the  steward  brought  from  below. 
When  I  rose  like  a  giant  refreshed  at  morn,  Wight  was  passed ; 
the  tM'o  churches  of  Southampton  lay  on  my  right  hand ;  we  were 
close  to  the  pier. 

"What  is  yonder  steamer?"  I  asked  of  the  steward,  pointing 
to  a  handsome,  slim,  black  craft  that  lay  in  the  harbour — a  flag  of 
blue,  red,  white,  and  yellow  on  one  mast ;  a  blue-peter  (signal  of 
departure)  at  another. 

"  That,"  said  the  steward,  "  is  the  Peninsular  and  Oriental 
Steam  Navigation  Company's  ship  Ladi/  Mary  Wood.  She  leaves 
port  to-day  for  Gibraltar,  touching  on  her  way  at  Vigo,  Oporto, 
Lisbon,  and  Cadiz." 

I  quitted  the  Ariadne — Jason  did  the  same  in  Lemprifere's 
Dictionary,  and  she  consoled  herself  with  drinking,  it  is  said — I 
quitted  the  shi]),  and  went  to  the  inn,  with  the  most  tremendous 
thoughts  heaving,  panting,  boiling,  in  my  bosom  ! 

"  Lisbon  ! "  I  said,  as  I  cut  into  a  cold  round  of  beef  for  break- 
fast (if  I  have  been  in  foreign  parts  for  a  week,  I  always  take  cold 
beef  and  ale  for  breakfast),  "  Lisbon  !  "  I  exclaimed,  "  \.\\e  Jieuve  dtt 
Tage  I  the  orange  gi"oves  of  Cintra !  the  vast  towers  of  Mafra, 
Belera,  the  Gallegos,  and  the  Palace  of  Necessidades  !  Can  I  see 
all  these  in  a  week  ?  Have  I  courage  enough  to  go  and  see  them  1 " 
I  took  anotlier  cut  at  the  beef 

"  What !  "  continued  I  (my  mouth  full  of  muftin),  "  is  it  possible 
that  I,  sitting  here  as  I  am,  may  without  the  least  trouble,  and  at 
a  trifling  expense,  transi)ort  myself  to  Cadiz,  skimming  over  the 
dark  blue  sea  to  the  land  of  the  Sombrero  and  the  Seguidilla — of 
the  Puchera,  the  Muchacha,  and  the  Abanico?  If  I  employ  my 
time  well,  I  may  see  a  bull- fight,  an  auto-da-fe,  or  at  least  a  revolu- 
tion. I  may  look  at  the  dark  eyes  of  the  Andalusian  maid  flashing 
imder  the  dark  meshes  of  her  veil ;  and  listen  to  Almaviva's  guitar 
as  it  tinkles  beneath  the  balcony  of  Rosina  !  " — "  What  time  does 
the  Mary  Wood  go,  waiter  1"  I  cried. 

The  slave  replied  she  went  at  half-past  three. 

"  And  does  slie  make  Gibraltar  ?  "  I  continued.      "  Say,  John, 


WANDERINGS    OF    OUR    FAT    CONTRIBUTOR     65 

will  she  land  me  at  Gibel  el  Altar  1  opposite  the  coasts  of  Afric, 
whence  whilom  swarmed  the  galleys  of  the  Moor,  and  landed  on 
the  European  shores  the  dusky  squadrons  of  the  Moslemah  1  Do 
you  mean  to  say,  Thomas,  that  if  I  took  my  passage  in  yon  boat, 
a  few  days  would  transport  me'to  the  scene  renowned  in  British 
story — the  fortress  seized  by  Rooke,  and  guarded  by  Eliott  ?  Shall 
I  be  able  to  see  the  smoking  ruins  of  Tangiers,  wliicii  the  savage 
bully  of  Gaul  burned  down  in  braggadocio  pride  ?  " 

"Would  you  like  anything  for  dinner  before  you  go?"  "William 
here  rather  sulkily  interrujitcd  me  ;  "I  can't  be  a-listening  to  you 
all  day — there's  the  bell  of  24  ringing  like  mad." 

My  repast  was  by  this  time  concluded — the  last  slice  of  boiled 
beef  made  up  my  mind  completely.  I  went  forth  to  the  busy  town 
— I  sought  a  ready-made  linen  warehouse — and  in  the  twinkling  of 
an  eye  I  purchased  all  that  was  necessary  for  a  two  months'  voyage. 

From  that  moment  I  let  my  mustachios  grow.  At  a  quarter- 
past  three,  a  mariner  of  a  stout  but  weather-beaten  appearance, 
with  a  quantity  of  new  carpet-bags  and  portmanteaus,  containing 
twenty-four  new  shirts  (six  terrifically  striped),  two  dozen  ditto 
stockings — in  brief,  everything  necessary  for  travel — tripped  lightly 
up  the  ladder  of  the  Lady  Mary  Wood. 

I  made  a  bow  as  I  have  seen  T.  P.  Cooke  do  it  on  the  stage. 
"Avast  there,  my  hearty,"  I  said:  "can  you  tell  me  which  is  the 
skipper  of  this  here  craft,  and  can  a  seaman  get  a  stowage  in  her?" 

"  I  am  the  captain,"  said  the  gentleman,  rather  surprised. 

"  Tip  us  your  daddle  then,  ray  old  sea-dog,  and  give  us  change 
for  this  here  Henry  Hase." 

'Twas  a  bank-note  for  £100,  and  the  number  was  33769. 


IV 

THE  SHIP  AT  SEA—DOLORES! 

THE  first  thing  that  a  narrow-minded  individual  does  on  ship- 
board is  to  nuike  his  own  berth  comfortable  at  the  expense 
of  his  neighbours.     The  next  is  to  criticise  the  passengers 
round  about  him. 

Do  you  remark,  when  Britons  meet,  with  what  a  scowl  they 
salute  each  other,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Bless  your  eyes,  what  the 
angel  do  you  do  here  1 "  Youn;/  travellers,  that  is  to  say,  ado]jt 
this  fascinating  mode  of  introduction.  I  am  old  in  voyaging — 
I  go  "up  with  a  bland  smile  to  one  and  every  j)assenger.  I  originate 
some  clever  observation  about  the  fineness  of  the  weather ;  if  there 


66    WANDERINGS    OF   OUR   FAT   CONTRIBUTOR 

are  latlies,  I  niana<,'C  to  make  some  side  ajjpeal  to  fhevi,  which 
is  sure  of  a  tender  api)reciation  :  above  all,  if  there  are  old  ladies, 
^fat  ladies,  very  dropsical,  very  sea-sick,  or  ugly  ladies,  I  pay  them 
some  delicate  attention — I  go  up  and  insinuate  a  pillow  under 
their  poor  feet.  In  the  intervals  of  sickness  I  whisper,  "A  leetle 
hot  sherry  and  water?"  All  these  little  kindnesses  act  upon  tlieir 
delicate  hearts,  and  I  know  that  they  say  to  themselves,  "  How 
exceeilingly  polite  and  well  bred  that  stout  young  man  is  !  " 

"  It's  a  pity  he's  so  fat,"  says  one. 

"  Yes,  but  then  he's  so  active,"  ejaculates  aiiotlier. 

And  thus,  n)y  dear  and  ingenious  youth  who  read  this,  and 
whom  I  reconunend  to  lay  to  heart  every  single  word  of  it — I  am 
adored  by  all  my  fellow-passengers.  AVhen  they  go  ashore  they 
feel  a  pang  at  parting  with  their  amiable  companion.  I  am  only 
surprised  that  I  have  not  been  voted  several  pieces  of  plate  upon 
these  occasions — perhaps,  dear  youth,  if  you  follow  my  example, 
you  may  be  more  lucky. 

Acting  upon  this  benevolent  plan,  I  shall  not  begin  satirically 
to  describe  the  social  passengers  that  tread  with  me  the  deck  of  tlie 
Lad//  Mary  Wood.  I  shall  uot,  like  that  haughty  and  supercilious 
Avretch  with  the  yellow  whiskers,  yonder,  cut  short  the  gentle  eftbrts 
at  good-fellowship  which  human  beings  around  me  may  make — or 
grumble  at  the  dinner,  or  the  head-wind,  or  the  narrowness  of  the 
berths,  or  the  jarring  of  the  engines — but  shall  make  light  of  all 
these — nay,  by  ingeiuiity,  turn  them  to  a  facetious  and  moral 
purpose.  Here,  for  instance,  is  a  jMcture  of  the  ship,  taken  imder 
circumstances  of  great  difficulty — over  the  engine-room — the  funnel 
snorting,  the  ship's  sides  throbbing,  as  if  in  a  fit  of  ague. 

Tliere  !  I  flatter  myself  that  is  a  masterpiece  of  perspective.  If 
the  Royal  Academy  would  exhibit,  or  Mr.  Moon  would  publish,  a 
large  five-guinea  plate  of  the  "  main-deck  of  a  steamer,"  how  the 
public  would  admire  and  purchase  !  With  a  little  imagination,  you 
may  fancy  yourself  on  shipboard.  Before  you  is  the  iron  grating, 
up  to  which  you  see  peeping  every  minute  the  pumping  head  of  the 
engine ;  on  the  right  is  the  galley,  where  the  cook  prepares  the 
victuals  that  we  eat  or  not,  as  weather  permits,  near  which  stands 
a  living  likeness  of  Mr.  Jones,  the  third  engineer ;  to  the  left,  and 
running  along  the  side  of  the  paddle-boxes,  are  all  sorts  of  mysterious 
little  houses  painted  green,  from  which  mates,  mops,  cabin-boys, 
l)lack  engineers,  and  oily  cook's-assistants  emerge  ;  above  is  the  deck 
between  the  two  paddle-boxes,  on  which  the  captain  walks  in  his 
white  trousers  and  telescope  (you  may  catch  a  glimi)se  of  the 
former),  and  from  which  in  bad  weather  he,  speaking-trumpet  in 


WANDERINGS    OF    OUR    FAT    CONTRIBUTOR     67 

hand,  rides  the  whirlwind  and  directs  the  storm.  Those  are  the 
liiK'kets  in  case  of  fire ;  see  how  they  are  dancing  about !  because 
they  have  nothing  else  to  do — I  trust  they  will  always  remain  idle. 
A  ship  on  tii'e  is  a  conveyance  by  which  I  have  no  mind  to  travel. 

Farther  away,  by  the  quarter-deck  ladder,  you  see  accurate 
jiortraits  of  Messrs.  MacWhirter  and  MacMurdo,  of  Oporto  and 
Saint  Mary's,  wine-merchants  ;  and  far  far  away,  on  the  quarter- 
deck, close  by  the  dark  helmsman,  with  the  binnacle  shining  before 
las  steadfast  eyes,  and  the  English  flag  streaming  behind  lum — (it 
is  a  confounded  head-wind) — you  see — 0  my  wildly  beating,  my 
too  susceptible  heart — you  see — DOLORES  ! 

I  write  her  name  with  a  sort  of  despair.  I  think  it  is  four 
hours  ago  since  I  wrote  that  word  on  the  paper.     They  were  at 


dinner,  but  (for  a  particular  reason)  I  cared  not  to  eat,  and  sat  at 
my  desk  apart.  The  dinner  went  away,  either  down  the  throats  of 
the  eager  passengers,  or  to  the  black  caboose  whence  it  came — 
dessert  passed — the  sun  set — tea  came — the  moon  rose — she  is  now 
high  in  heaven,  and  the  steward  is  laying  the  supper  things,  and  all 
this  while  I  have  been  thinking  oi'  Dolores,  Dolokes,  Dolores  ! 

She  is  a  little  far  oft'  in  the  picture  ;  but  by  the  aid  of  a  micro- 
scope, my  dear  sir,  yon  may  see  every  lineament  of  her  delicious 
countenance — every  fold  of  the  drapery  which  adorns  her  fair  form, 
and  falls  down  to  the  loveliest  foot  in  the  world  !  Did  you  ever 
see  anything  like  that  ankle? — those  thin  open-worked  stockings 
make  my  heart  thump  in  an  indescriV)able  rapture.  I  would  drink 
her  health  out  of  that  shoe  ;  but  I  swear  it  would  not  hold  more 
than  a  liqueur-glass  of  wine.     Before  she  left  us — ah  me  !  that  I 


6s     WANDERINGS    OF    OUR    FAT    CONTRIBUTOR 

sliduld  have  to  write  the  words  left  us — I  tried  to  make  her  likeness  ; 
liiit  tlie  aboniiuahle  brute  of  a  steam-engine  shook  so,  that — would  you 
believe  it  ? — I  could  make  nothing  of  the  loveliest  face  in  the  world  ! 

I  look  even  at  that  with  a  melancholy  pleasure.  It  is  not  very 
like  her,  oertaiidy  ;  but  it  was  drawn  from  her — it  is  not  the  rose, 
but  it  has  been  near  it.  Her  coin])lexion  is  a  sort  of  gold  colour — 
her  eyes  of  a  melting,  deep,  nnfathomably  deep  brown — and  as 
for  her  hair,  the  varnish  of  my  best  lioots  for  evening  parties  is 
nothing  compared  to  it  for  blackness  and  polish. 

She  use<l  to  sit  on  the  quarter-deck  of  sunny  afternoons,  and 
smoke  paper  cigars — oh  if  you  could  have  seen  how  sweetly  she 
smiled  and  how  prettily  she  i)uffcd  out  the  smoke  !  I  have  got 
a  bit  of  one  of  them  which  has  been  at  her  sweet  lips.  I  shall 
get  a  gold  box  to  keep  it  in  some  day  when  I  am  in  cash.  There 
she  sat  smoking,  and  the  young  rogues  of  the  ship  used  to  come 
crowding  round  her.  MacWhirter  was  sorry  she  didn't  stop  at 
Oporto,  MacMurdo  was  glad  because  she  was  going  to  Cadiz — I 
warrant  he  was — my  heart  was  burst  asunder  with  a  twang  and  a 
snap,  and  she  carried  away  half  of  it  in  the  Malta  boat,  which  l)ore 
her  away  from  me  for  ever. 

Dolores  was  not  like  your  common  mincing  English  girls — she 
had  always  a  repartee  and  a  joke  upon  her  red  lips  wdiich  made 
every  one  around  her  laugh — some  of  these  jokes  I  would  repeat 
were  it  not  a  breach  of  confidence,  and  had  they  not  been  uttered 
in  the  Spanish  language,  of  which  I  don't  understand  a  word.  So 
I  used  to  sit  quite  silent  and  look  at  her  full  in  the  face  for  hours 
and  hours,  and  oiier  her  my  liomage  that  way. 

You  should  have  seen  how  Dolores  ate  too !  Our  table  was 
served  four  times  a  day — at  breakfast,  with  such  delicacies  as  beef- 
steaks, bubble-and-s(iueak,  fried  ham  and  eggs,  hashed  goose,  &c., 
twice  laid — of  all  which  trifles  little  Dolores  would  have  her  share  ; 
the  same  at  dinner  when  she  was  well ;  and  when  beneath  the 
influence  of  angry  Neptime  the  ])oor  soid  was  stretched  in  the 
berth  of  sickness,  the  stewards  w^ould  nevertheless  bear  away  plates 
upon  plates  of  victuals  to  the  dear  suffering  girl  ;  and  it  would  be 
'•  Irish  stew  for  a  lady,  if  you  please,  sir:" — "Rabbit  and  onions 
for  the  ladies'  cabin  ; "  "  Duck,  if  you  please,  and  jilenty  of  stuffing, 
for  the  Spanish  lady."  And  such  is  our  blind  partiality  when  the 
heart  is  concerned,  that  I  admired  that  conduct  in  my  Dolores 
which  I  shouM  have  detested  in  other  people.  For  instance,  if  I 
had  seen  Miss  Jones  or  Miss  Smith  making  peculiar  play  with  her 
knife,  or  pulling  out  a  toothpick  after  dinner,  what  would  have 
been  my  feelings  ! 

But  I  only  saw  perfection  in  Dolores. 


FROM  MY  LOG-BOOK  AT  SEA 

WE  are  at  sea — yonder  is  Finisterre. 
The  only  tempest  I  have  to  describe  during  the  A'oyage 
is  tliat  raging  in  my  own  stormy  interior.  It  is  most  pro- 
vokingly  inicomfortahly  fine  weatlier.  An  we  pass  Usiiant  there  is 
not  a  cloud  on  the  sky,  there  scarcely  seems  a  ripple  on  the  water 
■ — and  yet — oh  yet !  it  is  not  a  calm  vithiti.  Passion  and  sea- 
sickness are  raging  there  tumultuously. 

Why  is  it  I  cannot  eat  my  victuals?  Why  is  it  that  when 
Steward  brought  to  my  couch  a  plateful  of  Sea-Pie  (I  called  wildly 
for  it,  having  read  of  the  dish  in  maritime  novels),  why  is  it  that 
the  onions  of  which  that  delectable  condiment  seems  to  be  mainly 
composed  caused  a  convulsive  shudder  to  pass  from  my  nose  through 
my  whole  agonised  frame,  obliging  me  to  sink  back  gasping  in  the 
crib,  and  to  forego  all  food  for  many  many  hours  ] 

I  think  it  must  be  my  love  for  Dolores  that  causes  this  desperate 
disinclination  for  food,  and  yet  I  have  been  in  love  many  times  before, 
and  I  don't  recollect  ever  having  lost  my  desire  for  my  regular  four 
meals  a  day.     I  believe  I  must  be  very  far  gone  this  time. 

I  ask  Frank,  the  steward,  how  is  the  Senora  1  She  suffers,  the 
dear  dear  Soul !  She  is  in  the  ladies'  cabin — she  has  just  had  a 
plate  of  roast-pork  carried  in  to  her. 

She  always  chooses  the  dishes  witli  onions — she  comes  from  the 
sunny  South,  where  both  onions  and  garlic  are  plentifully  used — 
and  yet  somehow,  in  the  depression  of  my  spirits — I  wish,  I  a\  isli 
she  hadn't  a  partiality  for  that  particular  vegetable. 

It  is  the  next  day.  I  have  lost  almost  all  count  of  time ;  and 
only  know  how  to  trace  it  faintly,  by  remembering  the  champagne 
days — Thursday  and  Sunday. 

I  am  abominably  hungry.  And  yet  when  I  tried  at  breakfast  ! 
— 0  horror  !— I  was  obliged  to  plunge  back  to  the  little  cabin  again, 
and  have  not  been  heard  of  since.  Since  then  I  have  been  lying  on 
my  back,  sadly  munching  biscuit  and  looking  at  the  glimmer  of  the 
sun  through  the  deadlight  overhead. 

I  was  on  the  sofa,  enjoying  (if  a  wretch  so  miserable  can  be  said 
to  enjoy  anything)  the  fresh  sea-breeze  which  came  tlirough  the  open 
port-hole,  and  jilayed  upon  my  dewy  brow.     But  a  confounded  great 


70     WANDERINGS    OP^    OUR    FAT    CONTRIBUTOR 

\v;ive  caiiie  Hounciiig  in  at  the  orifico,  l)liii(le(l  me,  wet  nie  through, 
wet  all  my  linen  in  the  carj)ot-bag,  rusted  all  my  razors,  ma(l(! 
water-l)uck(!ts  of  my  boots,  and  ])layed  the  deuce  with  a  tin  of  sweet 
biscuits  which  have  formed  my  only  solace. 

Ha  !  ha  !  What  do  I  want  with  boots  and  razors  ?  I  could 
not  put  on  a  boot  now  if  you  were  to  give  me  a  thousand  guineas. 
I  could  not  shave  if  my  life  depended  on  it.  I  think  I  could  cut 
my  head  otf — but  the  razors  are  rusty  and  would  not  cut  clean. 

0  Dolores,  Dolores  ! 

The  hunger  grows  worse  and  worse.  It  seems  to  me  an  age 
since  butcher's  meat  passed  these  lips  ;  and,  to  add  to  my  misery, 

1  (;an  hear  every  word  the  callous  wretches  are  saying  in  the  cabin  ; 
the  clatter  of  the  plates,  the  jiopping  of  the  soda-water  corks — or, 
can  it  be  champagne  day,  and  I  a  miserable  groveller  on  my  mattress  1 
The  following  is  the  conversation  : — 

Captain.  Mr.  Jones,  may  I  have  the  honour  of  a  glass  of 
wine^     Frank,  some  champagne  to  Mr.  Jones. 

Colonel  Coudi/  (of  the  Spanish  service).  That's  a  mighty  deli- 
cate ham,  Mr  Carver  ;  may  I  thrubble  ye  for  another  slice  1 

Mr.  MacMurdo  (of  Saint  Mary's,  sherry-merchant).  Where 
does  the  Proveedor  get  this  sherry  1  If  he  would  send  to  my 
cellars  in  Saint  Mary's,  I  would  put  him  in  a  couple  of  butts  of 
wine  that  shouldn't  cost  him  half  the  money  he  pays  for  this. 

Mr.  Mac  Whirter  (of  Oporto).  The  sherry's  good  enough  for 
sherry,  Avhich  is  never  worth  the  drinking ;  but  the  port  is  abomin- 
able.    Wliy  doesn't  he  come  to  our  house  for  it  1 

Captain.  There  is  nothing  like  leather,  gentlemen.  —  More 
champagne,  Frank.  Mr.  Bung,  try  the  macaroni.  Mr.  Perkins, 
this  plum-pudding  is  capital. 

Steioard.  Some  pudding  for  Mrs.  Bigbody  in  the  cabin,  and 
another  slice  of  duck  for  the  Sefioru. 

And  so  goes  on  the  horrid  talk.  They  are  eating — she  is  eating; 
they  laugh,  they  jest.  Mr.  Smith  jocularly  inquires,  "  How  is  the 
fot  gentleman  that  was  so  gay  on  board  the  first  day  ? "  Meaning 
me,  of  course ;  and  I  am  lying  supine  in  my  berth,  without  even 
strength  enough  to  pull  the  rascal's  nose.     I  detest  Smith. 

Friday. —  Vigo  ;  its  hay  ;  beauty  of  its  environs. — Nelson. 

Things  look  more  briskly ;  the  swell  has  gone  down.  We  are  upon 
deck  again.  We  have  breakfasted.  We  have  made  up  for  the  time 
lost  in  abstinence  during  the  two  former  days.  Dolores  is  on  deck  ; 
and  when  the  spring  sun  is  out,  where  should  the  butterfly  be  but  on 
the  wing?     Dolores  is  the  sun,  I  am  the  remainder  of  the  simile. 


WANDERINGS    OF   OUR    FAT    CONTRIBUTOR     71 

It  is  astonishiug  how  a  few  hours'  calm  can  make  one  forget  the 
long  hours  of  weary  bad  weather.  I  can't  fancy  I  have  been  ill  at 
all,  but  for  those  inelanclioly  observations  scrawled  feebly  down  in 
pencil  in  my  journal  yesterday.  I  am  in  clean  shining  white  ducks, 
my  blue  shirt-collars  falling  elegantly  over  a  yellow  bandanna.  My 
m'ustachios  have  come  on  wonderfully ;  they  are  a  Uttle  red  or  so. 
But  the  Spanish,  they  say,  like  fair  faces.  I  would  do  anything 
for  Dolores  but  smoke  with  her ;  that  I  confess  I  dare  not  attempt. 

It  appears  it  was  the  Bay  of  Blscay  that  made  me  so  ill. 
We  were  in  Vigo  yesterday  (a  plague  take  it  !  I  have  missed 
what  is  said  to  be  one  of  the  most  beautiful  bays  in  the  world) ; 
but  I  was  ill,  and  getting  a  little  sleep  :  and  when  it  is  known  as 
a  fact  that  a  Nelson  was  always  ill  on  first  going  to  sea,  need  a 
Fat  Contributor  be  ashame(^  of  a  manly  and  natural  weakness  1 

Saturday. — Description  of  Oporto. 

We  were  off  the  bar  at  an  exceedingly  early  hour — so  early, 
that  although  a  gun  fired  and  waked  me  out  of  a  sound  sleep,  I 
did  not  rise  to  examine  tlie  town. 

It  is  three  miles  inland,  and  therefore  cannot  be  seen.  It  is 
fomous  for  the  generous  wine  which  bears  tlie  name  of  port,  and  is 
drunk  by  some  after  dinner ;  by  other,  and  I  think  wiser,  persons 
simply  after  cheese. 

As  about  ten  times  a,s  much  of  tliis  liquor  is  drunk  in  England 
as  is  made  in  Portugal,  it  is  needless  to  institute  any  statistical 
inquiries  into  the  growth  and  consumption  of  the  wine. 

Oporto  was  besieged  by  Don  ^liguel,  the  rightful  king,  who, 
although  he  had  Marshal  Bourmont  and  justice  on  his  side,  was 
defeated  by  Don  Pedro  and  British  Valour.  Thus  may  our  arms 
ever  triumph  :  Tliese  are  the  only  facts  I  was  enabled  to  gather 
regarding  Oporto. 

Xew  Passengers. — On  coming  on  deck,  I  was  made  aware  that 
we  had  touched  land  by  the  presence  on  the  boat  of  at  least  a 
liundred  passengers,  who  had  not  before  appeared  among  us.  They 
had  come  from  Vigo,  and  it  appears  were  no  more  disposed  to 
nnise  at  the  morning  gun  than  I  was  ;  for  they  lay  asleep  on  the  fore- 
deck  for  the  most  part,  in  various  attitudes. 

They  were  Gallegos  going  to  Lisbon  for  service ;  and  I  wished 
tliat  a  better  hand  tlian  nunc — viz.,  one  of  those  immortal  pencils 
which  decorate  the  columns  of  our  dear  Punch— \\a.(\  been  there  to 
take  cognisance  of  these  strange  children  of  the  South — in  their 
scarfs  and  their  tufted  hats,  with  their  brown  faces  sliining  as  they 
lay  under  the  sun. 


72     WANDERIN(;,S    OK    OUR    FAT    CONTRIBUTOR 

Nor  were  these  tlie  only  new  passengers  ;  with  them  cunie  on 
board  a  half-dozen  of  Hungarian  ('loth-sellers,  of  one  of  whom  heie 


is  the  accurate  portrait  as  he  lay  upon   two  barrels,  and  slept  the 
sleep  of  innocence  suh  Jove. 

But  see  the  same  hulividual — ah,  how  changed  !     He  is  suffering 
from  the  pangs  of  sea-sickness,  and  I  have  no  doubt  yearning  for 


fatherland,  or  land  of  some  sort.     But  I  am  interrupted.     Hark  ! 
'tis  the  bell  for  lunch  ! 

[Though  our  fat  friend's  log  has  been  in  the  present  instance  a  little  tedious, 
the  observant  reader  may  nevertheless  draw  from  it  a  complete  and  agreeable 
notion  of  the  rise,  progress,  and  conclusion  of  the  malady  of  sea-sickness.  He 
is  exhausted  ;  he  is  melancholy  ;  he  is  desperate  ;  he  rejects  his  victuals  ;  he 
grows  hungry,  but  dares  not  eat ;  he  mends  ;  his  spirits  rise  ;  all  his  faculties 
are  restored  to  him.  and  he  eats  with  redoubleil  vigour.  This  fine  diagnosis  of 
the  maritime  complaint,  we  pronounce  from  experience  may  be  perfectly  relied 
upon. — Editor.] 


PUNCH   IN    THE    EAST 

FROM    OUR    FAT    CONTRIBUTOR 

On  board  the  P.  &  0.  Company's  ship 

"  BURRUMPOOTEE,"    OFF   ALEXANDRIA. 

FAT    CONTRIBUTOR,   indeed!     I    lay   down    my  pen,   and 
smile  in   bitter  scorn   as   I  write   the   sarcastic  title — I  re- 
member it  was  that  which  I  assumed  when  my  peregrinations 
began. — It  is  now  an  absurd  misnomer. 

I  forget  whence  I  wrote  to  you  last.  We  were  but  three  weeks 
from  England,  I  think — off  Cadiz,  or  Malta,  perhaps — I  was  full  of 
my  recollections  of  Dolores — full  in  other  ways,  too.  I  have 
travelled  in  the  East  since  then.  I  have  seen  the  gardens  of 
Bujukdere  and  the  kiosks  of  the  Seraglio  :  I  have  seen  the  sun 
sinking  behind  Morea's  hills,  and  rising  over  the  red  waves  of  the 
Nile.  I  have  travelled  like  Benjamin  Disraeli,  Ulysses,  Moncktou 
Milnes,  and  the  eminent  sages  of  all  times.  I  am  not  the  fat  being 
I  was  (and  proudly  styled  myself)  when  I  left  my  dear  dear  Pall 
Mall.  You  recollect  my  Nugee  dress-coat,  with  the  brass  buttons 
and  canary  silk  lining,  that  tlie  author  of  the  "  Spirit  of  the  Age  " 
used  to  envy  1  I  never  confessed  it — but  I  was  in  agonies  when  I 
wore  that  coat.  I  was  girthed  in  (inwardly)  so  tight,  that  I 
thought  every  day  after  the  third  entree  apoplexy  would  ensue — 
and  had  my  name  and  address  written  most  legibly  in  the  breast- 
flap,  so  that  I  might  be  carried  home  in  case  I  was  found  speechless 
in  the  street  on  my  return  from  dinner.  A  smiling  face  often  hides 
an  aching  heart ;  I  promise  you  mine  did  in  that  coat,  and  not  my 
lieart  only,  but  otlier  regions.  Tliere  is  a  skeleton  in  every  house — 
and  mine — no — I  wasn't  exactly  a  skeleton  in  that  garment,  but 
suffered  secret  torments  in  it,  to  which,  as  I  take  it,  those  of  the 
Inquisition  were  trifles. 

I  put  it  on  t'other  day  to  dine  with  Bucksheesh  Pasha  at  Grand 
Cairo — I  could  have  buttoned  the  breast  over  to  the  two  buttons 
behind.  My  dear  Sir — I  looked  like  a  perfect  Guy.  I  am  wasted 
away — a  fading  flower— I  don't  weigh  above  sixteen  and  a  half  now. 
Eastern  travel  has  done  it — and  all  my  fat  friends  may  read  this 


74         PATERS    BY    THE    FAT    CONTRIBUTOR 

and  consider  it.  It  is  sonietliinjj;  at  least  to  know.  Byron  (one  of 
us)  took  vinegar  and  starved  himself  to  get  down  the  disagreeable 
plenitude.  Vinegar  1 — nonsense — try  Eastern  travel.  I  am  bound 
to  say,  however,  that  it  don't  answer  in  all  cases.  Waddilove,  for 
instance,  with  Avhom  I  have  been  making  the  journey,  has  bulged 
out  in  tlie  .sun  like  a  pumjtkin,  and  at  dinner  you  see  his  coat  and 
waistcoat  buttons  spirt  violently  off  his  garments — no  longer  able 
to  bear  the  confinement  there.      One  of  them  hit  Colonel  Sourcillon 

plump  on  the  nose,  on  which  the  Frenchman But  to  return 

to  my  own  case.  A  man  always  speaks  most  naturally  and  truly 
of  that  which  occurs  to  liimself. 

I  attribute  the  diminution  in  my  size  not  to  my  want  of 
appetite,  which  has  been  uniformly  good.  Pale  ale  is  to  be  found 
universally  throughout  Turkey,  Syria,  Greece,  and  Egypt,  and  after 
a  couple  of  foaming  bottles  of  Bass,  a  man  coald  eat  a  crocodile  (we 
had  some  at  Bncksheesh  Pasha's  fattened  in  the  tanks  of  his  country 
villa  of  El  Muddee,  on  the  Nile,  but  tough — very  fishy  and  tough) 
— the  appetite,  I  say,  I  have  found  to  be  generally  good  in  these 
regions — and  attribute  the  corporeal  diminution  solely  to  want  of 

SLEEP. 

I  give  you  my  word  of  honour  as  a  gentleman,  that  for  seven 
weeks  I  have  never  slept  a  single  wink.  It  is  my  belief  that 
nobody  does  in  the  East.  You  get  to  do  without  it  perfectly.  It 
may  be  said  of  these  countries,  they  are  so  hospitable,  you  are  never 
alone.  You  have  always  friends  to  come  and  pass  the  night  with 
you,  and  keep  you  alive  with  their  cheerful  innocent  gambols.  At 
Constantinople,  at  Athens,  Malta,  Cairo,  Gibraltar,  it  is  all  the 
same.  Your  watchful  friends  persist  in  paying  you  attention.  The 
frisky  and  agile  flea — the  slow  but  steady-purposed  bug — the  fairy 
mosquito  witli  his  mellow-sounding  horn — rush  to  welcome  the 
stranger  to  their  shores — and  never  leave  him  during  his  stay.  At 
first,  and  before  you  are  used  to  the  manners  of  the  country,  the 
attention  is  rather  annoying. 

Man  is  a  creature  of  habit.  I  did  not  at  first  like  giving  up 
my  sleep.  I  had  been  used  to  it  in  England.  I  occasionally 
repined  as  my  friends  persisted  in  calling  my  attention  to  them, 
grew  sulky  and  peevish,  wished  myself  in  bed  in  London — nay,  in 
the  worst  bed  in  the  most  frequented,  old,  mouldy,  musty,  wooden- 
galleried  coach  inn  in  Aldgate  or  Holborn.  I  recollect  a  night  at 
the  "Bull,"  in  poor  dear  old  Mrs.  Nelson's  time — well,  well,  it  is 
nothing  to  the  East.  What  a  country  would  this  be  for  Titfin, 
and  what  a  noble  field  for  his  labours  ! 

Though  I  am  used  to  it  now,  I  can't  say  but  it  is  probable 
that  when  I  get  back  to  England  I  shall  return  to  my  old  habits. 


PUNCH    IN    THE    EAST  75 

Here,  on  board  the  Peninsular  and  Oriental  Company's  magnifi- 
cent steam-ship  Burrumpooter  I  thought  of  trying  whether  I 
could  sleep  any  more.  I  had  got  tlie  sweetest  little  cabin  in  the 
world ;  the  berths  rather  small  and  tight  for  a  man  of  still  consider- 
able proportions — but  everything  as  neat,  sweet,  fresh,  and  elegant 
as  the  most  tastidious  amateur  of  the  night-cap  might  desire.  I 
hugged  the  idea  of  having  the  little  palace  all  to  myself.  I  placed 
a  neat  white  nightgown  and  my  favourite  pink  silk  cap  on  the  top 
berth  ready.  The  sea  was  as  clear  as  glass — the  breeze  came  cool 
and  refreshing  through  the  port-hole — the  towers  of  Alexandria 
faded  away  as  our  ship  sailed  westward.  My  Eg\'ptian  friends 
were  left  behind.  It  would  soon  be  sunset.  I  longed  for  that 
calm  hour,  and  meanwhile  went  to  enjoy  myself  at  dinner  with 
a  hundred  and  forty  passengers  from  Suez,  who  laughed  ami  joked, 
drank  champagne  and  the  exliilaratiug  Hodgson,  and  brought  the 
latest  news  from  Dumdum  or  Futtyghur. 

I  hajipened  to  sit  next  at  table  to  the  French  gentleman  before 
mentioned.  Colonel  Sourcillou,  in  the  service  of  the  Rajah  of  Laliore, 
returning  to  Europe  on  leave  of  absence.  The  Colonel  is  six  feet 
high — with  a  grim  and  yellow  physiognomy,  with  a  red  riljbon  at 
his  button-hole  of  course,  and  large  black  mustachios  curling  up 
to  his  eyes — to  one  eye  that  is — the  other  was  put  out  in  mortal 
combat,  which  has  likewise  left  a  furious  purple  gash  down  one 
cheek,  a  respectable  but  terrible  sight. 

"  Vous  regardez  ma  cicatrice,"  said  the  Colonel,  perceiving  that 
I  eyed  him  with  interest.  "  Je  Tai  rec^uie  en  Espagne,  Monsieur, 
k  la  bataille  de  Vittoria,  que  nous  avons  gagnde  sur  vous.  J'ai  tu^ 
de  ma  main  le  grrredin  Feldmar^chal  Anglais  qui  m'a  donn^  cette 
noble  blessure.  Elle  u'est  pas  la  seule,  Monsieiu-.  Je  jjossede 
enc-ore  soixante-cjuatorze  cicatrices  sur  le  corps.  Mais  j'ai  fait 
sonuer  partout  le  grrrand  nom  de  Frrance.  Vous  etes  militaire. 
Monsieur?     Non  ? — Passez-moi  le  i)oivre  rouge,  s'il  vous  plait." 

The  Colonel  emptied  the  cayenne-pepper  cruet  over  his  fish, 
and  directed  his  conversation  entirely  to  me.  He  told  me  that 
ours  was  a  perfidious  nation,  that  he  esteemed  some  individuals, 
but  detested  tlie  country,  which  he  hoped  to  see  ecrrrase  mi  jour. 
He  said  I  spoke  Frencli  with  remarkable  jjurity ;  that  on  board 
all  our  steamers  there  was  an  infamous  conspiracy  to  insult  every 
person  bearing  the  name  of  Frenchman  ;  that  he  would  call  out 
the  Captain  directly  they  came  ashore ;  that  he  could  not  even  get 
a  cabin — had  I  onel  On  my  affirmative  reply,  he  said  I  was  a 
person  of  such  amiable  manners,  and  so  unlike  my  countrymen, 
that  he  would  share  my  cabin  with  me — and  instantly  shouted  to 
the  steward  to  put  his  trunks  into  number  202. 


7(i         PAPERS    BY    THE    FAT    CONTRIBUTOR 

Wliiit  (H)ul(l  I  do?  When  I  wont  on  dock  to  smoke  a  cigar, 
the  Colonel  retired,  pretending  a  petiie  smite,  sutlering  a  horrible 
vvil  de  ))ier,  and  dreadful  shooting  pains  in  thirty-seven  of  his 
wounds.  What,  I  say,  could  I  do?  I  liad  not  the  (uibin  to  uiysclf. 
He  had  a  right  to  sleep  there — at  any  rate,  I  had  the  best  l)erth, 
and  if  he  did  not  snore,  my  rest  would  not  be  disturbed. 

But  ah  !  my  dear  friends — avIioji  I  thought  I  would  go  down 
and  sleep — the  first  sleep  after  seven  weeks — fancy  what  I  saw — 
he  was  asleej)  in  my  bertli. 

His  sword,  gun,  and  pistol-cases  blocked  up  the  other  sleeping- 
place  ;  his  bags,  trunks,  pipes,  cloaks,  an<l  portmanteaus,  every 
corner  of  the  little  room. 

''Qui  va  la?"  roared  the  monster,  with  a  terrific  oath,  as  I 
entered  the  cabin.  "  Ah  !  c'est  vous.  Monsieur :  pourquoi  (liable 
faites-vous  tant  de  bruit  ?  J'ai  une  petite  sant^  ;  laissez-moi  dormir 
en  paix." 

I  went  upon  deck.  I  shan't  sleep  till  I  get  back  to  England 
again.  I  paid  my  passage  all  the  way  home  ;  but  I  stopped,  and 
am  in  cpiarantine  at  Malta.  I  couldn't  make  the  voyage  witli  that 
Frenchman.  I  have  no  money ;  send  me  some,  and  relieve  the 
miseries  of  him  who  was  once  The  Fat  Contbibutoe. 


CHAPTER  II 

ON   THE  PROSPECTS  OF  PUNCH  IN  THE  EAST 
To  the  Editor  of  Punch  (confidential). 

MY  DEAR  SIR, — in  my  last  letter  (which  was  intended  for 
the  public  eye),  I  was  too  much  affected  by  the  recollection 
of  what  I  may  be  permitted  to  call  the  "  Arabian  Nights' 
Entertainments,"  to  allow  me  for  the  moment  to  commit  to  paper 
that  useful  information,  in  the  imparting  of  which  your  Journal — 
our  Journal — tlie  world's  Journal — yields  to  none,  and  wliich  the 
British  public  will  naturally  expect  from  all  who  contribute  to  your 
columns.  I  address  myself  therefore  privately  to  you,  so  that  you 
may  deal  with  the  fiicts  I  may  communicate  as  you  shall  think 
best  for  the  general  welfiire. 

What  I  wish  to  point  out  especially  to  your  notice  is,  the  astonish- 
ing progress  of  Punch  in  the  East.  Moving  according  to  your  orders 
in  strict  incognito,  it  has  been  a  source  of  wonder  and  delight  to 
me  to  hear  how  often  the  name  of  the  noble  Miscellany  was  in  the 


PUNCH    IN    THE    EAST  77 

mouths  of  British  men.  At  Gibraltar  its  jokes  passed  among  the 
midshipmen,  merchants,  Jews,  &c.,  assembled  at  the  hotel  table 
(and  quite  unconscious  how  sweetly  their  words  sounded  on  the  ear 
of  a  silent  guest  at  the  board)  as  current,  ay,  much  more  current, 
than  the  coin  of  the  realm.  At  Malta,  the  first  greeting  between 
Captain  Tagus  and  some  other  Captain  in  anchor-buttons,  who  came 
to  hail  him  when  we  entered  harbour,  related  to  Punch.  "  What's 
the  news  *"  exclaimed  the  other  Captain.  "  Here's  Pimch"  was 
the  immediate  reply  of  Tagus,  handing  it  out  —  and  the  other 
Captain's  face  was  suflused  with  instant  smiles  as  his  enraptured 
eye  glanced  over  some  of  the  beauteous  designs  of  Leech.  At  Athens, 
Mr.  Smith,  second  cousin  of  the  respected  vice-consul,  who  came  to 
our  inn,  said  to  me  mysteriously,  "  I'm  told  we've  got  Punch  on 
board."  I  took  him  aside,  and  pointed  him  out  (in  confidence)  Mr. 
Waddilove,  the  stupidest  man  of  all  our  party,  as  the  author  in 
question. 

Somewhat  to  my  annoyance  (for  I  was  compelled  to  maintain 
my  privacy),  Mr.  W.  was  asked  to  a  splendid  dinner  in  consequence 
— a  dinner  which  ought  by  rights  to  have  fallen  to  my  share.  It 
was  a  consolation  to  me,  however,  to  think,  as  I  ate  my  solitary 
repast  at  one  of  the  dearest  and  w^orst  inns  I  ever  entered,  that 
though  /  might  be  overlooked.  Punch  was  respected  in  the  land  of 
Socrates  and  Pericles. 

At  the  Piraeus  we  took  on  board  four  young  gentlemen  from 
Oxford,  who  had  been  visiting  the  scenes  consecrated  to  them  by 
the  delightful  associations  of  the  Little  Go ;  and  as  they  paced  the 
deck  and  looked  at  the  lambent  stars  that  twinkled  on  the  bay 
once  thronged  with  the  galleys  of  Themistocles — what.  Sir,  do  you 
think  was  the  .song  they  chanted  in  chorus  1  Was  it  a  lay  of  burn- 
ing Sappho  ?     Was  it  a  thrilling  ode  of  Alcseus  ?     No  ;  it  was — 

"  Had  I  an  ass  averse  to  speed, 
Deem  ye  I'd  strike  him  ?  no,  indeed,"  &c. 

which  you  had  immortalised,  I  recollect,  in  your  sixth  volume. 
(Donkeys,  it  must  be  premised,  are  most  mimerous  and  flourishing 
in  Attica,  connnonly  bestridden  by  the  modern  Greeks,  and  no 
doubt  extensively  pojnilar  among  the  ancients — unless  human  nature 
has  very  much  changed  since  their  time.)  Thus  Ve  find  that  Punch 
is  respected  at  Oxford  as  well  as  in  Athens,  and  I  trust  at  Cam- 
bridge likewise. 

As  we  sailed  through  the  blue  Bosphorus  at  midnight,  the 
Health  of  Punch  was  enthusiastically  drunk  in  the  delicious 
beverage  whicli  sliares  his  respectable  name ;  and  the  ghosts  of 
Hero   and    Leander    must    have    been    startled    at    liearing   songs. 


78    PAPERS  BY  THE  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR 

apjjropriiite  to  the  toust,  and  very  diliercnt  from  those  with  Avhich 
I  have  no  doubt  they  amused  each  other  in  times  so  affectingly 
described  in  Lemi)riere's  deh<,ditful  Dictionary.  I  did  not  see  the 
Goklen  Horn  at  Constantinople,  nor  hear  it  blown,  probably  on 
account  of  the  fog ;  but  this  I  can  dechire,  that  Punch  was  on  the 
table  at  Misseri's  Hotel,  Pera,  the  spirited  proprietor  of  which  little 
knew  that  one  of  its  humblest  contributors  ate  liis  pilatf.  Pilaff, 
by  the  way,  is  very  good;  kabobs  are  also  excellent ;  *ny  friend 
Mehemet  Effendi,  who  keeps  the  kabob  shop,  close  by  the  Rope- 
bazaar  in  Constantinople,  sells  as  good  as  any  in  town.  At  the 
Armenian  shops,  too,  you  get  a  sort  of  raisin  wine  at  two  piastres 
a  bottle,  over  which  a  man  can  spend  an  agreeable  half-hour.  I 
did  not  hear  what  the  Sultan  Alidul  Medjid  thinks  of  Punch,,  but 
of  wine  he  is  said  to  be  uncommonly  ibnd. 

At  Alexandria  there  lay  the  picture  of  the  dear  and  venerable 
old  face,  on  the  table  of  the  British  hotel;  and  the  140  passengers 
from  BurrumtoUah,  Chowringhee,  &c.  (now  on  their  way  to  England 
})er  Burrumpooter)  rushed  upon  it — it  was  the  July  number, 
with  my  paper,  which  you  may  remember  made  such  a  sensation — 
even  more  eagerly  than  on  pale  ale.  I  made  cautious  inquiries 
amongst  them  (never  breaking  the  incognito)  regarding  the  iniiuence 
of  Punch  in  our  vast  Indian  territories.  They  say  that  from  Cape 
Comorin  to  the  Sutlej,  and  from  the  Sutlej  to  the  borders  of  Thibet, 
nothing  is  talked  of  but  Punch.  Dost  Mahommed  never  misses  a 
single  number  ;  and  the  Tharawaddie  knows  the  figure  of  Lord 
Brougham  and  his  Scotch  trousers  as  well  as  that  of  his  favomite 
vizier.  Punch,  my  informant  states,  has  rendered  his  Lordship  so 
Ijopular  throughout  our  Eastern  i)ossessions,  that  were  he  to  be 
sent  out  to  India  as  Governor,  the  whole  army  and  people  would 
shout  with  joyful  recognition.  I  throw  out  this  for  the  consideration 
of  Government  at  home. 

I  asked  Bucksheesh  Pasha  (with  whom  I  had  the  honour  of 
dining  at  Cairo)  what  his  august  Master  thought  of  Punch.  And 
AT  THE  Pyramids — but  of  these  in  another  letter.  You  have  here 
enough  to  show  you  how  kingly  the  diadem,  boundless  the  sway, 
of  Punch  is  in  the  East.  By  it  we  are  enabled  to  counterbalance 
the  influence  of  tlie  French  in  Egypt ;  by  it  we  are  enabled  to 
spread  civilisation  over  the  vast  Indian  Continent,  to  soothe  the 
irritated  feelings  of  the  Sikhs,  and  keep  the  Burmese  in  good- 
humour.  By  means  of  Punch,  it  has  been  our  jirivilege  to  expose 
the  designs  of  Russia  more  effectually  than  Urquliart  ever  did,  and 
to  this  Sir  Stratford  Canning  can  testify.  A  jiroud  and  noble  post 
is  that  which  you,  sir,  hold  over  the  Intellect  of  the  AVorld  ;  a 
.tremendous  power  you  exercise  !     May  you  ever  wield  it  wisely  and 


PUNCH    IN    THE    EAST  79 

gently  as  now  I  "  Subjectis  parcere,  superbos  debellare,"  be  your 
motto !  I  forget  whether  I  mentioned  in  my  last  that  I  was 
without  funds  in  quarantine  at  Fort  Manuel,  Malta,  and  shall 
anxiously  expect  the  favour  of  a  communication  from  you — jwste 
restante — at  that  town. — With  assurances  of  the  Inghest  con- 
sideration, believe  me  to  be,  sir,  your  most  faithful  servant  and 
correspondent.  The  F —  Contributor. 

p,S.  —  We  touched  at  Smyrna,  where  I  purchased  a  real 
Smyrna  sponj/e,  which  trifle  I  hope  your  lady  will  accept  for  her 
toilette  ;  some  real  Turhey  rhubarb  for  your  dear  children  ;  and 
a  friend  going  to  Syria  has  promised  to  procure  for  me  some  r-eal 
Jerusalem  artichoJces,  which  I  hope  to  see  flourishing  in  your 
garden  at . 

[This  letter  was  addressed  "strictly  private  and  confidential"  to  us;  but 
at  a  moment  when  all  men's  minds  are  turned  towards  the  East,  and  every 
information  regarding  "the  cradle  of  civilisation"  is  anxiously  looked  for,  we 
have  deemed  it  our  duty  to  submit  our  Correspondent's  letter  to  the  public. 
The  news  which  it  contains  is  so  important  and  startling — our  C'orresi)ondent's 
views  of  Eastern  affairs  so  novel  and  remarkable — that  they  must  make  an 
impression  in  Europe.  We  beg  the  Observer,  the  Times,  &c.,  to  have  the 
goodness  to  acknowledge  their  authority,  if  they  avail  themselves  of  our  facts. 
And  for  its,  it  cannot  but  be  a  matter  of  pride  and  gratification  to  think — on 
the  testimony  of  a  Correspondent  who  has  never  deceived  us  j'et — that  our 
efforts  for  the  good  of  mankind  are  appreciated  by  such  vast  and  various  por- 
tions of  the  human  race,  and  that  our  sphere  of  usefulness  is  so  prodigiously 
on  the  increase.  Were  it  not  that  dinner  has  been  announced  (and  conse- 
quently is  getting  cold),  we  would  add  more.  For  the  present,  let  us  content 
ourselves  by  stating  that  the  intelligence  conveyed  to  us  is  most  welcome  as  it 
is  most  surprising,  the  occasion  of  heartfelt  joy,  and  we  hope  of  deep  future 
meditation. — Editoe.] 


CHAPTER   III 

ATHENS 

THERE  are    some   beautiful   windmills    near   Athens,   not,    I 
believe,  depicted  by  any  other  artist,  and  which  I  dare  say 
some  people  will  admire  because  they  are  Athenian  wind- 
mills.    The  world  is  made  so. 

I  was  not  a  brilliant  boy  at  school — the  only  prize  I  ev(*r 
remember  to  have  got  was  in  a  kind  of  lottery  in  w^hich  I  was 
obliged  to  subscribe  with  seventeen  other  competitors  —  and  of 
which  the  prize  was  a  flogging.     That  I  won.     But  I  don't  think 


80    PAPERS  BY  THK  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR 

I  carried  off  any  other.  Possibly  from  laziness,  or  if  you  please 
from  incapacity,  hut  I  certainly  was  rather  inclined  to  be  of  the 
side  of  the  dunces — Sir  Walter  Scott,  it  will  be  recollected,  was 
of  the  s.uuo  species.  Many  youn^  ])liints  si)routed  up  round  about 
both  of  us,  I  dare  say,  with  astonishing  rapidity — but  they  have 
gone  to  seed  ere  this,  or  were  never  worth  the  cultivation.  Great 
genius  is  of  slower  growth. 

I  always  had  my  doubts  about  the  classics.  When  I  saw  a 
brute  of  a  schoolmaster,  whose  mind  was  as  cross-grained  as  any 
ploughboy's  in  Christendom ;  whose  manners  were  those  of  the 
most  insufferable  of  Heaven's  creatures,  the  English  snob  trying 
to  turn  gentleman ;  whose  lips,  when  they  were  not  mouthing 
Greek  or  grammar,  were  yelling  out  the  most  brutal  abuse  of  poor 
little  cowering  gentlemen  standing  before  him  :  Mdien  I  saw  this 
kind  of  man  (and  the  instructors  of  our  youth  are  selected  very 
frequently  indeed  out  of  this  favoure<l  class)  and  heard  hira  roar 
out  praises  of,  and  pump  himself  uj)  into  enthusiasm  for,  certain 
Greek  poetry, — I  say  I  had  my  doubts  about  the  genuineness  of 
the  article.  A  man  may  well  thumj)  you  or  call  you  names  because 
you  won't  learn — but  I  never  could  take  to  the  proffered  delicacy ; 
the  fingers  that  offered  it  were  so  dirty.  Fancy  the  brutality  of  a 
man  who  began  a  Greek  grammar  with  "  tvtttw,  I  thrash  "  !  We 
were  all  made  to  begin  it  in  that  way. 

When,  then,  I  came  to  Athens,  and  saw  that  it  was  a  humbug, 
I  hailed  the  fact  with  a  sort  of  gloomy  joy.  I  stood  in  the  Royal 
Square  and  cursed  the  country  which  has  made  thousands  of  little 
boys  miserable.  They  have  blue  stripes  on  the  new  Greek  flag ; 
I  thought  bitterly  of  my  own.  I  wished  that  my  schoolmaster  had 
been  in  the  place,  that  we  might  have  fought  there  for  the  right ; 
and  that  I  might  have  immolated  him  as  a  sacrifice  to  the  manes 
of  little  boys  flogged  into  premature  Hades,  or  pining  away  and 
sickening  under  the  destiny  of  that  infernal  Greek  grammar.  I 
have  often  thought  that  those  little  cherubs  who  are  carved  on 
tombstones  and  are  represented  as  possessing  a  head  and  wings 
only,  are  designed  to  console  little  children — usher-  and  beadle- 
belaboured — and  say  "  there  is  no  flogging  where  we  are."  From 
their  conformation,  it  is  impossible.  Woe  to  the  man  who  has 
harshly  treated  one  of  them  ! 

Of  the  ancient  buildings  in  this  beggarly  town  it  is  not  my 
business  to  speak.  Between  ourselves  it  must  be  acknowledged 
that  there  was  some  merit  in  the  Heathens  who  constructed  them. 
But  of  the  Temple  of  Jupiter,  of  which  some  columns  still  remain, 
I  declare  with  confidence  that  not  one  of  them  is  taller  than  our 
own  glorious  Monument  on  Fish  Street  Hill,  which  I  heartily  wish 


PUNCH    IN    THE    EAST  81 

to  see  again,  whereas  upou  the  columns  of  Jupiter  I  never  more 
desire  to  set  eyes.  On  the  Acropolis  and  its  temples  and  towers 
I  shall  also  touch  briefly.  The  frieze  of  the  Parthenon  is  well 
known  in  England,  the  famous  chevaux  de  frieze  being  carried  off' 
by  Lord  Elgin,  and  now  in  the  British  Museum,  Great  Russell 
Street,  Bloomsbury.  The  Ereciitheum  is  another  building,  which 
I  suppose  has  taken  its  name  from  the  genteel  club  in  London  at  a 
corner  of  Saint  James's  Square.  It  is  likewise  called  the  Temple  of 
Minerva  Polias—  a  capital  name  for  a  club  in  London  certainly ;  lancy 
gentlemen  writing  on  their  cards  "  Mr.  Jones,  Temple-of-MinerA  a- 
Polias  Club." — Our  country  is  surely  the  most  classical  of  islands. 

As  for  the  architecture  of  that  temple,  if  it  be  not  entirely 
stolen  from  Saint  Paneras  Church,  New  Road,  or  vice  versa,  I 
am  a  Dutchman.  "  The  Tower  of  the  Winds  "  may  be  seen  any 
day  at  Edinburgh — and  the  Lantern  of  Demosthenes  is  at  this  very 
minute  perched  on  the  top  of  the  church  in  Regent  Street,  within  a 
hunilred  yards  of  the  lantern  of  Mr.  Drummond.  Only  in  London 
you  have  them  all  in  much  better  preservation — the  noses  of  the 
New  Road  Caryatides  are  not  broken  as  those  of  their  sisters  here. 
The  Temple  of  the  Scotch  Winds  I  am  pleased  to  say  I  have  never 
seen,  but  I  have  no  doubt  it  is  worthy  of  the  Modern  Athens—  and 
as  for  the  Choragic  temjjle  of  Lysicrates,  erroneously  called  Demos- 
thenes's  Lantern — from  Waterloo  Place  you  can  see  it  well :  whereas 
iiere  it  is  a  ruin  in  the  midst  of  a  liuddle  of  dirty  huts,  whence  you 
try  in  vain  to  get  a  good  view  of  it. 

When  I  say  of  the  Temi)le  of  Theseus  (quoting  Murray's  Guide- 
book) that  "  it  is  a  peripteral  hexastyle  with  a  pronaos,  a  posticum, 
and  two  columns  between  the  antas,"  the  commonest  capacity  may 
perfectly  imagine  the  place.  Fancy  it  upon  an  irregular  ground  of 
copper-coloured  herbage,  with  black  goats  feeding  on  it,  and  the 
sound  of  perpetual  donkeys  braying  round  about.  Fancy  to  the 
south-east  the  purple  rocks  and  towers  of  the  Acropolis  meeting  the 
eye — to  the  south-east  the  hilly  islands  and  the  blue  ^gean.  Fancy 
the  cobalt  sky  above,  and  the  temple  itself  (built  of  Pentelic  marble) 
of  the  exact  colour  and  mouldiness  of  a  ripe  Stilton  cheese,  and  you 
iiave  the  view  before  you  as  well  as  if  you  had  been  there. 

The  Royal  Palace  is  built  in  the  style  of  High-Dutch-Greek, 
and  resembles  Newgate  whitewashed  and  standing  on  a  sort  of 
mangy  desert. 

Tlie  King's  German  Guards  (2TriT(fiov(3oL)  have  left  him  per- 
force ;  he  is  now  attended  by  petticoated  Albanians,  and  I  saw  one 
of  th(;  pala(;e  sentries,  as  the  sun  was  shining  on  his  sentry-box, 
wisely  couched  behind  it. 

The    Chambers   were    about    to    sit    when    we    arrived.       The 


S2    PAPERS  BY  THE  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR 

Deimties  were  tlironging  to  the  capital.  One  of  them  had  come  as 
a  third-class  passenger  of  an  Englisii  steamer,  took  a  first-class 
place,  and  threatened  to  blow  out  the  brains  of  the  steward,  wlio 
remonstrated  with  him  on  the  irregularity.  It  is  quite  needless  to 
say  tliat  he  ke[)t  his  place — and  as  the  honourable  deputy  could 
not  read,  of  course  he  could  not  be  expected  to  understand  the 
regulations  imposed  by  the  avaricious  proprietors  of  the  boat  in 
question.  Happy  is  the  country  to  have  such  makers  of  laws,  and 
to  enjoy  tlie  liberty  consequent  upon  the  representative  system  ! 

Besides  Otho's  palace  in  the  great  square,  there  is  another  house 
and  an  hotel ;  a  fountain  is  going  to  be  erected,  and  roads  even  are 
to  be  made.  At  present  the  King  drives  up  and  down  over  the 
mangy  plain  before  mentioned,  and  the  grand  officers  of  state  go  up 
to  the  palace  on  donkeys. 

As  for  tlie  Hotel  Royal — the  Folkestone  Hotel  might  take  a 
lesson  from  it — tliey  charge  five  shillings  sterling  (the  coin  of  tlie 
country  is  the  gamma,  lambda,  and  delta,  which  I  never  could  cahni- 
late)  for  a  bed  in  a  double-bedded  room ;  and  our  poor  young  friend 
Scratchley,  with  whom  I  was  travelling,  was  compelled  to  leave  his 
and  sit  for  safety  on  a  chair,  on  a  table  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 

As  for  me — but  I  will  not  relate  my  own  paltry  sufl:erings. 
The  post  goes  out  in  half-an-hour,  and  I  had  thought  ere  its 
departure  to  have  described  to  you  Constantinople  and  my  interview 
with  the  Sultan  there— his  splen(Ud  offers — the  Princess  Badroul- 
badour,  the  order  of  the  Nisham,  the  Pashalic  with  three  tails — 
and  my  firm  but  indignant  rejection.  I  had  tliought  to  describe 
Cairo — interview  with  Mehemet  Ali — proposals  of  that  Prince — 
splendid  feast  at  the  house  of  my  dear  friend  Bucksheesh  Pasha, 
dancing-girls  and  magicians  after  dinner,  and  their  extraordinary 
disclosures  !  But  I  should  fill  volumes  at  this  rate  ;  and  I  can't, 
like  Mr.  James,  write  a  volume  between  breakfost  and  luncheon. 

I  have  only  time  rapidly  to  jot  down  my  oRf:AT  adventure  at 
THE  Pyramids — and  Punch's  enthronisation  there. 


CHAPTER  IV 

PUNCH  AT  THE  PYRAMIDS 

THE  19th  day  of  October  1844  (the  seventh  day  of  the  month 
Hudjmudj,  and  the  1229th  year  of  the  Mohammedan  Hejira, 
corresponding  with  the  16,769th  anniversary  of  the  48th 
incarnation  of  Veeshnoo),  is  a  day  that  ought  hereafter  to  be  con- 
sidered eternally  famous  in  the  climes  of  the  East  and  West.     I 


PUNCH    IN    THE    EAST  83 

forget  what  was  the  day  of  General  Bonaparte's  battle  of  the 
Pyramids  ;  I  think  it  was  in  the  month  Quintidi  of  the  year  Nivose 
of  tlie  French  Eepublic,  and  he  told  his  soldiers  that  forty  centuries 
looked  down  ui)on  tliem  from  the  summit  of  tiiose  buildings — a 
statement  which  I  very  much  doubt.  But  I  say  the  19th  day  of 
<JcTOBER  1844,  is  the  most  important  era  in  the  modern  Avorld's 
history.  It  unites  the  modern  with  the  ancient  civilisation  :  it 
couples  the  brethren  of  Watt  and  Cobden  with  the  dusky  fixmily  of 
Pharaoh  and  Sesostris  :  it  fuses  Herodotus  witli  Tliomas  Babington 
Macaulay ;  it  intertwines  the  piston  of  the  blond  Anglo-Saxon 
steam-engine  with  the  needle  of  the  Abyssinian  Cleopatra ;  it  weds 
the  tunnel  of  the  subaqueous  Brunei  with  the  mystic  edifice  of 
Cheops.  Strange  play  of  wayward  fancy  !  Ascending  the  Pyramid, 
I  could  not  but  tliink  of  Waterloo  Bridge  in  my  dear  native  London 
— a  building  as  vast  and  as  magnificent,  as  beautiful,  as  useless, 
and  as  lonely.  Forty  centuries  have  not  as  yet  passed  over  the 
latter  structure  'tis  true ;  scarcely  an  equal  number  of  hackney- 
coaches  have  crossed  it.  But  I  doubt  wliether  the  individuals  wlio 
contributed  to  raise  it  are  likely  to  receive  a  better  dividend  for 
their  capital  than  the  swarthy  shareholders  in  the  Pyramid  specu- 
lation, whose  dust  has  long  since  been  trampled  over  by  countless 
generations  of  their  sons. 

If  I  use  in  the  above  sentence  the  longest  words  I  can  find,  it 
is  because  the  occasion  is  great  and  demands  the  finest  phrases 
the  dictionary  can  supply;  it  is  because  I  have  not  read  Tom 
Macaulay  in  vain ;  it  is  because  I  wish  to  show  I  am  a  dab 
in  history,  as  the  above  dates  will  testify ;  it  is  because  I  have 
seen  the  Reverend  Mr.  Milman  preach  in  a  black  gown  at  Saint 
]\Iargaret"s,  whereas  at  the  Coronation  he  wore  a  gold  cope.  The 
19th  of  October  was  Punch' s  Coronation ;  I  officiated  at  the 
august  ceremony.  To  be  brief — as  illiterate  readers  may  not  under- 
stand a  syllal)le  of  the  above  piece  of  ornamental  eloquence — on 
THE  19th  of  October  1844,  I  pasted  the  great  placard  of 
Pi'XCH  ox  the  Pyramid  of  Cheop.s.  I  did  it.  The  Fat 
Contributor  did  it.  If  I  die,  it  could  not  be  undone.  If  I  perish, 
I  liave  not  lived  in  vain. 

If  the  forty  centuries  are  on  the  summit  of  the  Pyramids,  as 
Bonaparte  remarks,  all  I  can  say  is,  /  did  not  see  tliem.  But 
I'unrh  has  really  lieen  there  ;  this  I  swear.  One  placard  I  jiasted 
on  tlie  first  landing-] ilace  (who  knows  how  long  Arab  rapacity  will 
resi)ect  the  sacred  hieroglyphic?).  One  I  placed  under  a  great 
stone  on  the  summit ;  one  I  waved  in  air,  as  my  Arabs  raised  a 
miglity  cheer  round  the  peaceful  victorious  banner ;  and  I  flung  it 
towards  the  sky,  which  the  Pyramid  almost  touches,  and  left  it 
8 


84 


PAPERS    BY    THE    FAT    CONTRIBUTOR 


to  its  fate,  to  iiioiiiit  into  the  iiziirc  vault  and  take  its  ])laco  aniont,' 
the  constellations  ;  to  light  on  the  eternal  l)esert,  and  mingle  with 
its  golden  sands;  or  to  flutter  and  drop  into  the  iiuii)le  waters  of 
the  neighbouring  Nile,  to  swell  its  fructifying  inundations,  and 
mingle  witli  the  rich  vivifying  influence  which  shoots  into  the  tall 
palm-trees  ou  its  banks,  and  generates  the  waving  corn. 

I  wonder  were  there  any  signs  or  omens  in  London  when  that 
event  occurred^  Did  an  earthquake  take  place?  Did  Stocks  or 
the  Barometer  preternatiirally  rise  or  fall  1  It  matters  little.  Let 
it  suflice  that  the  thing  has  been  done,  and  forms  an  event  in 
History  by  the  side  of  those  other  facts  to  which  these  prodigious 
mo)uunents  bear  testimony.  Now  to  narrate  briefly  the  circum- 
stances of  the  day. 

On  Thursday,  October  17,  I  caused  my  dragoman  to  pur- 
chase in  the  Frank  Bazaar  at  Grand  Cairo  the  following  articles, 
which  will  be  placed  in  the  Museum  on  my  return  : — 

A  is  a  tin  pot  hold- 
ing about  a  i)int,  and  to 
contain  B,  a  pa(;ket  of 
flour  (which  of  course  is 
not  visible,  as  it  is  tied 
up  in  brown  paper),  and 
C,  a  pigskin  brush  of  the 
sort  commonly  used  in 
Europe  —  the  whole  cost- 
ing about  five  piastres,  or 
one  shilling  sterling.  They 
for    this    tremendous    under- 


-I  mean  those  auinmls  called 


were    all    the    implements    needful 
taking. 

Horses  of  the  Mosaic  Arab  breed 
Jerusalem  ponies  by  some  in  England,  by  others  denominated 
donkeys — are  the  common  means  of  transport  employed  by  the 
subjects  of  Mehemet  Ali.  My  excellent  friend  Bucksheesh  Pasha 
would  have  mounted  me  either  on  his  favourite  horse,  or  his  best 
dromedary.  But  I  declined  those  proffers — if  I  fall,  I  like  better  to 
fall  from  a  short  distance  than  a  high  one. — I  have  tried  tund)ling 
in  both  ways,  and  recommend  the  former  as  by  far  the  pleasantest 
and  safest.  I  chose  the  Mosaic  Arab  then — one  for  the  dragoman, 
one  for  the  requisites  of  refreshment,  and  two  for  myself — not  that 
I  proposed  to  ride  two  at  once,  but  a  person  of  a  cei-tain  dimension 
had  best  have  a  couple  of  animals  in  case  of  accident. 

I  left  Cairo  on  the  afternoon  of  October  18,  never  hinting  to 
a  single  person  the  mighty  jmrpose  of  my  joui-ney.  The  Avaters 
were  out,  and  we  had  to  cross  tliem  thrice—  twice  in  track-boats. 


PUNCH    IN    THE    EAST  85 

once  on  the  slioulders  of  abominable  Arabs,  who  take  a  pleasure  in 
slipping  and  in  making  believe  to  plunge  you  in  the  stream.  When 
in  the  midst  of  it,  the  brutes  stop  and  demand  money  of  you — you 
are  alarmed,  the  savages  may  drop  you  if  you  do  not  give — you 
promise  that  you  will  do  so.  Tke  half-naked  ruffians  who  conduct 
you  up  the  Pyramid,  when  they  have  got  you  panting  to  the  most 
steep,  dangerous,  and  lonely  stone,  make  the  same  demand,  pointing 
downwards  while  they  beg,  as  if  they  would  fling  you  in  that 
direction  on  refusal.  As  soon  as  you  have  breath,  you  promise  more 
money — it  is  the  best  way — you  are  a  fool  if  you  give  it  when 
you  come  down. 

The  journey  I  find  briefly  set  down  in  my  pocket-book  as 
thus  : — Cairo  Gardens — Mosquitoes — Women  dressed  in  blue — 
Children  dressed  in  nothing— Old  Cairo— Nile,  dirty  water,  ferry- 
boat—  Town  —  Palm-trees,  ferry-boat,  canal,  palm-trees,  town  — 
Rice  fields— Maize  fields— Fellows  on  dromedaries— Donkey  down 
—Over  his  head — Pick  up  pieces— More  palm-trees— More  rice- 
fields— Water-coursfe— Howling  Arabs— D(Mikey  tumbles  down 
again — Inundations — Herons  or  cranes— Broken  bridges — Sands- 
Pyramids.  If  a  man  cannot  make  a  landscape  out  of  that  he  has 
no  imagination.  Let  him  paint  the  skies  very  blue —the  sands 
very  yellow — the  plains  very  flat  and  green — the  dromedaries  and 
palm-trees  very  tall — the  women  very  brown,  some  with  veils,  some 
with  nose-rings,  some  tattooed,  and  none  with  stays — and  the 
picture  is  complete.  You  may  shut  your'  eyes  and  fancy  yourself 
there.     It  is  the  pleasantcst  way,  entre  nous. 


CHAPTER    V 

PUNCH  AT   THE   PYRAMIDS   (concluded) 

IT  is  all  very  well  to  talk  of  sleeping  in  the  tombs :  that  question 
lias  been  settled  in  a  former  paper,  whei^  I  have  stated  my 
belief  that  people  do  not  sleep  at  all  in  Egypt.  I  thought  to 
liavc  liad  some  tremendous  visions  under  the  shadow  of  those  enor- 
mous Pyramids  reposing  under  the  stars.  Pharaoh  or  Cleopatra, 
I  thought,  might  ai)i)ear  to  me  in  a  dream.  But  hoAV  could  they, 
as  I  didn't  go  to  sleep  1  I  hoped  for  high  thoughts,  and  secret 
communings  with  the  Spirit  of  Poesy  —  I  hoped  to  have  let  ott' 
a  soimet  at  least,  as  gentlemen  do  on  visiting  the  spot — biit 
how  could  I  liuiit  for  rhymes,  being  occupied  all  night  in 
liunting   for  something  else"?      If  this  remonstrance  will  deter  a 


86        PAPERS    BY    THE    FAT    CONTRIBUTOR 

single   person   from   going  to   the   Pyramids,  my  purpose   is   fully 
ansAvered. 

But  my  case  was  different.  I  had  a  duty  to  perform — I  had 
to  introduce  Punch  to  (Cheops — I  liad  vowed  to  leave  his  card  at 
tlie  gates  of  History — I  had  a  mission,  in  a  word.  I  roused  at 
sunrise  the  snoring  dragoman  from  his  lair.  I  summoned  the  four 
Aral)s  who  had  engaged  to  assist  me  in  the  ascent,  and  in  the 
undertaking.  We  lighted  a  fire  of  camels'  dung  at  tlie  nortli-east 
corner  of  tlie  Pyramid,  just  as  the  god  of  day  rose  over  Cairo. 
The  embers  began  to  glow, — water  was  put  into  tlie  tin  pot  before 
mentioned, — the  pot  was  put  on  the  fire — 'twas  a  glorious — a 
thrilling  moment ! 

At  46  minutes  past  6  a.m.  (by  one  of  Dollond's  chronometers) 
the  tvater  began  to  boil. 

At  47  minutes  the  flour  was  i)ut  gradually  into  the  water — it 
was  stirred  with  tlie  butt-end  of  the  brush  brouglit  for  the  purpose, 
and  Schmaklek  Beg,  an  Arab,  ])eeping  over  the  pot  too  curiously, 
I  poked  tlie  brush  into  his  mouth  at  1 1  minutes  before  7  A.M. 

At  7,  THE  PASTE  WAS  MADE — doubting  whether  it  was  thick 
enough,  Schmaklek  tried  it  with  his  finger.  It  was  pronounced  to 
be  satisfactory. 

At  1 1  minutes  past  7,  I  turned  round  in  a  majestic  attitude  to 
the  four  Arabs,  and  said,  "  Let  us  mount."  .1  suggest  this  scene, 
this  moment,  this  attitude,  to  the  Committee  of  the  Fine  Arts  as  a 
proper  subject  for  the  Houses  of  Parliament — Punch  pointing  to  the 
Pyramids,  and  introducing  civilisation  to  Egypt — I  merely  throw  it 
out  as  a  suggestion.  What  a  grand  thing  the  Messieurs  Foggo 
would  make  of  it ! 

Having  given  the  signal — the  Sheikh  of  the  Arabs  seized  my 
right  arm,  and  his  brother  the  left.  Two  volunteer  Arabs  pushed 
me  (quite  unnecessarily)  behind.  The  other  two  preceded — one 
with  a  water-bottle  for  refreshment ;  the  other  with  the  posters — 
the  pot — -the  paint-brush  and  the  paste.     Away  we  went — away  ! 

I  was  blown  at  the  third  step.  They  are  exceedingly  lofty ; 
about  five  feet  high  ^ach,  I  should  think — but  the  ardent  spirit  will 
break  his  heart  to  win  the  goal — besides,  I  could  not  go  back  if  I 
would.  The  two  Arabs  dragged  me  forward  by  the  arms — the 
volunteers  pushed  me  up  from  behind.  It  was  in  vain  I  remon- 
strated with  the  latter,  kicking  violently  as  occasion  offered — they 
still  went  on  pushing.     AVe  arrived  at  the  first  landing-place. 

I  drew  out  the  poster — how  it  fluttered  in  the  breeze  ! — With 
a  trembling  hand  I  popped  the  brush  into  the  paste-pot,  and 
smeared  the  back  of  the  placard  ;  then  I  pasted  up  the  standard  of 
our  glorious  leader — at  1 9  minutes  past  7,  by  the  clock  of  the  great 


PUNCH    IN    THE    EAST  87 

minaret  at  Cairo,  which  was  clearly  visible  through  my  refracting 
telescope.  My  heart  throbbed  when  the  deed  was  done.  My  eyes 
filled  with  tears — I  am  not  at  liberty  to  state  here  all  the  emotions 
of  triumph  and  joy  which  rose  in  my  bosom — so  exquisitely  over- 
powering were  they.  There  wgis  Punch — familiar  old  Punch — 
his  back  to  the  desert,  his  beaming  face  turned  towards  the  Nile. 

"  Bless  him  !  "  I  exclaimed,  embracing  him  ;  and  almost  choking, 
gave  the  signal  to  the  Arabs  to  move  on. 

These  savage  creatures  are  only  too  ready  to  obey  an  order  of 
this  nature.  They  spin  a  man  along,  be  his  size  ever  so  consider- 
able. They  rattled  up  to  the  second  landing  so  swiftly  that  I 
thought  I  should  be  broken-winded  for  ever.  But  they  gave  us  little 
time  to  halt.  Yallah  !  Again  we  mount ! — 'tis  the  last  and  most 
arduous  ascent — the  limbs  quiver,  the  pulses  beat,  the  eyes  shoot 
out  of  the  head,  the  brain  reels,  the  knees  tremble  and  totter, 
and  you  are  on  the  summit !  I  don't  know  how  many  hundred 
tliousand  feet  it  is  above  the  level  of  the  sea,  but  I  wonder  after 
that  tremendous  exercise  that  I  am  not  a  roarer  to  my  dying  hour. 

When  consciousness  and  lungs  regained  their  play,  another  copy 
of  the  placard  was  placed  under  a  stone — a  third  was  launched  into 
air  in  the  manner  before  described,  and  we  gave  three  immense 
cheers  for  Punch,  which  astonished  the  undiscovered  mummies  that 
lie  darkling  in  tomb-chambers,  and  must  have  disturbed  the  broken- 
nosed  old  Sphinx  who  has  been  couched  for  thousands  of  years  in 
the  desert  hard  by.  This  done,  we  made  our  descent  from  the 
Pyramid. 

And  if,  my  dear  sir,  you  ask  me  whether  it  is  worth  a  man's 
while  to  mount  up  those  enormous  stones,  I  will  say,  in  confidence, 
that  thousands  of  people  went  to  see  the  Bottle  Conjurer,  and  that 
we  hear  of  gentlemen  becoming  Freemasons  every  day. 


BRIGHTON 

BY    "  punch's  "    COMMISSIONER 

AS  there  are  some  consumptive  travellers,  who,  by  dodging  about 
to  Italy,  to  Malta,  to  Madeira,  manage  to  cheat  the  winter, 
^  and  for  whose  lungs  a  perpetual  warmth  is  necessary ;  so 
there  are  people  to  whom,  in  like  manner,  London  is  a  necessity 
of  existence,  and  who  follow  it  all  the  year  round. 

Such  individuals,  when  London  goes  out  of  town,  follow  it  to 
Brighton,  which  is,  at  this  season,  London  phts  prawns  for  break- 
fast and  the  sea  air.  Blessings  on  the  sea  air,  which  gives  you  an 
appetite  to  eat  them  ! 

You  may  get  a  decent  bedroom  and  sitting-room  here  for  a 
guinea  a  day.  Our  friends  the  Botibols  have  three  rooms,  and  a 
bedstead  disguised  like  a  chest  of  drawers  in  the  drawing-room,  for 
which  they  pay  something  less  than  a  hundred  pounds  a  month.  I 
could  not  understand  last  night  why  the  old  gentleman,  who  usually 
goes  to  bed  early,  kept  yawning  and  fidgeting'  in  the  drawing-room 
after  tea ;  until,  with  some  hesitation,  he  made  the  confession  that 
the  apartment  in  question  was  his  bedroom,  and  revealed  the 
mystery  of  the  artful  chest  of  drawers.  Botibol's  house  in  Bedford 
Square  is  as  spacious  as  an  Italian  palace ;  the  second-floor  front, 
in  which  the  worthy  man  sleeps,  would  accommodate  a  regiment ; 
and  here  they  squeeze  him  into  a  chiffonnicre  I  How  Mrs.  B.  and 
the  four  delightful  girls  can  be  stowed  away  in  the  back  room,  I 
tremble  to  think  :  what  bachelor  has  a  riglit  to  ask  1  But  the  air 
of  the  sea  makes  up  for  the  closeness  of  the  lodgings.  I  have  just 
seen  them  on  the  Cliff" — mother  and  daughters  were  all  blooming 
like  crimson  double  dahlias  ! 

You  meet  everybody  on  that  Cliff.  For  a  small  charge  you 
may  hire  a  fly  with  a  postillion,  in  a  pink  striped  chintz  jacket — 
which  may  have  been  the  cover  of  an  arm-chair  once — and  straight 
whity-brown  hair,  and  little  wash-leather  inexpressibles,  —  the 
cheapest  little  caricature  of  a  post-boy  eyes  have  ever  lighted  on. 

I  seldom  used  to  select  his  carriage,  for  the  horse  and  vehicle 
looked  feeble,  and  unequal  to  bearing  a  person  of  weight ;  but  last 


BRIGHTON  89 

Sunday  I  saw  an  Israelitish  family  of  distinction  ensconced  in  the  poor 
little  carriage — the  ladies  with  the  most  flaming  polkas,  and  flounces 
all  the  way  up  ;  the  gent  in  velvet  waistcoat,  with  })ins  in  his  breast 
big  enough  once  to  have  surmounted  the  door  of  his  native  pawn- 
broker's shop,  and  a  complement  of  hook-nosed  children,  magnificent 
in  attire.  Their  number  and  magnificence  did  not  break  the  carriage 
down ;  the  little  postillion  bumped  up  and  down  as  usual,  as  the  old 
horse  went  his  usual  pace.  How  they  spread  out,  and  basked,  and 
shone,  and  were  happy  in  the  sun  there — those  honest  people  ! 

The  Mosaic  Arabs  abound  here ;  and  they  rejoice  and  are  idle 
with  a  grave  and  solemn  pleasure,  as  becomes  their  Eastern  origin. 

If  you  don't  mind  the  expense,  hire  a  ground-floor  window  on 
the  Clift",  and  examine  the  stream  of  human  nature  wliicli  passes  by. 
That  stream  is  a  league  in  length  ;  it  pours  from  Bi'unswick  Terrace 
to  Kemp  Town,  and  then  tumbles  back  again  ;  and  so  rolls,  and  as  it 
rolls  perpetually,  keeps  rolling  on  from  three  o'clock  till  dinner-time. 

Ha !  what  a  crowd  of  well-known  London  faces  you  behold  here 
— only  the  sallow  countenances  look  pink  now,  and  devoid  of  care. 

I  have  seen  this  very  day,  at  least — 

Forty-nine  Railroad  Directors,  who  would  have  been  at  Baden- 
Baden  but  for  the  lines  in  progress;  and  who,  though  breathing 
the  fresh  air-,  are  within  an  hour  and  a  half  of  the  City. 

Thirteen  barristers,  of  more  or  less  repute,  including  the 
Solicitor-General  himself,  whose  open  and  jovial  countenance 
beamed  with  benevolence  upon  the  cheerful  scene. 

A  Hebrew  dentist  driving  a  curricle. 

At  least  twelve  well-known  actors  or  actresses.  It  went  to 
my  heart  to  see  the  most  fashionable  of  them  driving  about 
in  a  Httle  four-wheeled  pony-chaise,  the  like  of  which  might 
be  hired  for  five  shillings. 

Then  you  have  tight-laced  dragoons,  trotting  up  and  down 
with  solemn,  handsonje,  stupid  faces,  and  huge  yellow  mustachios. 
Myriads  of  flys,  laden  with  happy  cockneys ;  pathetic  invalid-chairs 
trail  along,  looking  too  much  like  coffins  already,  in  which  poor  people 
are  brought  out  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  sun.  Grand  equipages 
are  scarce ;  I  saw  Lady  Wilhelmina  Wiggins's  lovely  nose  and 
auburn  ringlets  peeping  out  of  a  cab,  hired  at  half-a-crown  an  hour, 
between  her  Ladyship  and  her  sister,  the  Princess  Oysterowski. 

The  old  gentleman  who  began  to  take  lessons  when  we  were 
here  tliree  yeai-s  ago,  at  the  Tepid  Swimming  Bath  with  the 
conical  top,  I  am  given  to  understand  is  still  there,  and  may  be 
seen  in  the  water  from  nine  till  five. 


A    BRIGHTON  NIGHT  ENTERTAINMENT 

BY    "  punch's  "    COMMISSIONER 

I  HAVE  always  had  a  taste  for  the  second-rate  in  life.  Second- 
rate  poetry,  for  instance,  is  an  uncommon  deal  pleasanter  to  my 
fancy  than  your  great  thundering  first-rate  epic  poems.  Your 
Miltons  and  Dantes  ate  magnificent — but  a  bore :  whereas  an  ode 
of  Horace,  or  a  song  of  Tommy  Moore,  is  ^always  fresh,  sparkling, 
and  welcome.  Second-rate  claret,  again,  is  notoriously  better  than 
first-rate  wine  :  you  get  the  former  genuine,  whereas  the  latter  is 
a  loaded  and  artificial  composition  that  cloys  the  palate  and  bothers 
the  reason. 

Second-rate  beauty  in  women  is  likewise,  I  maintain,  more 
agreeable  than  first-rate  charms.  Your  first  rate  Beauty  is  grand, 
severe,  awful — a  faultless  frigid  angel  of  five  feet  nine — superb  to 
behold  at  church,  or  in  the  park,  or  at  a  Drawing-room — but  ah  ! 
how  inferior  to  a  sweet  little  second-rate  creature,  with  smiling 
eyes,  and  a  little  second-rate  nez  retrousse,  with  which  you  fall  in 
love  in  a  minute. 

Second-rate  novels  I  also  assert  to  be  superior  to  the  best  works 
of  fiction.  They  give  you  no  trouble  to  read,  excite  no  painful 
emotions — you  go  through  them  with  a  gentle,  languid,  agreeable 
interest.  Mr.  James's  romances  are  perfect  in  tliis  way.  The  ne 
2jIus  ultra  of  indolence  may  be  enjoyed  during  their  perusal. 

For  the  same  reason  I  like  second-rate  theatrical  entertainments 
— a  good  little  company  in  a  provincial  town,  acting  good  old  stupid 
stock  comedies  and  farces ;  where  nobody  comes  to  the  theatre,  and 
you  may  lie  at  ease  in  the  pit,  and  get  a  sort  of  intimacy  with  each 
actor  and  actress,  and  know  every  bar  of  the  music  that  the  three  or 
four  fiddlers  of  tlie  little  orchestra  play  throughout  the  season. 

Tiie  Brighton  Theatre  would  be  admirable  but  for  one  thing — 
Mr.  Hooper,  the  manager,  will  persist  in  having  Stars  down  from 
London  —  blazing  Macreadys,  resplendent  Miss  Cushmans,  fiery 
Wallacks,  and  the  like.  On  these  occasions  it  is  very  possible  that 
the  house  may  be  filled  and  the  manager's  purpose  answei'ed ;  but 
where  does  all  your  (comfort  go  then?     You  can't  loll  over  four 


A    BRIGHTON    NIGHT    ENTERTAINMENT       91 

benches  in  the  pit — you  are  squeezed  and  hustled  in  an  inconvenient 
crowd  there — you  are  fatigued  by  the  perpetual  struggles  of  the 
apple-aiid-ginger-beer  boy,  who  will  pass  down  your  row — and 
for  what  do  you  undergo  tliis  labour '?  To  see  Hamlet  and  Lady 
Macbeth,  forsooth  !  as  if  everybody  had  not  seen  them  a  thousand 
times.  No,  on  such  star  nights  "The  Commissioner"  prefers  a 
walk  on  the  Cliff  to  the  charms  of  the  Brighton  Theatre.  I  can 
have  first-rate  tragedy  in  London  :  in  the  country  give  me  good  old 
country  fare — the  good  old  comedies  and  farces — the  dear  good  old 
melodramas. 

We  had  one  the  other  day  in  perfection.  We  were,  I  think, 
about  four  of  us  in  the  pit ;  the  ginger-beer  boy  might  w^ander  about 
quite  at  his  ease.  There  was  a  respectable  fiimily  in  a  private  box, 
and  some  pleasant  fellows  in  the  gallery  ;  and  we  saw,  with  leisure 
and  delectation,  that  famous  old  melodrama,  "  The  Warlock  of  the 
Glen." 

In  a  pasteboard  cottage,  on  the  banks  of  the  Atlantic  Ocean, 
there  lived  once  a  fisherman,  who  had  a  little  canvas  boat,  in  which 
it  is  a  wonder  he  was  never  swamped,  for  the  boat  was  not  above 
three  feet  long  ;  and  I  was  astonished  at  his  dwelling  in  the  cottage, 
too  ;  for  though  a  two-storied  one,  it  was  not  above  five  feet  high  ; 
and  I  am  sure  the  fisherman  was  six  feet  without  his  shoes. 

As  he  was  standing  at  the  door  of  his  cot,  looking  at  some 
young  persons  of  the  neighbouriiood  who  were  dancing  a  reel,  a 
scream  was  heard,  as  issuing  from  the  neighbouring  forest,  and  a 
lady  with  dishevelled  hair,  and  a  beautiful  infant  in  her  hand, 
rushed  in.  What  meant  that  scream  1  We  were  longing  to  know, 
but  the  gallery  insisted  on  the  reel  over  again,  and  the  poor  injured 
lady  had  to  wait  until  the  dance  was  done  before  she  could  explain 
her  unfortunate  case 

It  was  briefly  this  :  she  was  no  other  than  Adela,  Countess  of 
Glencairn ;  the  boy  in  her  hand  was  Glencairn's  only  child :  three 
years  since  her  gallant  husband  had  fallen  in  fight,  or,  worse  still, 
by  the  hand  of  the  assassin. 

He  had  left  a  brother,  Clanronald.  What  was  the  conduct  of 
that  surviving  relative  1  Was  it  fraternal  towards  the  widowed 
Adela  %  Was  it  avuncular  to  the  orphan  boy  1  Ah,  no  !  For  three 
years  he  had  locked  lier  up  in  his  castle,  under  pretence  that  she 
was  mad,  pursuing  her  all  the  while  with  his  odious  addresses.  But 
she  loathed  his  suit ;  and  refusing  to  become  Mrs.  (or  Lady)  Clan- 
ronald, took  this  opportunity  to  escape  and  fling  herself  on  the 
protection  of  the  loyal  vassals  of  her  lord. 

She  iiad  hardly  told  her  pathetic  tale  when  voices  were  heard 
without.     Cries  of  "  Follow,  follow  ! "  resounded  through  the  wild- 


(H         PAI'KRS    BY    THE    FAT    CONTRIBUTOR 

Wdotl  ;  (lie  i;ciitlriiK'ii  ;uul  ladies  engaged  in  the  rec^l  tied,  and  the 
Uountoss  and  her  child,  stepping  inti)  the  skitf,  disappeared  down 
a  slope,  to  the  rage  and  disappointment  of  Clanronald,  who  now 
arriv(>(l  — a  savage  looking  nobleman,  indeed  !  and  followed  by  two 
ruthans  of  most  ferocious  aspect,  and  having  in  their  girdles  a  jjair 
of  those  little  notched  dumpy  swords,  with  round  iron  hilts  to 
guard  the  knuckles,  by  winch  I  knew  that  a  cond)at  would  probably 
take  place  ere  long.     And  the  result  proved  that  I  was  right. 

Flying  along  the  wild  margent  of  the  sea,  in  the  next  act,  the 
poor  Adela  was  pursued  by  Clanronald ;  but  though  she  jumped 
into  the  waves  to  avoid  him,  the  unhappy  lady  was  rescued  from  the 
briny  element,  and  carried  back  to  her  prison ;  Clanronald  swearing 
a  dreadful  oath  that  she  should  marry  him  that  very  day. 

He  meanwhile  gave  orders  to  his  two  ruffians,  Murdoch  and 
Hamish,  to  pursue  the  little  boy  into  the  wood,  and  there — there 
muyxler  him. 

But  there  is  always  a  power  in  melodramas  that  watches  over 
innocence ;  and  these  two  wa-etched  ones  were  protected  by  The 
Warlock  of  the  Glen. 

All  through  their  misfortunes,  this  mysterious  being  watched 
them  with  a  tender  interest.  When  the  two  ruffians  were  about 
to  murder  the  child,  he  anil  the  fisherman  rescued  him — their  battle- 
swortls  (after  a  brief  combat  of  four)  sank  powerless  before  his 
wizard  staff,  and  they  fled  in  terror. 

Haste  we  to  the  Castle  of  Glencairn.  What  ceremony  is  about 
to  take  place  1  What  has  assembled  those  two  noblemen,  and  those 
three  ladies  in  calico  trains  1  A  marriage  !  But  what  a  union  ! 
The  Lady  Adela  is  dragged  to  the  chapel  door  by  the  truculent 
Clanronald.  "Lady,"  he  says,  "you  are  mine.  Resistance  is 
unavailing.  Subndt  with  good  grace.  Henceforth,  what  power  on 
earth  can  sejiarate  you  from  me  ? " 

"  Mine  can,"  cries  the  Warlock  of  the  Glen,  rushing  in.  "  Tyrant 
and  assassin  of  thy  brother  !  know  that  Glencairn — Glencairn,  thy 
brother  and  lord,  whom  thy  bravos  were  commissioned  to  slay — 
know  that,  for  three  years,  a  solemn  vow  (sworn  to  the  villain  that 
spared  his  life,  and  expired  yesterday)  bound  him  never  to  reveal 
his  existence — know  that  he  is  near  at  hand  ;  and  repent,  while  yet 
there  is  time." 

The  Lady  Adela's  emotion  may  be  guessed  when  she  heard  this 
news ;  but  Clanronald  received  it  with  contemptuous  scepticism. 
"  And  where  is  this  dead  man  come  alive  1 "  laughed  he. 

"  He  is  here,"  shouted  the  Warlock  of  the  Glen ;  and  to  fling 
away  his  staff — to  dash  off  his  sham  beard  and  black  gown — to 
appear  in  a  red   dress,  wdth  tights  and  yellow  boots,  as  became 


A    BRIGHTON    NIGHT    ENTERTAINMENT       9'> 

Glencairn's  Earl — was  the  work  of  a  moment.  The  Countess 
recognised  him  with  a  scream  of  joy.  Clanronald  retired  led  off 
by  two  soldiers ;  and  the  joy  of  the  Earl  and  Countess  was  com- 
pleted by  the  arrival  of  their  only  son  (a  clever  little  girl  of  the 
Hebrew  persuasion)  in  the  arms  of  the  fisherman. 

The  curtain  fell  on  this  happy  scene.  The  fiddlers  had  ere  this 
disappeared.  The  ginger-beer  boy  went  home  to  a  virtuous  family 
that  was  probably  looking  out  for  him.  The  respectable  family 
in  the  boxes  went  off"  in  a  fly.  The  little  audience  spread  abroad, 
and  were  lost  in  the  labyrinths  of  the  city.  The  lamps  of  the 
Theatre  Roval  were  extinguished  :  and  all — all  was  stiU. 


MEDITATIONS    OVER    BRIGHTON 

BY    "punch's"    commissioner 

{From  the  DeviVs  Dyke.) 

WHEN  tlie  exultant  and  long-eared  animal  described  in  the 
fable  revelled  madly  in  the  frog-pond,  dashing  about  his 
tail  and  hoof  among  the  unfortunate  inhabitants  of  that 
piece  of  water,  it  is  stated  that  the  frogs  remonstrated,  exclaiming, 
"Why,  O  donkey,  do  you  come  kicking  about  in  our  habitation'? 
It  may  be  good  fun  to  you  to  lash  out,  and  plunge,  and  kick  in 
this  absurd  manner,  but  it  is  death  to  us : "  on  which  the  good- 
natured  quadruped  agreed  to  discontinue  his  gambols ;  and  left  the 
frogs  to  bury  their  dead  and  rest  henceforth  undisturbed  in  their 
pool. 

The  inhabitants  of  Brighton  are  the  frogs — and  I  dare  say  they 
will  agree  as  to  the  applicability  of  the  rest  of  the  simile.  It 
might  be  good  fun  to  me  to  "  mark  their  manners,  and  their  ways 
survey  "  ;  but  could  it  be  altogether  agreeable  to  them  1  I  am  sorry 
to  confess  it  has  not  proved  so,  having  re(;eived  at  least  three 
hundred  letters  of  pathetic  remonstrance,  furious  complaint,  angry 
swagger,  and  threatening  omens,  entreating  me  to  leave  the 
Brightonians  alone.  The  lodging-house  keepers  are  up  in  arms 
Mrs.  Screw  says  she  never  let  her  lodgings  at  a  guinea  a  day,  and 
invites  me  to  occupy  her  drawing  and  bedroom  for  five  guineas  a 
week.  Mr.  Squeezer  swears  that  a  guinea  a  day  is  an  atrocious 
calumny :  he  would  turn  his  wife,  his  children,  and  his  bedridden 
mother-in-law  out  of  doors  if  he  could  get  such  a  sum  for  the  rooms 
they  occupy — (but  this,  I  suspect,  is  a  pretext  of  Squeezer's  to  get 
rid  of  his  mother-in-law,  in  which  project  I  wish  him  luck).  Mrs. 
Slop  hopes  she  may  never  again  cut  a  slice  out  of  a  lodger's  joint 
(the  cannibal !)  if  she  won't  be  ready  at  the  most  crowdidest  of 
seasons  to  let  her  first-floor  for  six  pounds  ;  and,  finally,  Mr.  Skiver 
writes  : — "  Sir, — Your  ill-advised  publication  has  passed  like  a 
whirlwind  over  the  lodging-houses  of  Brighton.  You  have  rendered 
our  families  desolate,  and  prematurely  closed  our  season.     As  you 


MEDITATIONS    OVER    BRIGHTON 


95 


have  destroyed  the  lodging-houses,  couldn't  you,  now,  walk  into  the 
boarding-houses,  and  say  a  kind  word  to  ruin  the  hotels  1 " 

And  is  it  so  1  Is  the  power  of  the  Commissioner's  eye  so  fatal 
that  it  withers  the  object  on  which  it  falls'?  Is  the  condition  of 
his  life  so  dreadful  that  he  destroys  all  whom  he  comes  near  ?  Have 
I  made  a  post-boy  wretched — five  thousand  lodging-house  keepers 
furious — twenty  thousand  Jews  unhappy  1  If  so,  and  I  really 
possess  a  power  so  terrible,  I  had  best  come  out  in  the  tragic  line. 

I  went,  pursuant  to  orders,  to  the  Swiss  Cottage,  at  Shoreham, 
where  the  first  object  that  struck  my  eyB  was  the  scene  below, 
in  the  green  lake  there,  which  I  am  credibly  informed  is  made  of 
pea-soup  :  two  honest  girls  were 
rowing  about  their  friend  on 
this  enchanting  water.  There 
was  a  cloudless  sky  overhead — 
rich  treats  were  advertised  for 
the  six  frequenters  of  the  gar- 
dens ;  a  variety  of  entertain- 
ments was  annoimced  in  the 
Hall  of  Amusement — Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Aminadab  (here,  too,  the 
Hebrews  have  penetrated)  were 
advertised  as  about  to  sing  some 
of  their  most  favourite  comic 
songs  and 

But  no,  I  will  not  describe 
the  place.  Why  should  my  fatal 
glance  bring  a  curse  upon  it? 
The  pea-soup  lake  would  dry 
up — leaving  its  bed  a  vacant 
tureen — the  leaves  would  drop 
from  the  scorched  trees — the 
pretty  flowers  would  wither 
and  fade — the  rockets  would  not  rise  at  night,  nor  the  rebel  wheels 
go  round — the  money-taker  at  the  door  would  grow  mouldy  and 
die  in  his  moss-grown  and  deserted  cell — Aminadab  would  lose  his 
engagement.  Why  should  these  things  be,  and  this  ruin  occur? 
James  !  jiack  the  portmanteau  and  tell  the  landlord  to  bring  the 
bill ;  order  horses  immediately — this  day  I  will  quit  Brighton. 

Other  ap{)alling  facts  have  come  to  notice ;  all  showing  more 
or  less  the  excitement  created  by  my  publication. 

The  officers  of  the  ISOtli  Hussars,  accused  of  looking  handsome, 
solemn,  and  stupid,  have  hiul  a  meeting  in  the  messroom,  where  the 
two  final  epithets  have  been  rescinded  in  a  string  of  resolutions. 


96    PAPERS  BY  THE  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR 

But  it  is  the  poor  yollow-breeolied  postillion  wlio  has  most 
surtered.  When  the  picture  of  him  came  out,  crowds  flocked  to 
see  him.  He  was  mobbed  all  the  way  down  the  (Jlitf ;  wherever 
he  drove  his  little  ])haeton,  peoj)le  laughed,  and  pointed  with  the 
linger,  and  said,  "That  is  he."  The  poor  cliild  was  thus  made 
tlie  subject  of  public  laughter  by  my  interference — and  what  has 
been  the  consequence?  In  order  to  disguise  him  as  much  as 
possible,  his  master  has  hought  him  a  hat. 

The  children  of  Israel  are  in  a  fury  too.  They  do  not  like  to 
ride  in  flys,  since  my  masterly  representation  of  them  a  fortnight 
since.     They  are  giving  up  their  houses  daily.     You  read  in  the 

Brighton    papers,    among    the    departures,    " Nebuzaradan, 

Esquire,  and  family  for  London;"  or  "Solomon  Ramothgilead, 
Esquire,  has  quitted  his  mansion  in  Marine  Crescent ;  circum- 
stances having  induced  him  to  shorten  his  stay  among  us ; "  and 
so  on.  The  people  emigrate  by  hundreds  ;  they  can't  bear  to  be 
made  the  object  of  remark  in  the  public  walks  and  drives — and 
they  are  flying  from  a  city  of  which  they  might  have  made  a  new 
Jerusalem. 


BRIGHTON   IN  181^7 

BY    THE    F.    C. 

CHAPTER    I 

HAVE  the  kindness,  my  dear  Pugsby,  to  despatch  me  a  line 
when  they  have  done  painting  the  smoking-room  at  the 
Megatherium,  that  I  may  come  back  to  town.  After  suffer- 
ing as  we  have  all  the  year,  not  so  nuich  from  the  bad  ventilation  of 
tlie  room,  as  from  the  suffocating  dulness  of  Wheezer,  Snoozer,  and 
Whiffler,  who  frequent  it,  I  had  hoped  for  quiet  by  the  sea-shore  here, 
and  that  our  three  abominable  acquaintances  had  quitted  England. 

I  had  scarcely  been  ten  minutes  in  the  place,  my  ever-dear 
Pugsby,  when  I  met  old  Snoozer  walking  with  young  De  Bosky,  of 
the  Tatters-and-Starvation  Club,  on  the  opposite  side  of  ova-  square, 
and  ogling  the  girls  on  the  Cliff",  the  old  wretch,  as  if  he  had  not  a 
wife  and  half-a-dozen  daughters  of  his  own  in  Pocklington  Square. 
He  hooked  on  to  my  arm  as  if  he  had  been  the  Old  Man  of  the 
Sea,  and  I  found  myself  introduced  to  young  De  Bosky,  a  man 
whom  I  have  carefully  avoided  as  an  odious  and  disreputable  tiger, 
the  tuft  on  whose  chin  has  been  always  particularly  disagreeable  to 
me,  and  who  is  besides  a  Captain,  or  Commodore,  or  some  such 
tiling,  in  the  Bundelcund  Cavalry.  The  clink  and  glitter  of  his 
spurs  is  perfectly  abominable  :  he  is  screwed  so  tight  in  his  waist- 
band that  I  wish  it  could  render  him  speechless  (for  when  he  does 
speak  he  is  so  stupid  that  he  sends  you  to  sleep  while  actually 
walking  with  him)  ;  and  as  for  his  chest,  which  he  bulges  out  against 
the  shoulders  of  all  the  passers-by,  I  am  sure  that  he  carries  a  part 
of  his  wardrobe  in  it,  and  that  he  is  wadded  with  stockings  and 
linen  as  if  he  were  a  walking  carpet-bag. 

This  fellow  saluted  two-thirds  of  the  carriages  which  passed  with 
a  knowing  nod,  and  a  military  swagger  so  arrogant,  that  I  feel 
continually  the  greatest  desire  to  throttle  him. 

Well,  sir,  before  we  had  got  from  the  Tepid  Swimming  Bath  to 
Mutton's  the  pastrycook's  whom  should  we  meet  but  Wheezer,  to 
lie  sure.     Wheezer  driving  up  and  down  the  Cliff"  at  half-a-crown  an 


98    PAPERS  BY  THE  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR 

hour,  with  his  hideous  family,  Mrs.  Wheezcr,  the  Miss  Wheezers  in 
fur  tippets  and  drawn  bonnets  with  sprin^^-flowers  in  tliem,  a  huddle 
and  squeeze  of  little  Wheezers  sprawling  and  struggling  on  the  back 
seat  of  the  carriage,  and  that  horrible  boy  whom  WJieezer  brings 
to  the  Club  sometimes,  actually  seated  on  the  box  of  the  fly,  and 
ready  to  drive,  if  the  coachman  should  be  intoxicated  or  inclined  to 
relinquish  his  duty. 

Wlieezer  sprang  out  of  the  vehicle  with  a  cordiality  that  made 
me  shudder.  "  Hollo,  my  boy  ! "  said  he,  seizing  my  trembling 
hand.  "  What  !  i/ou  here  1  Hang  me  if  the  whole  Club  isn't 
here.  I'm  at  56  Horse  Marine  Parade.  Where  are  you  lodging  1 
We're  out  for  a  holiday,  and  will  make  a  jolly  time  of  it." 

The  benighted,  the  conceited  old  wretch  !  He  would  not  let  go 
my  hand  until  I  told  him  where  I  resided — at  Mrs.  Muggeridge's  in 
Black  Lion  Street,  where  I  have  a  tolerable  view  of  the  sea,  if  I 
risk  the  loss  of  my  ecjuilibrium  and  the  breakage  of  my  back,  by 
stretching  three-quarters  of  my  body  out  of  my  drawing-room  window. 

As  lie  stopped  to  speak  to  me,  his  carriage  of  course  stopped 
likewise,  forcing  all  the  vehicles  in  front  and  behind  him  to  halt  or 
to  precipitate  themselves  over  the  railings  on  to  the  shingles  and 
the  sea.  The  cabs,  the  flys,  the  shandrydans,  the  sedan-chairs  with 
the  poor  old  invalids  inside ;  the  old  maids',  the  dowagers'  chariots, 
out  of  which  you  see  countenances  scarcely  less  deathlike  :  the 
stupendous  cabs,  out  of  wliich  the  whiskered  heroes  of  the  gallant 
Onety-oneth  look  down  on  us  people  on  foot ;  the  hacks  mounted 
by  young  ladies  from  the  equestrian  schools,  by  whose  sides  the 
riding-masters  canter  confidentially — everybody  stopped.  There  was 
a  perfect  strangury  in  the  street ;  and  I  should  have  liked  not  only 
to  throttle  De  Bosky,  but  to  massacre  Wheezer,  too. 

The  wretched  though  unconscious  being  insisted  on  nailing  me 
for  dinner  before  he  would  leave  me ;  and  I  heard  him  say  (that  is, 
l)y  the  expression  of  his  countenance,  and  the  glances  which  his  wife 
and  children  cast  at  me,  I  kmw  lie  said),  "  That  is  the  young  and 
dashing  Folkstone  Canterbury,  the  celebrated  contributor  to  Punch." 

The  crowd,  sir,  on  the  Clift"  was  perfectly  frightful.  It  is  my 
belief  nobody  goes  abroad  any  more.  Everybody  is  at  Brighton. 
I  met  three  hundred  at  least  of  our  acquaintances  in  the  course  of 
a  quarter  of  an  hour,  and  before  we  could  reach  Brunswick  Square 
I  met  dandies.  City  men,  Members  of  Parliament.  I  met  my  tailor 
walking  with  his  wife,  with  a  geranium  blooming  in  his  wretched 
button-hole,  as  if  money  wasn't  tight  in  the  City,  and  everybody 
had  paid  him  everything  everybody  owed  him.  I  turned  and 
sickened  at  the  sight  of  that  man.  "  Snoozer,"  said  I,  "  I  will  go 
on  the  Pier," 


BRIGHTON    IN  1847  99 

I  went,  and  to  find  what? — Whiffler,  by  all  that  is  unmcrcifid  ! 
— Wliiffler,  whom  we  see  every  day,  in  the  same  chair,  at  the 
Megutherinm.  Whiffler,  whom  not  to  see  is  to  make  all  the  good 
fellows  at  the  Club  happy.  I  have  seen  him  every  day,  and  many 
times  a  day  since.  At  the  moment  of  our  first  rencontre  I  was  so 
saisi,  so  utterly  overcome  by  rage  and  despair,  that  I  would  ha\e 
flung  myself  into  the  azure  weaves  sparkling  calmly  around  me,  but 
for  the  chains  of  the  Pier. 

I  did  not  take  that  aqueous  suicidal  plunge — I  resolved  to  live, 
and  why,  ray  dear  Pugsbyl  Who  do  you  think  approached  us? 
Were  you  not  at  one  of  his  parties  last  season  1  I  have  polked  in 
his  saloons.  I  have  nestled  under  the  mahogany  of  his  dining-room, 
at  least  one  hivndred  and  tw^enty  thousand  times.  It  was  Mr. 
Goldmore,  the  East  India  Director,  with  Mrs.  G.  on  his  arm,  and — 
oh,  heavens  ! — Florence  and  Violet  Goldmore,  wdth  pink  parasols, 
w^alking  behind  their  parents. 

"  What  !  you  here  !  "  said  the  good  and  hospitable  man,  holding 
out  his  hand,  and  giving  a  slap  on  the  boards  (or  deck,  I  may  say) 
with  his  bamboo  ;  "  hang  it,  every  one's  here.  Come  and  dine  at 
seven.     Brunswick  Square." 

I  looked  in  Violet's  eyes.  Florence  is  rather  an  old  bird,  and 
wears  spectacles,  so  that  looking  in  her  eyes  is  out  of  the  question. 
I  looked  in  Violet's  eyes,  and  said  I'd  come  with  the  greatest 
pleasure. 

"As  for  you,  De  Bosky" — (I  forget  whether  I  mentioned  that 
the  whiskered  Bundelcund  buck  had  come  with  me  on  to  the  Pier, 
whither  Snoozer  w^ould  not  follow  us,  declining  to  pay  the  twopence) 
— "as  for  you,  De  Bosky,  you  may  come,  or  not,  as  you  like." 

"  Won't  1 1  "  said  he,  grinning,  with  a  dandified  Bundelcund  nod, 
and  wagging  his  odious  head. 

I  could  have  w' renched  it  off  and  flung  it  in  the  ocean.  But  I 
restrained  my  propensity,  and  we  agreed  that,  for  the  sake  of 
economy,  we  would  go  to  Mr.  Goldmore's  in  the  same  fly. 


CHAPTER    II 

THE  very  first  spoonful  of  the  clear  soup  at  the  Director's  told 
me  that  my  excellent  friend  Paradol  (the  chef  who  came  to 
Mr.  Go]dmf>rc,  Portland  Place,  when  Guttlebury  House  was 
shut  up  by  the  lamented  levanting  of  the  noble  Earl)  was  established 
among  the  furnaces  below.  A  clear  brown  soup, — none  of  your 
filthy,  spiced,  English  hell-broths,  but  light,  brisk,  and  delicate, — 

y 


100       rAI'KRS    BY    THE    FAT    CONTRIBUTOR 

always  sets  me  oil"  for  the  cvciiiny  :  it  invigorates  and  enlivens  me, 
my  dear  Pugshy  :  I  give  yon  my  hononr  it  does — and  when  I  am 
in  a  i/ood  liumonr,  I  am,  I  flatter  myself — what  siiall  I  say  1— well, 
not  disajiyceahle. 

On  this  day,  sir,  I  was  delightful.  Although  that  booby  De 
Bosky  coiiducteci  Miss  Violet  Goldmore  downstairs,  yet  the  wretch, 
absorbed  in  his  victuals,  and  naturally  of  an  unutterable  dulness, 
did  not  make  a  single  remark  during  dinner,  whereas  I  literally 
blazed  with  wit.  Sir,  I  even  made  one  of  the  footmen  laugh — 
a  perilous  joke  for  the  poor  fellow,  who,  I  dare  say,  will  be  turned 
off  in  consequence.  I  talked  sentiment  to  Florence  (women  in 
spectacles  are  almost  always  sentimental) ;  cookery  to  Sir  Harcourt 
Gulph,  who  particularly  asked  my  address,  and  I  have  no  doubt 
intends  to  invite  me  to  his  dinners  in  town ;  military  affairs  with 
Major  Bangles  of  the  Onety-oneth  Hussars,  who  was  with  the 
regiment  at  Aliwal  and  Ferozeshah,  and  drives  about  a  prodigious 
cab  at  Brighton,  with  a  captured  Sikh  liehind,  disguised  as  a  tiger ; 
to  JMrs.  Goldmore  I  abused  Lady  Toddle-Rowdy's  new  carriages 
and  absurd  appearance  (she  is  seventy-four  if  she  is  a  day,  and  she 
wears  a  white  muslin  frock  and  frilled  trousers,  with  a  wig  curling 
down  her  old  l)ack,  and  I  do  believe  puts  on  a  pinafore,  and  has  a 
little  knife  and  fork  and  silver  mug  at  home,  so  girlish  is  she) : 
I  say,  in  a  word — and  I  believe  without  fear  of  contradiction — that 
I  delighted  everybody. 

"  Delightful  man  !  "  said  Mrs.  Bangles  to  my  excellent  friend 
Mrs.  Goldmore. 

"  Extraordinary  creature !  so  odd,  isn't  he  1 "  replied  that 
admirable  woman. 

"  What  a  flow  of  spirits  he  has  !  "  cried  the  charming  Violet. 

"  And  yet  sorrows  repose  under  that  smiling  mask,  and  those 
outbreaks  of  laughter  perhajis  conceal  the  groans  of  smouldering 
passion  and  the  shrieks  of  withering  despair,"  sighed  Florence. 
"  It  is  always  so  :  the  wretched  seem  to  be  most  joyous.  If  I 
didn't  think  that  man  miserable,  I  couldn't  be  happy,"  she  added, 
and  lapsed  into  silence.  Little  Mrs.  Diggs  told  me  every  word  of 
the  conversation,  when  I  came  up,  the  first  of  the  gentlemen, 
to  tea. 

"  Clever  fellow  that,"  said  (as  I  am  given  to  understand)  Sir 
Harcourt  Gulph.  "  I  liked  that  notion  of  his  about  croquignoles 
a  la  pouffarde  :     I  will  speak  to  Moufflon  to  try  it." 

"I  really  shall  mention  in  the  Bank  parlour  to-morrow,"  the 
Director  remarked,  "what  he  said  about  the  present  crisis,  and  his 
project  for  a  cast-iron  currency  :  that  man  is  by  no  means  the  trifler 
he  pretend.;  to  l!C." 


BRIGHTON?    IN   1847  101 

"AVhere  did  he  serve?"  asked  Bangles.  "  If  he  can  nianceiivre 
an  army  as  well  as  he  talks  about  it,  demniy,  he  ought  to  be 
Commander-in-Cliief.  Did  you  hear,  Captain  De  Bosky,  what  he 
said  about  pontooning  the  dclielons,  and  operating  with  our  reserve 
upon  the  right  bank  of  the  rivet  at  Ferozeshah  1  Gad,  sir,  if  that 
manoeuvre  had  been  performed,  not  a  man  of  the  Sikh  army  would 
have  escaped  :  "  in  which  case  of  course  Major  Bangles  would  have 
lost  the  black  tiger  behind  his  cab  ;  but  De  Bosky  did  not  make 
this  remark.  The  great  stupid  hulking  wretch  remarked  nothing  ; 
he  gorged  himself  with  meat  and  wine,  and  when  quite  replete  with 
claret,  strutted  up  to  the  drawing-room,  to  show  his  chest  and  his 
white  waistcoat  there. 

I  was  pouring  into  Violet's  ear  (to  the  discomfiture  of  Florence, 
who  was  knocking  about  the  tea-things  madly)  some  of  those 
delightful  nothings  with  which  a  Avell-bred  man  in  society  entertains 
a  female.  I  spoke  to  her  about  the  last  balls  in  London— about 
Fanny  Finch's  elopement  with  Tom  Parrot,  who  had  nothing  but 
his  place  in  the  Foreign  Office — about  the  people  who  were  at 
Brighton — about  Mr.  Midge's  delightful  sermon  at  church  last 
Sunday — about  the  last  fashions,  and  the  next — qtie  sats-je  ? — 
when  that  brute  De  Bosky  swaggered  up. 

"Ah,  hum,  haw,"  said  he,  "were  you  out  raiding  to-day, 
Miss  Goldmaw  1 " 

Determined  to  crush  this  odious  and  impertinent  blunderer, 
who  has  no  more  wit  than  tlie  horses  he  bestrides,  I  resolved  to 
meet  him  on  his  own  ground,  and  to  beat  him  even  on  the  subject 
of  horses. 

I  am  sorry  to  say,  my  dear  Pugsby,  I  did  not  confine  myself 
strictly  to  truth ;  but  I  described  huw  I  had  passed  three  months 
in  the  Desert  with  an  Arab  tribe ;  how  I  had  a  mare,  during  that 
period,  descended  from  Boorawk,  the  mare  of  the  Prophet,  which  I 
afterwards  sold  for  fifty  thousand  piastres  to  Mahomet  Ali ;  and  how, 
being  at  Trebizond,  smoking  with  the  sanguinary  Pasha  of  that 
place,  I  had  bitted,  saddled,  and  broke  to  carry  a  lady,  a  grey 
Turkoman  horse  of  his  which  had  killed  fourteen  of  his  grooms, 
and  bit  off"  the  nose  of  his  Kislar  Aga. 

"  Do  join  us  in  our  ride  to-morrow,"  cried  Violet ;  "the  Downs 
are  delightful." 

"  Fairest  lady,  to  hear  is  to  obey,"  answered  I,  with  a 
triumphant  glance  at  De  Bosky.  I  had  done  his  business,  at 
any  rate. 

Well,  sir,  I  came  at  two  o'clock,  mounted  on  one  of  Jiggot's 
hacks— an  animal  that  I  know,  and  tliat  goes  as  easy  as  a  sedan- 
chair — and  found  the  party  assembling  before  the  Director's  house, 


10'2   PAPERS  BY  THE  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR 

ill  Brunswick  Square.  There  was  young  Goldmore — tlie  lovely 
Violet,  in  a  habit  that  showed  her  form  to  admiration,  and  a 
j)erfo(:tly  ravishing  Spainsh  tuft  m  her  riding-hat,  with  a  little  gold 
whip  an<l  a  little  pair  of  gauntlets — a  croquer,  in  a  word.  Major 
Bangles  and  lady  were  also  of  the  party  :  in  fact,  we  were  "  a 
gallant  company  of  cavaliers,"  as  James  says  in  his  novels ;  and 
with  my  heels  well  down,  and  one  of  my  elbows  stuck  out,  I  looked, 
sir,  like  the  Marquis  of  Anglesea.  I  had  the  honour  of  holding 
Violet's  little  foot  in  my  hand,  as  she  jumped  into  her  saddle.  She 
sprang  into  it  like  a  fairy. 

Last  of  all,  the  stupid  De  Bosky  came  up.  He  came  up 
moaning  and  groaning.  "  I  have  had  a  kick  in  the  back  from 
a  horse  in  tlie  livery -stables,"  says  he ;  "  I  can't  hold  this  horse — 
will  you  ride  him,  Canterbury  1 "  His  horse  was  a  black,  wicked- 
looking  beast  as  ever  I  saw,  with  bloodshot  eyes  and  a  demoniacal 
expression. 

What  could  I  do,  after  the  stories  about  Boorawk  and  the 
Pasha  of  Trebizond  1  Sir,  I  was  obliged  to  get  off  my  sedan-chair, 
and  mount  the  Captain's  Purgatory,  as  I  call  him — a  disgusting 
brute,  and  worthy  of  his  master. 

Well,  sir,  off  we  set, — Purgatory  jumping  from  this  side  of 
the  road  to  t'other,  shying  at  Miss  Pogson,  who  passed  in  her 
carriage  (as  well  he  might  at  so  hideous  a  phenomenon) — plunging 
at  an  apple-woman  and  stall — going  so  wild  at  a  baker's  cart  that 
I  thought  he  would  have  jumped  into  the  hall-door  where  the  man 
was  delivering  a  pie  for  dinner — and  flinging  his  head  backwards, 
so  as  to  endanger  my  own  nose  every  moment.  It  was  all  I  could 
do  to  keep  him  in.  I  tugged  at  both  bridles  till  I  tore  his  jaws 
into  a  fury,  I  suppose. 

Just  as  we  were  passing  under  the  viaduct,  whirr  came  the 
streaming  train  with  a  bang,  and  a  shriek,  and  a  whizz.  The  brute 
would  hold  in  no  longer :  he  ran  away  with  me. 

I  stuck  my  feet  tight  down  in  the  stirrups,  and  thought  of 
my  mother  with  inexpressible  agony.  I  clutclied  hold  of  all  the 
reins  and  a  great  deal  of  the  mane  of  the  brute.  I  saw  trees, 
milestones,  houses,  villages,  pass  away  from  me — away,  away, 
away — away  by  the  cornfields — away  by  the  wolds — away  by  the 
eternal  hills — away  by  the  woods  and  precipices — the  woods,  the 
rocks,  the  villages  flashed  by  me.  Oh,  Pugsby  !  how  I  longed  for 
the  Megatherium  during  that  ride  ! 

It  lasted,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  about  nine  hours,  during  which  I  went 
over,  as  I  should  tliink,  about  five  hundred  and  forty  miles  of  ground. 
I  didn't  come  off — my  hat  did,  a  new  Lincoln  and  Bennett,  but  I 
didn't — and  at  length  the  infuriate  brute  paused  in  his  mad  career. 


BRIGHTON    IX    1847  103 

with  an  instinctive  respect  for  tlie  law,  at  a  turnpike  gate.  I  little 
knew  the  blessing  of  a  turnpike  until  then. 

In  a  minute  Bangles  came  up,  bursting  with  laughter.  "  You 
can't  manage  that  horse,  I  think,"  said  the  Major,  with  his  infernal 
good-nature.      "  Shall  I  ride  him  1     Mine  is  a  quiet  beast." 

I  was  otf  Purgatory's  back  in  a  minute,  and  as  I  mounted  on 
Bangles's  hackney,  felt  as  if  I  was  getting  into  bed,  so  easy,  so  soft, 
so  downy  he  seemed  to  me. 

He  said,  tliough  I  never  can  believe  it,  that  we  had  only  come 
about  a  mile  and  a  half;  and  at  this  moment  the  two  ladies  and 
De  Bosky  rode  up. 

"  Is  that  the  way  you  broke  the  Paslia  of  Trebizond's  horse  ? " 
Violet  said.  I  gave  a  laugli  ;  but  it  was  one  of  despair.  I  should 
have  liked  to  plunge  a  dagger  in  De  Bosky's  side. 

I  shall  come  to  town  directly,  I  think.  This  Brighton  is  a 
miserable  Cockney  place. 


MISCELLANEOUS 
CONTRIBUTIONS    TO    "PUNCH" 


MISCELLANEOUS 
CONTRIBUTIONS    TO    "PUNCH" 

MR.    SPEC'S   REMONSTRANCE 

From  the  Door-Steps. 

SIR, — Until  my  Cartoons  are  exhibited,  I  am  in  an  exceedingly 
uncomfortable  state.  I  shall  then  have  about  fourteen 
hundred  pounds  (the  amount  of  the  seven  first  prizes),  and 
but  a  poor  reward  for  the  pains  and  care  which  I  have  bestowed 
on  my  pieces. 

Meanwhile  how  am  I  to  exist? — how,  I  say,  is  an  historical 
painter  to  live  1  I  despise  humour  and  buffoonery,  as  unworthy  the 
aim  of  a  great  artist.  But  I  am  hungry.  Sir, — hungry  !  Since 
Thursday,  the  13th  instant,  butcher's  meat  has  not  passed  these 
lips,  and  then  'twas  but  the  flaji  of  a  shoulder  of  nuitton,  which 
I  ate  cold — cold,  and  without  pickles, — ici/  cold,  for  'twas  grudged 
by  the  niggard  boor  at  whose  table  I  condescended  to  sit  down. 

That  man  was  my  own  cousin — Samuel  Spec,  the  eminent 
publisher  of  Ivy  Lane ;  and  by  him  and  by  all  the  world  I  have 
been  treated  with  unheard-of  contumely.  List  but  to  a  single 
instance  of  his  ingratitude  ! 

I  need  not  ask  if  you  know  my  work,  "  Illustrations  of  Aldgatr 
Pump."  All  the  world  knows  it.  It  is  published  in  elephant 
folio,  price  seventy  guineas,  by  Samuel  Spec  before  mentioned  ;  and 
many  thousands  of  copies  were  sul)scribed  for  by  the  British  and 
Foreign  nobility. 

Nobility! — why  do  I  say  Nobility? — Kings,  Sir,  have  set 
tlieir  august  signatures  to  tlie  subscrijition-list.  Bavaria's  Sovereign 
has  placed  it  in  the  Pinakothek.  The  Grecian  Otho  (though  I  am 
bound  to  say  he  did  not  pay  up)  has  hung  it  in  the  Parthenon — 
in  the  PartheMon  !  It  may  be  seen  on  the  walls  of  the  Vatican, 
in  the  worthy  company  of  Buonarotti  and  Urbino,  and  figures  in 


108  MISCELLANEOUS    CONTRIBUTIONS 

the  gilded  saloons  of  the  Tuileries,  the  delight  of  Delaroche  and 
Delacroix. 

From  all  these  Potentates,  save  the  last,  little  has  been  received 
in  return  for  their  presentation-coj)ies  liiit  unsubstantial  praise. 
It  is  true  the  King  of  Bavaria  wrote  a  sonnet  in  acknowledgment 
of  the  "  Illustrations  "  ;  but  I  do  not  understand  German,  sir,  and 
am  given  to  understand  by  those  who  do,  that  the  composition  is 
but  a  poor  one.  His  Holiness  the  Pope  gave  his  blessing,  and 
admitted  the  publisher  to  the  honour  of  kissing  his  great  toe.  But 
I  had  rather  have  a  beefsteak  to  my  lii)s  any  day  of  the  week  ; 
and  "Fine  words,"  as  the  poet  says,  "butter  no  parsnips." 
Parsnips  !  — I  have  not  even  parsnips  to  butter. 

His  Majesty  Louis-Philippe,  however,  formed  a  noble  exception 
to  this  rule  of  kingly  indifference.  Lord  Cowley,  our  Ambassador, 
presented  my  cousin  Spec  to  him  with  a  copy  of  my  work.  The 
Royal  Frenchman  received  Samuel  Spec  with  open  arms  in  the 
midst  of  his  Court,  and  next  day,  through  our  Ambassador,  offered 
the  author  of  the  "  Illustrations  "  the  choice  of  the  (Irand  Cross 
of  the  Legion  of  Honour  or  a  snuffbox  set  with  diamonds.  I  need 
not  say  the  latter  was  preferred. 

Nor  did  the  monarch's  gracious  bounty  end  here.  Going  to 
his  writing-table,  he  handed  over  to  the  of/icier  d'ordonnance  who 
was  to  take  the  snuffbox,  a  purely  artistic  memento  of  his  royal 
good-will.  "  Go,  Count,"  said  he,  "  to  Mr.  Spec,  in  my  name,  offer 
him  the  snuffbox — 'tis  of  trifling  value  ;  and  at  the  same  time  beg 
him  to  accept,  as  a  testimony  of  the  respect  of  one  artist  for 
another,  my  own  identical  piece  of  india-kubber." 

When  Sam  came  back,  I  hastened  to  his  house  in  Ivy  Lane. 
I  found  him,  sir,  as  I  have  said — I  found  him  eating  cold  mutton ; 
and  so  I  requested  him  (for  my  necessities  were  pressing)  to  hand 
me  over  the  diamond  box,  and  returning  to  my  humble  home 
greedily  opened  the  packet  he  had  given  me. 

Sir,  he  kept  the  box  and  ga.ve  me  the  india-rubber  !  'Tis  no  false- 
hood— I  have  left  it  at  your  office,  where  all  the  world  may  see  it. 
I  have  left  it  at  yoiu-  office,  and  with  it  this  letter.  I  hear  the  sound 
of  revelry  from  within — the  clink  of  wine-cups,  the  merry  song  and 
chorus.    I  am  waiting  outside,  and  a  guinea  would  be  the  saving  of  me. 

What  shall  I  do?  My  genius  is  tragic-classic-historic — little 
suited  to  the  pages  of  what  I  must  call  a  frivolous  and  ridiculous 
publication  ;  but  my  proud  spirit  must  bend.  Did  not  the  Majesty 
OF  France  give  lessons  on  Richmond  Hill  ? 

Heaven  bless  you  !  Send  me  out  something,  and  succour  the 
unhappy  Alonzo  Spec, 

HISTORICAL  PAINTEK. 


LETTER    FROM    THE    REGENT    OF    SPAIN     109 


SINGULAR    LETTER    FROM    THE    REGENT 
OF   SPAIN 

WE  have  received,  by  our  usual  express,  the  following  in- 
dignant protest,  signed  by  his  Highness  the  Regent  of 
Spain. 
His  Highness's  Bando  refers  to  the  following  paragraph,  which 
appears  in  the  Times  of  December  7th  : — 

"  The  Agents  of  the  Tract  Societies  have  lately  had  recourse  to 
a  new  method  of  introducing  their  tracts  into  Cadiz.  The  tracts 
were  put  into  glass  bottles,  secnrely  c(yi-ked ;  and,  taking  advantage 
of  the  tide  flowing  into  the  harbour,  they  were  committed  to  the 
waves,  on  whose  surface  they  floated  towards  the  town,  where  the 
inhabitants  eagerly  took  them  up  on  their  arriving  on  the  shore. 
The  bottles  were  then  uncorked,  and  the  tracts  they  contain  are 
supposed  to  have  been  read  with  much  interest." 

BANDO,    BY    THE    REGENT    OF    SPAIN. 

The  undersigned  Regent  of  Spain,  Duke  of  Victory,  and  of  the 
Regent's  Park,  presents  his  compliments  to  your  Excellency,  and 
requests  your  excellent  attention  to  the  above  extraordinary  para- 
graph. 

Though  an  exile  from  Spain,  the  undersigned  still  feels  an 
interest  in  everything  Spanish,  and  asks  Punch,  Lord  Aberdeen, 
and  the  British  nation,  whether  friends  and  allies  are  to  be  insulted 
by  such  cruel  stratagems  ?  If  the  arts  of  the  Jesuit  have  justly 
subjected  him  to  the  mistrust  and  abhorrence  of  Europe,  ought  not 
the  manoeuvres  of  the  Dissenting-Tract  Smuggler  {l\actistero  dis- 
sentero  contrahandistero)  to  be  likewise  held  up  to  public  odium  1 

Let  Punch,  let  Lord  Aberdeen,  let  Great  Britain  at  large,  put 
itself  in  the  position  of  the  poor  mariner  of  Cadiz,  and  then  answer. 
Tired  witli  the  day's  labour,  thirsty  as  the  seaman  naturally  is,  he 
lies  perchance,  and  watches  at  eve  the  tide  of  ocean  swelling  into 
the  bay.  What  does  he  see  cresting  the  wave  that  rolls  towards 
him  ?  A  bottle.  Regardless  of  the  wet,  he  rushes  eagerly  towards 
the  advancing  flask.  "Sherry,  perhaps,"  is  his  first  thought  (for 
'tis  tlie  wine  of  his  country).  "  Rum,  I  hope,"  he  adds,  while, 
with  beating  heart  and  wringing  pantaloons,  he  puts  his  bottle- 
screw  into  the  cork.     But,  ah  !  Englishmen  !    fancy  his   agonising 


no         MISCELLANEOUS    CONTRIBUTIONS 

Icelings  on  withdrawing  from  the  flask  a  Spanish  translation  of 
"The"  Cowboy  of  Kenuington  Common,"  or  "The  Little  Blind 
Dustman  of  Pentonville." 

Moral  and  excellent  those  works  may  be,  but  not  at  such  a 
moment.  No.  His  Highness  the  Duko  of  Victory  protests,  in  the 
face  of  Europe,  against  this  auda(;ious  violation  of  the  right  of  nations. 
He  declares  himself  dissentient  from  the  Dissenters ;  he  holds  u]) 
these  black-bottle  Tractarians  to  the  costumely  of  insulted  mankind. 

And  against  the  employment  of  bottles  in  tiiis  unnatural  fashion 
he  enters  a  solemTi  and  hearty  protest ;  lest  British  captains  might 
be  induced  to  presume  still  farther ;  lest,  having  tampered  with 
the  bottle  department,  they  might  take  similar  liberties  with  the 
wood,  and  send  off  missionaries  in  casks  (securely  bunged)  for  the 
same  destination. 

The  hand  of  the  faithfid  General  Nogueras  has  executed  the 
designs  which  accompany  this  bando,  so  as  to  render  its  contents 
more  intelligible  to  the  British  public  ;  and,  in  conclusion,  his  High- 
ness the  Regent  presents  to  your  Excellency  (and  the  Lady  Judy) 
the  assurances  of  his  most  distinguished  consideration.  May  you 
both  live  nine  hundred  and  ninety-m'ne  years. 

(Signed)         Baldomeeo  Espartero. 

Regent's  Park  :  December  7th. 


THE   GEORGES 

AS  the  statues  of  these  beloved  Monarchs  are  to  be  put  up  in 
/a     the  Parliament  palace,  we  have  been  favoured  by  a  young 
-*     *■    lady   (connected   with    the   Court)   with   copies    of  the  in- 
scriptions which   are   to   be   engraven   under  the  images  of  those 
Stars  of  Brunswick. 

George  the  First — Star  of  Brunswick. 

He  preferred  Hanover  to  England, 

He  i)referred  two  hideous  Mistresses 

To  a  beautiful  and  innocent  Wife. 

He  hated  Ai-ts  and  despised  Literature ; 

But  He  liked  train-oil  in  his  salads, 

And  gave  an  enlightened  patronage  to  bad  oysters. 

And  he  had  Walpole  as  a  Minister : 

Consistent  in  his  Preference  for  every  kind  of  Corruption. 


THE    GEORGES  IH 


George  II. 


In  most  things  I  did  as  my  father  had  done, 
I  was  false  to  my  wife  and  I  hated  my  son : 

My  spending  was  small  and  my  avarice  much, 

My  kingdom  was  English,  my  heart  was  High  Dutch 

At  Dettmgen  fight  I  was  known  not  to  blench, 
I  butchered  the  Scotch,  and  I  bearded  the  French  : 

I  neither  had  morals,  nor  manners,  nor  wit ; 
I  wasn't  much  missed  when  I  died  in  a  fit. 

Here  set  up  my  statue,  and  make  it  complete — 
With  Pitt  on  his  knees  at  my  dirty  old  feet. 


George  III. 

Give  me  a  Royal  niche — it  is  my  due, 
The  virtuousest  King  the  realm  e'er  knew. 

I,  through  a  decent  reputable  life, 

Was  constant  to  plain  food  and  a  plain  wife. 

Ireland  I  risked,  and  lost  America ; 
But  dined  on  legs  of  mutton  every  day. 

My  brain,  perhaps,  might  be  a  feeble  part ; 
But  yet  I  think  I  had  an  English  heart. 

When  all  the  Kings  were  prostrate,  I  alone 
Stood  face  to  face  against  Napoleon ; 

Nor  ever  could  the  nithless  Frenchman  forge 
A  fetter  for  Old  England  and  Old  George ; 

I  let  loose  flaming  Nelson  on  his  fleets ; 
I  met  his  troops  with  Wellesley's  bayonets. 

Triumphant  waved  my  flag  on  land  and  sea : 
Where  was  the  King  in  Europe  like  to  me  1 

Monarrhs  exiled  found  shelter  on  my  shores ; 
My  bounty  rescued  Kings  and  Emperors, 


112         MISCELLANEOUS    CONTRIBUTIONS 

But  what  boots  victory  by  land  or  sea  ? 

What  boots  that  Kings  found  refuge  at  my  knee? 

I  was  a  conqueror,  but  yet  not  proud  ; 
And  careless,  even  though  Najjoleon  bow'd. 

The  rescued  Kings  came  kiss  my  garments'  hem : 
The  rescued  Kings  I  never  heeded  them. 

My  guns  roar'd  triumph,  but  I  never  heard : 
All  England  thrilled  with  joy,  I  never  stirred. 

What  care  had  I  of  pomp,  or  fame,  or  power — 
A  crazy  old  blind  man  in  Windsor  Tower  1 

Geokgius  Ultimus. 

He  left  an  example  for  age  and  for  youth 

To  avoid. 

He  never  acted  well  by  Man  or  Woman, 

And  was  as  false  to  his  Mistress  as  to  his  Wife. 

He  deserted  his  Friends  and  his  Principles. 

He  was  so  Ignorant  that  he  could  scarcely  Spell ; 

But  he  had  some  Skill  in  Cutting  out  Coats, 

And  an  undeniable  Taste  for  Cookery. 

He  built  the  Palaces  of  Brighton  and  of  Buckingham 

And  for  these  Qualities  and  Proofs  of  Genius, 

An  admiring  Aristocracy 

Christened  him  the  "  First  Gentleman  in  Europe." 

Friends,  respect  the  King  whose  Statue  is  here. 

And  the  generous  Aristocracy  who  admired  him. 


M 


TITMARSH    V.    TAIT 

Y  DEAR  MR.  PUNCH,— You  are  acknowledged  to  be  the 
censor  of  the  age,  and  the  father  and  the  protector  of  the 
press ;  in  which  character  allow  one  of  your  warmest 
admirers  to  appeal  to  you  for  redress  and  protection.  One  of  those 
good-natured  friends,  of  whom  every  literary  man  can  boast,  has 
been  criticising  a  late  work  of  mine  in  Tait^s  Magazine.  What  his 
opinion  may  be  is  neither  here  nor  there.  Every  man  has  a  right 
to  his  own  :  and  whether  the  critic  complains  of  want  of  purpose, 
or  says  (with  great  acuteness  and  ingenuity)  that  the  book  might 
have  been  much  better,  is  not  at  all  to  the  point.    Against  criticism 


TITMARSH  V.  TAIT  '  113 

of  this   nature   no  writer  can  cavil.     It  is  cheerfully  acceiited  l»y 
your  subscriber. 

But  there  is  a  passage  in  the  7\u't  ci'iticism  which,  althougli 
it  may  be  actuated  by  the  profoundest  benevolence,  a  gentleman 
may  be  pardoned  for  protesting  against  politely.     It  is  as  follows  : — 

"  In  the  circumstance  of  a  steamer  being  launched  on  a  first 
voyage  to  Margate,  or  were  it  but  to  CTreenwich,  there  is  always  an 
invited  party,  a  band  of  music,  a  couple  of  7'/mes  and  Chronicle 
reporters,  also  champagne  and  bottled  porter,  with  cakes  and  jellies 
for  the  ladies.  Uveii  on  the  Frith  of  Forth,  or  Clyde "  [this 
"  even  "  is  very  7ia'i/  and  fine],  "  or  the  rivers  Severn  or  Shannon, 
the  same  auspicious  event  is  celebrated  by  tlie  presence  of  a  piper 
or  blind  fiddler,  carried  cost  free,  and  permitted,  on  coming  home, 
to  send  round  his  hat.  On  something  like  the  sanae  principle,  the 
Peninsular  and  Oriental  Company  were  so  fortunate  as  to  crimp 
Mr.  Titmarsh.  .  .  .  We  hope  they  have  voted  him  a  yachting 
service  of  plate,  of  at  least  five  hundred  ounces." 

This  latter  suggestion  I  complain  of,  as  being  too  friendly.  Why 
should  the  critic  insist  on  a  collection  1  Who  asked  the  gentleman 
for  plack  or  bawbee  1     However,  this  again  is  a  private  matter. 

It  is  tliat  comparison  of  the  blind  fiddler  who  "  sends  round  his 
hat"  that  ought  to  be  devoted  to  the  indignation  of  the  press  of 
these  kingdoms.  Your  constant  reader  has  never  played  on  the 
English — or  on  the  Scotch  fiddle. 

He  leaves  the  sending  round  of  hats  to  professors  of  the 
Caledonian  Cremona.  He  was  not  "  crimped  "  by  the  Peninsular 
and  Oriental  Company,  nor  called  upon  to  fiddle  for  their  amuse- 
ment, nor  rewarded  with  silver  spoons  by  that  excellent  Company. 
A  gentleman  Avho  takes  a  vacant  seat  in  a  friend's  carriage  is  not 
supi»osed  to  receive  a  degrading  obligation,  or  called  upon  to  pay 
for  his  ride  by  extra  joking,  facetiousness,  &c.  ;  nor  surely  is  the 
person  who  so  gives  you  the  use  of  his  carriage  required  to  present 
you  also  with  a  guinea,  or  to  pay  your  tavern-bill.  The  critic,  in 
fact,  has  shown  uncommon  keenness  in  observing  the  manners  of 
his  national  violinists ;  but  must  know  more  of  them  than  of  the 
customs  of  English  gentlemen. 

If  the  critic  himself  is  a  man  of  letters,  and  fiddles  profession- 
ally, why  should  he  abuse  his  Stradivari  us?  If  he  is  some  dis- 
guised nobleman  of  lofty  birtli,  superb  breeding,  and  vast  wealth, 
who  only  fiddles  for  pleasure,  he  should  spare  those  gentlefolks  in 
whose  company  he  condescends  to  perform.  But  I  don't  believe 
he's  a  noble  amateur ; — I  think  he  must  be  a  professional  man  of 


114 


MISCELLANEOUS    CONTRIBUTIONS 


letters.  It  is  only  literary  men,  nowadays,  who  commit  this 
suicidal  sort  of  imi)ertinence  ;  who  sneak  tlirough  the  world  asliamed 
of  their  ("ailing,  and  show  their  indei)endence  by  befouling  the  trade 
l)y  which  they  live. 

That  you  will  rebuke,  amend,  or  (if  need  be)  utterly  smash  all 
such,  is,  my  dear  Mr.  Punch,  the  lumible  pi'ayer  of  your  constant 
reader  and  fellow-labourer,  Michael  Angelo  Titmaksh. 

Blue  Posts  :  March  10,  1846. 


ROYAL    ACADEMY 

Newman  Street  :  Tuesday. 

DEAR   PUNCH, — Me    and    another   chap   who   was   at    the 
Academy  yesterday,  agreed  that  there  was  nothink  in  the 
whole  K.ihilyition  that  was  worthy  of  the  least  notice — as 
our  pictures  wasn't  admitted. 

So  we   followed  about   some   of  the  gents,  and  thought  we'd 


exhibit  the  Exhilntor?. ;  airinng  whom  we  remarked  as  follows. 
We  remarked  Mr.  Sneaker,  R.A.,  particularly  kind  to  Mr.  Smith, 
a  prize-liolder  of  tlie  Art-Union.  i\^^.— Sneaker  always  puts  on  a 
white  Choaker  on  Opening  Day  ;  and  has  his  boots  French  pollisht. 
Presently  we  examined  Mr.  Hokey,  a-watching  the  effect  of  his 


ROYAL    ACADEMY  115 

picture  upon  a  party  who  looks  like  a  prize-holder  of  the  Art-Union. 
Remark  the  agitation  in  Hokey's  eye,  and  the  tremulous  nervousness 


of  his  highlow's.     Tlie  old  gent  looks  like  a  flat ;  but  not  such  a  flat 
as  to  buy  Hokey's  i»icture  at  no  price.     Oh  no  ! 

Our  eyes  tlieu  turned  upon  that  seedy  gent,  Orlando  Figgs,  who 


drew  in  our  Academy  for  ten  years.  Fancy  Figgs's  delight  at 
finding  his  picture  on  the  line  !  Shall  I  tell  you  how  it  got  there  1 
His  (ivnt  washes  for  an  Academician. 

Tlie   next    cliap   we   came   to  was   Sebastian   Winkles,    whose 

10 


116         MIS,CELLANE01JS    CONTRIBUTIONS 
profound  disgust  at  Unding   his   poitniit   on   the   floor   you   may 


imadgin.       I    don't    think    that    queer   fellow    Peombo    Rodgers 


was  much  happier  ;  for  his  picture  was  hung  on  the  ceiling. 


THE    WESTMINSTER  HALL    EXHIBITION     117 

But  the  most  riled  of  all  was  Hannibal  Fitch,  who  found  his 


jiifture  wasn't  receiveil  at  all. — Show  'em  all  up,  dear  Mr.  Punch, 
and  oblige  your  constant  reader,  Modest  Merit. 


FROFESSOR  BVLES'S  OF  IN  ION  OF  THE  WEST- 
MINSTER HALL   EXHIBITION 

SIR, — My  three  pi(."tures,  from  "Gil  Bias,"  from  the  "Vicar  of 
"Wakefield,"  and  from  English  History  (King  John  signing 
that  jjalladium  of  our  liberties.  Magna  Charta),  not  having 
l)een  sent  to  Westminster,  in  conseiiueuce  of  the  dastardly  refusal  of 
Bladders,  n)y  colour  merchant,  to  supi)ly  me  with  more  paint — I 
have  lost  £1500  as  a  painter,  but  gained  a  right  to  speak  as  a 
rritic  of  the  Exhibition.  A  more  indifferent  collection  of  works  it 
has  seldom  been  my  lot  to  see. 

I  do  not  quarrel  much  with  the  decision  of  the  Committee  : 
indifferent  judges  called  upon  to  decide  as  to  the  merits  of  indifferent 
I)ictures,  they  have  i)erformed  their  office  fairly.  I  congratulate 
the  three  prize-holders  on  their  sncvess.  I  congratulate  them  that 
three  pictures,  ichich  shall  be  nameless,  were  kept,  by  consjnraci/, 
from  the  Exhibition. 


118       mis(;ellaneous  contributions 

Mr.  Pickersgill  is  luarkcil  tii'st  ;  and  I  have  nothing  to  say, — 
his  picture  is  very  respei-tal>l(',  very  nicely  painted,  and  so  forth. 
It  i-epresents  tlie  burial  of  King  Harold — there  are  monks,  men- 
at-arms,  a  livid  body,  a  lady  kissing  it,  and  that  sort  of  thing. 
Notliing  can  be  more  obvious  ;  nor  is  the  picture  without  merit. 
And  I  congratulate  the  public  that  King  Harold  is  buried  at  last  ; 
and  hope  that  British  artists  will  leave  o&  Jinding  his  body  any 
more,  which  they  have  been  doing,  in  every  Exhibition,  for  these 
fifty  years. 

By  the  way,  as  the  Saxon  king  is  here  represented  in  the  blue 
stage  of  decomposition,  I  think  Mr.  P.  might  as  well  ste])  up  to 
my  studio,  and  look  at  a  certain  Iceniau  chief  in  my  great  piece  of 
"  Boadicea,"  who  is  tattooed  all  over  an  elegant  light  blue,  and 
won't  lose  by  comparison  with  the  "  Norman  Victim." 

Mr.  Watts,  too,  appears  to  have  a  hankering  for  the  Anglo- 
Saxons.  I  must  say  I  was  very  much  sui'jjrised  to  find  that  one 
figure  was  supposed  to  represent  King  Alfred  standing  on  a  plank, 
and  inciting  his  subjects  to  go  to  sea  and  meet  the  Danes,  whose 
fleet  you  will  perceive  in  the  distant  ocean — or  ultra  marine,  as  I 
call  it.  This  is  another  of  your  five-hundred-pounders ;  and  I  must 
say  that  this  King  of  the  Angles  has  had  a  narrow  escape  that 
the  "  Queen  of  the  Iceni  "  was  not  present. 

They  talk  about  air  in  pictures ;  there  is,  I  must  say,  more 
loi.nd  in  this  than  in  any  work  of  art  I  ever  beheld.  It  is  blowing 
everywhere  and  from  every  quarter.  It  is  blowing  the  sail  one 
way,  the  Royal  petticoat  another,  the  cloak  another,  and  it  is 
almost  blowing  the  Royal  hair  ofi"  his  Majesty's  head.  No  wonder 
the  poor  English  wanted  a  deal  of  encouraging  before  they  could 
be  brought  to  lace  such  a  tempest  as  that. 

By  the  way,  there  is  an  anecdote  which  I  met  with  in  a  scarce 
work  regarding  this  monarch,  and  which  might  aftbrd  an  advan- 
tageous theme  for  a  painter's  skill.  It  is  this  : — Flying  from  his 
enemies,  those  very  Danes,  the  King  sought  refuge  in  the  house  of 
a  neatherd,  whose  wife  set  the  Royal  fugitive  a-toasting  mufiins. 
But,  being  occupied  with  his  misfortunes,  he  permitted  the  muffins 
to  burn  ;  whereupon,  it  is  said,  his  hostess  actually  boxed  the  Royal 
ears.  I  have  commenced  a  picture  on  this  subject,  and  beg  artists 
to  leave  it  to  the  discoverer.  The  reader  may  fancy  the  muffins 
boldly  grouped  and  in  flames,  the  incensed  harridan,  the  rude  hut, — 
and  the  disguised  monarch.  With  these  materials  I  hojje  to  eff"ect 
a  great,  lofty,  national,  and  original  work,  when  my  "  Boadicea  "  is 
off  the  easel. 

With  respect  to  the  third  prize — a  "  Battle  of  Meeanee  " — in 
this  extraordinary  piece  they  are  stabbing,  kicking,  cutting,  slashing. 


THE    WESTMINSTER    HALL    EXHIBITION     119 

and  poking  each  other  about  all  over  the  picture.  A  horrid  sight ! 
I  like  to  see  the  British  lion  mild  and  good-humoured,  as  Signor 
Gambardella  has  depicted  him  (my  initial  is  copied  from  that  artist) ; 
not  fierce,  as  Mr.  Armitage  has  shown  him. 

How,  I  ask,  is  any  delicate  female  to  look  without  a  shudder 
upon  such  a  piece  1  A  large  Brifish  soldier,  with  a  horrid  bayonet 
poking  into  a  howling  Scindian.  Is  the  monster  putting  the  horrid 
weapop  into  the  poor  benighted  heathen's  chest,  or  is  the  ruffian 
pulling  the  weapon  out,  or  wriggling  it  round  and  round  to  hurt  his 
victim  so  much  the  more?  Horrid,  horrid!  "He's  giving  him 
his  gruel"  I  heard  some  fiend  remark,  little  knowing  by  whom  he 
stood.  To  give  £500  for  a  work  so  inunoral,  and  so  odious  a  picture, 
is  encouraging  murder,  and  the  worst  of  murders — that  of  a  black 
man.  If  the  Government  grants  premiums  for  massacre,  of  course  I 
can  have  no  objection ;  but  if  Mr.  Armitage  will  walk  to  my  studio, 
and  look  at  my  "  Battle  of  Bosworth  Field,"  he  will  see  how  the  sub- 
ject may  be  treated,  vnthout  hurting  the  feelings,  rvith  a  combination 
of  the  beautiful  and  the  ideal — not  like  Mr.  Cooper's  "Waterloo," 
where  the  French  cuirassiers  are  riding  about,  run  through  the  body, 
or  with  their  heads  cut  off",  and  smiling  as  if  they  liked  it ;  but 
with  the  severe  moral  grandeur  that  befits  the  "  Historic  Muse." 

So  much  for  the  three  first  prizes.  I  congratulate  the  winners 
of  the  secondary  prizes  (and  very  secondary  their  talents  are  indeed), 
that  some  of  my  smaller  pictures  were  not  sent  in,  owing  to  my 
mind  being  absorbed  with  greater  efforts.  What  does  Mr.  Cope 
mean  by  his  picture  of  "  Prince  Henry  trying  his  Father's  Crown  "  % 
The  subject  is  mine,  discovered  by  rae  in  my  studies  in  recondite 
works ;  and  any  man  who  borrows  it  is  therefore  guilty  of  a  plagi- 
arism. "  Bertrand  de  Gourdon  pardoned  by  Richard,"  is  a  work  of 
some  merit — but  why  kings,  Mr.  Cross  ?  Why  kings,  Messieurs 
artists  %  Have  men  no  hearts  save  under  the  purple  %  Does  sorrow 
only  sit  ujKm  thrones  %  For  instance,  we  have  Queen  Emma  walking 
over  hot  ploughshares  in  her  night-clothes  —  her  pocket-handkerchief 
round  her  eyes.  Have  no  other  women  burnt  their  limbs  or  their 
fingers  with  shares  %  My  aunt,  Mrs.  Growley,  I  know  did  two 
years  ago.  But  she  was  a  mere  English  lady  ;  it  is  only  kings  and 
queens  that  our  courtiers  of  painters  i-ondescend  to  feel  for. 

Their  slavishness  is  ([uite  sickening.  There  is  the  "  Birth  of 
the  first  Prini'e  of  Wales  "  (my  subject,  again) ;  there  is  the  "  White 
Ship  going  down  with  King  Henry's  son  aboard  ; "  there  is  "  King 
Henry  being  inforn'.ed  of  the  death  of  his  Son  by  a  little  Boy ; " 
"King  Charles  (that  odious  profligate)  up  in  the  Oak"  (again  my 
subject).  Somebody  will  be  painting  "  Queen  Boadicea  "  next,  and 
saying  I  did  not  invent  that. 


I 'JO  MISCELLANEOUS    CONTRIBUTIONS 

Tlicn  then'  are  Allegories. — Oli  !  allegories,  of  eourse  !  Every 
paiuter  must  do  his  "Genius  of  iiritannia,"  forsooth,  after  mine; 
and  suhjeots  in  all  costumes,  from  the  Ancient  Britons  in  trews 
(wliom  Mr.  Moore  has  represented  as  talking  to  Sir  Robert  Peel's 
friend,  and  the  founder  of  the  Trent  Valley  Railroad,  Mr.  Julius 
Agricola)  down  to  the  Duke  of  Marlhorough  in  jack-boots,  and  his 
present  Grace  in  those  of  his  own  invention.  So  there  are  some 
I)ictures  in  which,  I  regret  to  say,  there  is  very  little  costume  indeed. 

There  are  "  Adam  and  Eve  driven  out  of  Paradise,"  with  the 
birds  of  Paradise  flying  out  too.  There  are  "  Peace,  Commerce,  and 
Agriculture,"  none  of  them  with  any  clothes  to  their  backs.  There 
is  "  Shakspeare  being  educated  by  Water  Nymphs  "  (which  I  never 
knew  kept  a  school),  with  a  Dolpliin  coming  up  to  give  him  a  lesson 
— out  of  the  "  Deli)hin  Classics,"  I  suppose.  Did  the  painter  ever 
see  my  sketch  of  "  Shakspeare  "  ?  Is  the  gentleman  who  has 
stripped  "  Commerce  "  and  "  Agriculture  "  of  their  gowns  aware  that 
I  have  treated  a  similar  allegory  in,  I  flatter  myself,  a  ditterent 
style"?  I  invite  them  all  to  my  studio  to  see  :  North  Paradise  Row, 
Upper  Anna  Maria  Street,  Somers  Town  East.  And  wishing,  Mr. 
Punch,  that  you  would  exchange  your  ribaldry  for  the  seriousness 
befitting  men  of  honesty, — I  remain  your  obedient  Servant, 

Geowley  Byles. 


''PUNCH''    AND    THE    INFLUENZA 

A  T  the  beginning  of  the  week,  when  the  influenza  panic  seemed 
f-\  at  the  highest — when  the  Prime  Minister  and  his  household 
-»  *■  — when  the  public  offices  and  all  the  chiefs  and  subordinates 
— when  the  public  schools  and  all  the  masters  and  little  boys — 
wdien  the  very  doctors  and  apothecaries  of  the  town  were  themselves 
in  1)0(1 — it  was  not  a  little  gratifying  to  Mr.  Punch  to  find  that  his 
contributors,  though  sick,  were  at  their  duty  :  and  though  prostrate, 
were  prostrate  still  round  their  post.  At  the  first  moment  when 
Mr.  Punch  himself  could  stir  after  his  own  attack,  he  rushed  to 
the  touches  of  his  young  men ;  and  he  found  them  in  the  following 
positions  and  circumstances  of  life.     First — 

That  favourite  writer,  and  amusing  man,  Mr.  J-nes  (author  of 
some  of  the  most  popular  pages  in  this  or  any  other  miscellany), 
was  prostrate  on  his  bed.  Tortured  by  pain,  and  worn  down  by 
water-gruel,  covered  over  by  his  pea-jacket,  his  dressing-gown,  his 
best  and   inferior  clothes,   and   all    the   blankets  with   which    his 


"PUNCH"    AND    THE    INFLUENZA  1«1 

lodging-house  supplies  him,  with  six  pliials  of  medicine  and  an  ink- 
bottle  by  his  side,  J-nes  was  still  at  work,  on  the  bed  of  sickne>;s 
still    making   jokes    under    calamity.      The    three    most    admirable- 
articles  in  the  present  number  are  written,  let  it  suffice  to  say,  by 
J-nes. 

J-nes's  manuscript  secured,  it  became  Mr.  Punch's  duty  to 
hurry  to  Sra-th  for  his  designs.  Sm-th,  too,  was  at  his  duty. 
Though  Mrs.  Sm-th,  the  artist's  wife,  told  Mr.  Punch  that  her 
husband's  death  was  certain,  if  he  should  be  called  upon  to  exert 
himself  at  such  a  moment,  Mr.  Punch,  regardless  of  the  fond  wife's 
fears,  rushed  into  the  young  artist's  bed-chamber.  And  what  did 
he  see  there  1 

Sm-th  at  work,  drawing  the  very  cleverest  caricature  which  his 
admirable  pencil  had  as  yet  produced ;  drawing  clieerfully,  though 
torn  by  cough,  sore  throat,  headache,  and  pains  in  the  limbs,  and 
though  the  printer's  boy  (who  never  leaves  him)  was  asleep  by  the 
bedside  in  a  chair. 

Taking  out  a  bank-note  of  immense  value,  Mr.  Punch  laid  it 
down  on  Mr.  Sm-th's  pillow,  and  pushed  on  to  another  of  his 
esteemed  correspondents — the  celebrated  Br-wn,  in  a  word — who 
was  found  in  a  warm  bath,  composing  those  fine  sentiments  which 
the  reader  will  recognise  in  his  noble  and  heart-stirring  articles  of 
this  week,  and  as  resigned  and  hearty  as  if  he  had  been  Seneca. 

He  was  very  ill,  and  seemingly  on  the  point  of  dissolution ;  but 
his  gaiety  never  deserted  him. 

"  You  see  I  am  trying  to  get  the  steam  up  still !  "  .he  exclaimed, 
with  a  sickly  smile,  and  a  look  of  resignation  so  touching,  that  Mr. 
Punch,  unable  to  bear  the  sight,  had  only  leisure  to  lay  an  order 
for  a  very  large  amount  of  £  s.  d.  upon  the  good-natiu"ed  martyr's 
clothes-horse,  and  to  quit  the  room. 

The  last  of  his  Contributors  whom  Mr.  Punch  visited  on  that 
day  was  the  Fat  One.  "  Nothing  will  ever  ail  him"  Mr.  P. 
mentally  remarked.  "  He  has  (according  to  his  own  showing)  had 
the  Yellow  Fever  in  Jamaica  and  New  Orleans ;  the  Plague  twice, 
and  in  the  most  propitious  spots  for  that  disease ;  the  Jungle 
Fever,  the  Pontine  Ague,  &c.  &c. ;  every  disease,  in  fact,  in  every 
quarter  of  this  miserable  globe.  A  little  Influenza  won't  make  any 
difference  to  such  a  tough  old  traveller  as  that ;  and  we  shall  find 
him  more  jocose  and  brilliant  than  ever." 

Mr.  Punch  called  at  the  F.  C.'s  chambers  in  Jermyn  Street, 
and  saw,  what  1 

An  immense  huddle  of  cloaks  and  blankets  piled  over  an 
immovable  mass.  All  Mr.  P.  could  see  of  the  contributor  was  a 
part  of  his  red  Turkisli  cap  (or  tarboosh)  peeping  from  under  the 


125  MISOELLANEOUS    CONTRIBUTIONS 

coverlid.s.  A  wlieezy  groan  was  tlio  tarboosh's  reply  to  Mr. 
Pu  nch's  interrogatories. 

"Come,  F.  C,  my  boy,"  said  Mr.  P.  encouragingly,  "everybody 
else  is  doing  his  duty.  You  must  be  up  and  stirring.  We  want 
your  notes  upon  Archdeacon  Lallan,  this  week ;  and  your  Latin 
version  of  Mr.  Chishohn  Anstey's  s])eech." 

There  was  no  reply,  and  Mr.  Punch  reiterated  his  remark. 

"  Arehdeacl  Alstey — aid  Pulch — aid  everyol  bay  go  to  blazes," 
moaned  out  the  man  under  the  (•ounteri)anes,  and  would  say  no 
more.  He  was  the  only  man  who  failed  Punch  in  the  sad  days  of 
the  Intluenza. 


THE   PERSECUTION   OF  BRITISH   FOOTMEN 

BY    MR.    JEAMES 


C"^IN  remoke  from  the  whirld  :  hocKupied  with  the  umble  dooties 
of  my  perfeshun,  which  moacely  consists  of  droring  hale  & 
beer  for  the  gence  who  freguent  my  otel,  politticle  eftiirs 
hinterest  but  suldum,  and  I  confess  that  when  Loy  Philip  habdi- 
gaded  (the  other  day,  as  I  read  in  my  noble  &  favorite  Dispatch 
newspaper,  where  Publicoaler  is  the  boy  for  me),  I  cared  no  mor 
than  I  did  when  the  chap  hover  the  way  went  hoft'  without  paying 
his  rent.  No  maw  does  my  little  Mary  Hann.  I  prommis  you 
she  has  enough  to  do  in  minding  the  bar  and  the  babbies,  to  eed 
the  conwulsions  of  hempires  or  the  hagonies  of  prostrick  kings. 

I  ham  what  one  of  those  littery  chaps  who  uses  our  back  parlor 
calls  a  pokercuranty  on  plitticle  subjix.  I  don't  permit  'em  to 
whex,  worrit,  or  distubb  me.  My  objick  is  to  leaf  a  good  beer 
bisnis  to  little  Jeames,  to  sckewer  somethink  comftable  for  my  two 
gals,  Mary  Hann  and  Hangelina  (wherehof  the  latter,  who  has  jest 
my  blew  his  and  yaller  air,  is  a  pertick  little  Sherrybing  to  behold), 
and  in  case  Grimb  Deth,  which  may  appen  to  the  best  on  us,  shoud 
come  &  scru  me  down,  to  leaf  beHind  a  somethink  for  the  best 
wife  any  gentleman  hever  ad — tied  down  of  coarse  if  hever  she 
should  marry  agin. 

I  shoodnt  have  wrote  at  all,  then,  at  this  present  juncter,  but 
for  sugmstances  which  affect  a  noble  and  galliant  body  of  menn,  of 
which  I  once  was  a  hornmint ;  I  mean  of  the  noble  purfesshn  of 
Henglish  footmen  &  livry  suvvants,  which  has  been  crooly  pussi- 


PERSECUTION    OF    BRITISH    FOOTMEN      123 

cuted  by  the  firoashiis  Paris  mob.  I  love  my  liold  compauions  in 
harms,  and  none  is  more  welcome,  when  they  ave  money,  than  they 
at  the  "  Wheel  of  Fortune  Otel."  I  have  a  clubb  of  twenty  for 
gentlemen  outalivery,  which  has  a  riunion  in  my  front  parlor  ;  and 
Mr.  Buck,  my  lord  Dukes  hown  man,  is  to  stand  Godfather  to  tlie 
next  little  Plush  as  ever  was. 

I  call  the  atenshn  of  Europ,  in  the  most  solomon  and  unpressive 
manner,  to  the  hinjaries  infligted  upon  my  brutherin.  Many  of 
them  have  been  obleeged  to  boalt  without  receiving  their  wagis  ; 
many  of  them  is  egsiles  on  our  sliaws  :  an  infewriate  Parishn  mob 
has  tawn  oft'  their  shoaldernots,  laft  at  their  weiierable  liveries  and 
buttons,  as  they  laft"  at  heverythink  sacred  ;  and  I  look  upon  those 
pore  men  as  nayther  mor  nor  less  than  marters,  and  pitty  and 
admire  em  with  hallmy  art. 

I  hoffer  to  those  sacrid  rei)huGs  (to  such  in  coarse  as  can  pay 
their  shott)  an  esylum  under  the  awspitible  roof  of  Jeames  Plush  of 
the  "  Wheel  of  Fortune."  Some  has  already  come  here  ;  two  of  em 
occupize  our  front  garrits ;  in  the  back  Hattix  there  is  room  for  6 
mor.  Come,  brave  and  dontless  Hemmigrants  !  Come  childring 
of  Kilammaty  for  eight-and-six  a  week ;  an  old  member  of  the  Cor 
hoft'ers  you  bed  and  bord  ! 

The  narratif  of  the  ixcapes  and  dangers  which  they. have  gou 
through,  has  kep  me  and  Mrs.  P.  hup  in  the  bar  to  many  a  midnike 
our,  a  listening  to  them  stories.  My  pore  wife  cries  her  hi's  out  at 
their  nerations. 

One  of  our  borders,  and  a  near  relatif,  by  the  Grandmother's 
side,  of  my  wife's  famly  (though  I  despise  buth,  and  don't  bragg 
like  some  foax  of  my  gluteal  kinexions)  is  a  man  wenerated  in  the 
whole  profeshn,  and  lookt  up  as  one  of  the  fust  Vips  in  Europe. 
In  this  country  (and  from  his  likeness  when  in  his  Vig  to  our 
rewered  prelicks  of  the  bentch  of  bishops),  he  was  called  Cantyberry 
— his  reel  name  being  Thomas.  You  never  sor  a  finer  sight  than 
Cantyberry  on  a  levy  day,  a  seated  on  his  goold-fringed  Ammer- 
cloth  ;  a  nozegy  in  his  busm  ;  his  little  crisp  vig  curling  quite  noble 
over  his  jolly  red  phase  :  his  At  laced  hallover  like  a  Hadmiral ; 
the  white  ribbings  in  his  ands,  the  pransing  bay  osses  befor  him ; 
and  behind,  his  state  carridge ;  with  Marquiz  and  Marchyness  of 
Joncjuil  inside,  and  the  galliant  footmen  in  yalla  livery  clinging  on 
at  the  back  !  "  Hooray  ! "  the  boys  used  to  cry  hout,  only  to  see 
Cantyberry  arrive.  Every  person  of  the  extableshment  called  him 
"  Sir,"  his  Master  &  Missis  inklewdid.  He  never  went  into  the 
stayble,  ixej)  to  smoke  a  segar ;  and  when  the  state-carridge  was 
liordered  (me  and  the  Jonquils  live  close  together,  the  AV  of  F  being 
sitiwated  in  a  gluteal  Court  leading  hout  of  the  street),  he  sat  in 


1^24  MISCELLANEOUS    CONTRIBUTIONS 

my  front  parlor,  in  full  phig,  reading  the  newspai)ei-  like  a  Lord, 
until  sueh  time  as  his  body-suvn't  called  him,  and  said  Lord  and 
Lady  Jon(]uil  was  ready  to  sit  behind  him.  Then  he  went.  Not 
a  minnit  sooner  :  not  a  minnit  latter  ;  and  being  elped  hup  to  the 
box  by  .'5  men,  he  took  the  ribbings,  and  drove  his  employers,  to  the 
ressadeneies  of  the  nobillaty,  or  the  ])allis  of  the  Sovring. 

Times  is  now,  R  how  much  changeil  with  Cantyberry  !  Last 
yer,  being  bribed  by  Sir  Thomas  and  Lady  Kicklebury,  but  chiefly, 
I  fear,  because  this  old  gent,  being  intimat  with  Butlers,  had 
equired  a  tayste  for  Bergamy,  and  Clarick,  and  other  French  winds, 
he  quitted  Lord  and  Lady  Jonquil's  box  for  that  of  tlie  Kicklebury 
famly,  residing  Rue  Rivuly,  at  Parris.  He  was  rispected  there — 
that  Cantyberry  is  wherehever  he  goes ;  the  King,  the  Hex-Kings 
coachmen,  were  mear  moughs  compared  to  him ;  and  when  he  eard 
the  Kings  osses  were  sold  the  other  day  at  50  frongs  apease,  he 
says  they  was  deer  at  the  money. 

Well,  on  the  24th  of  Febbywerrry,  being  so  ableegin  as  to  drive 
Sir  T.  and  Lady  Kicklebury  to  dinner  with  the  Markee  d'Epinard, 
in  the  Fobug  Sang  Jermang,  Cantyberry,  who  had  been  sittn  all 
day  reading  Gallynannn,  and  playing  at  cribbidge  at  a  Marshong 
de  Vang,  and  kawnsquinly  was  quite  hignorant  of  the  ewents  in 
progrice,  found  hisself  all  of  a  sndding  serowndid  by  a  set  of  rewd 
fellers  with  pikes  and  gvms,  hollerun  and  bellerin  "  Veevly  liberty," 
"  Amore  Lewy- Philip,"  &c. — "  Git  out  of  the  way  there,"  says 
Cantyberry,  from  his  box,  a  vipping  Ins  osses. 

The  puple,  as  the  French  jieople  call  theirselves,  came  round 
the  carridge,  rawring  out,  "  Ah  Bah  I'Aristograt !  " 

Lady  Kicklebury  looked  hout.  Her  Par  was  in  the  Cheese 
Mongering  (olesale)  way:  and  she  never  was  called  an  aristograt 
afor.  "Your  mistaken,  my  good  people,"  says  she;  "Je  swee 
Onglase.  Wee,  boco.  Lady  Kicklebury,  je  vay  diner  avec  Munseer 
d'Eppynar ; "  and  so  she  went  a  jabbring  on ;  but  I'm  blest  if  the 
Puple  would  let  her  pass  that  way.  They  said  there  was  a  barry- 
gade  in  the  street,  and  turning  round  the  Eds  of  Cantyberry's 
osses,  told  him  to  drive  down  the  next  street.  He  didn't  under- 
stand, but  was  reddy  to  drop  hoft'  his  perch  at  the  Hindignaty 
hoffered  the  British  Vip. 

Now  they  had  scarce  drove  down  the  next  street  at  a  tarin 
gallop  (for  when  aggrywated,  Cantyberry  drives  like  madd,  to  be 
sure),  when  lowinbyf)ld,  they  come  on  some  more  puple,  more  pikes, 
more  guns,  the  pavement  hup,  and  a  Buss  spilt  on  the  ground,  so 
that  it  was  impawsable  to  pass. 

"  Git  out  of  the  carridge,"  rors  the  puple,  and  a  feller  in  a  cock 
at  (of  the  Pollypicnic  School,  Cantyberry  says,  though  what  that  is 


PERSECUTION    OF    BRITISH    FOOTMEN      125 

he  doant  No),  comes  up  to  the  door,  wliile  bothers  old  the  osses, 
and  says,  "Miladi,  il  faut  des  cendres ; "  which  meaus,  you  must 
git  out. 

"Mway  ne  vu  pas,  Moi  Lady  Kicklebury,"  cries  out  my 
Lady,  waggling  her  phethers  and  dimiuds,  and  screamin  like  a 
Macaw. 

"  II  le  fo  pourtong,"  says  the  Pollypicnic  scholard  :  very  polite, 
though  he  was  ready  to  bust  with  lafiin  hisself.  "  We  must  make 
a  barrygade  of  the  carridge.  The  cavilry  is  at  one  hend  of  the 
street,  the  hartillary  at  the  other ;  there'll  be  a  fight  presently,  and 
out  you  must  git." 

Lady  Kicklebury  set  up  a  screaming  louder  than  hever,  and  I 
warrant  she  hopped  out  pretty  quick  this  time,  and  the  hoffiser, 
^ving  her  his  harm,  led  her  into  a  kimmis  sliop,  and  giv  her  a  glas 
of  sallyvalattaly. 

Meanwild  Cantyberry  sat  puffin  like  a  grampus  on  his  box, 
his  face  as  red  as  Cielingwhacks.  His  osses  had  been  led  out 
before  his  hi's,  his  footmen — French  minials,  unwuthy  of  a 
livry — had  fratynized  with  the  Mobb,  and  Tliomas  Cantyberry  sat 
aloan. 

"  Descends,  mong  gi'os  ! "  cries  the  mob  (which  intupprited  is 
"  Come  down,  old  fat-  un ")  ;  "  come  off"  your  box,  we're  goin  to 
upset  the  carridge." 

"  Never,"  says  Thomas,  for  which  he  knew  the  French ;  and 
dubbhng  his  phist,  he  igsclaimed,  "  Jammy,  Dammy  ! "  He  cut 
the  fust  man  who  sprang  hon  the  box,  hover  the  fase  and  i's ;  he 
■delivered  on  the  nex  fellers  nob.  But  what  was  Thomas  Cantybeny 
against  a  people  in  harms  ?  They  pulled  that  brave  old  man  off  his 
perch.  They  upset  his  carridge — his  canidge  beside  a  buss.  When 
he  comes  to  this  pint  of  his  narratif,  Thomas  always  busts  into 
tears  and  calls  for  a  fresh  glas. 

He  is  to  be  herd  of  at  my  bar  :  and  being  disingaged  hofters 
hisself  to  the  Nobillaty  for  the  enshuing  seasn.  His  turns  is  ninety 
lbs  per  liannum,  the  purchesing  of  the  hannimals  and  the  corn,  an 
elper  for  each  two  osses :  only  to  drive  the  lord  and  lady  of  the 
famly,  no  drivin  at  night  excep  to  Ofishl  parties,  and  two  vigs  drest 
a  day  during  the  seasn.  He  objex  to  the  country,  and  won't  go 
abrod  no  more.  In  a  country  (sezee)  where  I  was  ableeged  to 
whondcr  abowt  disguised  out  of  livery,  amongst  a  puple  who  pulled 
my  vig  off  before  my  face,  Thomas  will  never  mount  box  agin. 

And  I  eplaud  him.  And  as  long  as  he  has  enough  to  pay  his 
skaw,  my  house  is  a  home  for  this  galliant  Hegsile. 


126         MISCELLANEOUS    CONTRIBUTIONS 


II 

SINS  last  weak  the  Beaming  of  Revalution  has  been  waiving- 
liis  flamming  sord  over  France,  and  has  drove  many  more  of 
our  unfortnit  feller  suvnts  to  hemigrat  to  the  land  of  their 
Butli. 

Tlie  aggrywation  of  the  Boddy  of  Gentlemen  at  Livvry  agenst 
the  Forriner  I  am  sorry  to  say  is  intence.  Heatings  of  my  bruth- 
ring  have  took  place  at  many  of  their  Houses  of  Call  in  this  town. 
Some  gence  who  use  our  back  parlor  had  an  Eccembly  there  the 
other  night  called  the  Haggrygit  British  Plush  Protection  Society, 
which,  in  my  capasty  of  Lanlord  and  Xmember  of  the  Boddy,  I 
was  called  upon  to  attend.  Everythink  was  conducted  on  ordly 
redyraoney  prinsaples,  and  the  liquor  paid  for  as  soon  as  called  for, 
and  drunk  as  soon  as  paid. 

But  the  feelings  of  irratation  against  Foring  Sevvants  as 
igsibbited  by  our  Domestic  projuice  was,  I  grieve  to  say,  very 
bitter.  Sevral  of  our  Marters  came  amongst  us,  pore  Egsiles 
wrankling  under  the  smarts  of  their  ill  treatment.  The  stories  of 
their  Rongs  caused  a  furmentation  amongst  the  bruthring.  It  was 
all  I  could  do  to  check  the  harder  of  some  Howtragus  Sperrits,  and 
awhirt  peraps  a  Massykry  of  French  curriers  and  lackys  employed 
by  our  nobillaty  and  gentry.  I  am  thankful  to  think  that  peraps 
I  prewented  a  dellidge  of  foring  blood. 

The  tails  told  by  our  Marters  igsited  no  small  and  unnatral 
simpithy  :  when  Chawls  Garters,  late  Etendant  in  the  famly  of 
the  Duke  of  Calymanco  in  the  Fobug  St.  Honory,  came  amongst 
and  igsplained  how — if  he  had  been  aloud  to  remane  a  few  weeks 
longer  in  Parris  —  Madamasell  de  Calymanco,  the  Duke's  only 
daughter  and  hairis,  would  probbly  have  owned  the  soft  pashn 
which  she  felt  for  our  por  Chawls,  and  have  procured  the  consent 
of  her  Par  to  her  marridge  with  the  galliant  and  andsum  Henglish- 
man,  the  meeting  thrild  with  Amotion,  and  tears  of  pitty  for  our 
comrid  bedimd  each  hi.  His  hart's  afections  have  been  crusht. 
Madyraasell  was  sent  to  a  Convent;  and  Chawls  dismist  with  a 
poltry  3  months  wages  in  adwance,  and  returns  to  Halbion's  shores 
&  to  servitude  once  more. 

Frederic  Legs  also  moved  us  deaply ;  we  call  him  leggs,  from 
the  bewty  of  those  limbs  of  his,  which  from  being  his  pride  and 
hornymint  had  nearly  projuised  his  reiving.  When  the  town  was 
in  kemotion,  and  the  furious  French  Peuple  pursewing  every 
Henglish   livary,    Fredrick    (in    suvvice  with   a   noble   famly  who 


PERSECUTIOX    OF    BRITISH    FOOTMEN     127 

shall  be  nameliss)  i^ut  on  a  ijulto  and  trowseys,  of  which  his  master 
made  him  a  presnt,  and  indeavoured  to  fly. 

He  mounted  a  large  tricolore  cockade  in  his  At,  from  which  he 
tor  the  lace,  and  tried  as  much  as  possable  to  look  like  a  siwillian. 
But  it  wouldn't  do.  The  clo's.  given  him  by  his  X-master,  who 
was  a  little  mann,  were  too  small  for  Frederick — .the  bewty  of  his 
legs  epeared  tlirough  his  trowsies.  The  Rebublikins  jeered  and 
Lift  at  him  in  the  streats ;  and  it  is  a  mussy  that  he  ever  reached 
Balone  alive. 

I  tried  to  cumsole  Chawls  by  pinting  out  that  the  Art  which 
has  truly  loved  never  forgits,  but  as  trewly  loves  on  to  the  clothes ; 
and  that  if  Madamasell  reely  did  love  him  as  he  said,  lie  had  a 
better  chans  of  winning  her  And  now  than  under  a  monarchickle 
and  arastacrattic  Guvment ;  and  as  for  Frederic,  I  pinted  out  to 
him  that  a  man  of  his  appearants  was  safe  of  implymint  and  pro- 
moashn  in  any  country. 

I  did  everythink,  in  a  word,  to  sooth  my  frends.  In  a  noble 
speach  I  showed,  that  if  others  do  wrong,  that  is  no  reason  why 
we  shouldn't  do  right.  "  On  the  contry  now  is  the  time,"  I  said, 
"  for  Heugland  ,to  show  she  is  reely  the  Home  of  the  World ;  and 
that  all  men,  from  a  Black  to  a  Frenchman,  ought  to  be  safe  under 
the  Banner  of  Brittanuier.. 

"The  pholly  of  these  consperracies  and  jellowsies,  I  think,  may 
be  pinted  out  to  my  feller-suvants,  and  igsemplafied  in  the  instants 
of  the  famlies  of  the  Prince  of  Bovo,  at  Parris,  and  of  Lord  Y  Count 
Guttlebiu-y,  in  this  country. 

"At  Parris,  As  is  well  ascertained,  the  nobill  Prins,  who  kep 
a  large  studd  of  osses,  with  English  groond^s  to  take  care  of  em 
(as  by  natur  Britns  are  formed  to  do  that,  and  everythink  better 
than  everybody) — the  noble  Prins,  I  say,  was  called  ujion  by  the 
Piiple  to  dishmiss  his  Hinglish  osskeepers.  '  Serviture,'  says  the 
Prince,  'Veeve  la  liberty;  let  the  Hosskeepers  be  turned  out,  as 
the  Sovring  Puple  is  inimichael  to  their  stoppin  in  France.'  The 
Puple  left  the  Sitzeu  Prins  with  a  chear  for  fratunnity,  &  the  por 
groombs  packed  up,  and  have  come  back  to  their  native  hilind. 

"  But  wiiat  inshood  %  The  nex  day,  the  Prins  sent  «away  the 
bosses  after  the  hosskeepers ;  sold  up  the  studd  ;  locked  up  the  car- 
ridges,  broombs,  cabs,  bogeys  (as  those  hignorant  Frencli  call  buggiz), 
landores  &  all,  and  goes  about  now  with  an  umbereller.  And  how, 
I  should  lick  to  know,  is  the  puple  any  better  for  meddling  ? 

"Lord  Ycount  Guttlebury's  is  a  case,  dear  friends,  which  still 
mor  comes  hoam  to  our  busms  and  our  bisniss,  and  has  made  no 
small  sensatiun  in  the  Plush  and  in  the  fashionable  wuld.  The 
splender  of  his  Lodships  entytainments  is  well  known.      That  good 


1^8  MISCELLANEOUS    CONTRIBUTIONS 

and  ui)rike  iiol)leni;iu  only  lived  for  wittle.s.  And  be  ard  on  him  ? 
why  shoidd  we  ? — Nayter  has  implanted  in  our  busum  tastis  of  a 
thousand  deferent  kinds.  Some  men  liave  a  paslin  for  fox-iintin, 
some  like  listening  to  dybatts  in  Parlymink  and  settn  on  railrode 
committies  ;  some  like  Politticle  Aconomy.  I've  w^aited  behind  a 
chair  and  heard  foax  talk  about  Jollagy,  Straty,  and  red  sanstone, 
until  I've  nearly  dropt  asleap  myself  while  standing  a  Santynel  on 
jewty.  What  tlien'?  Give  every  mann  his  taste,  I  say,  and  my 
Lord  Guttlebury's  was  his  dinner. 

"He  liad  a  French  Hartist  at  the.  head  of  his  Quizeen  of  coarse 
• — that  sellabrated  mann  Munseer  Supreme.  Munseer  Sooflay 
persided  hover  the  cumfeckshnary  :  and  under  Supraym  were  three 
young  aidy-congs  :  a  Frenchman,  a  Bulgian,  and  a  young  feller  from 
the  City,  Avho  manidged  the  tertle  and  wenson  department. 

"  He  was  a  clever  young  mann.  He  has  hofn  been  to  take  a 
glas  at  the  W  of  F  :  and  whenever  he  came  with  a  cassyrowl  of  clear 
turtle,  or  an  ash  wenison  dish  for  my  Mary  Hann,  he  was  I'm  sure 
always  welcome.  But  John  Baster  was  henvious  and  hambishes.  He 
jined  the  owtcry  which  has  been  rose  against  foring  suvnts  by  some  of 
our  bruthring,  and  he  thought  to  git  ridd  of  Supraym  and  the  other 
contynentials,  and  espired  to  be  Chief  Guvnor  of  my  lords  kitching. 

"  Forgitting  every  sentament  but  haytred  of  the  forryner,  this 
envius  raskle  ingaged  the  kitching-boys  and  female  eli)ers  (wlio, 
bein  a  hansum  young  mann,  looked  on  him  with  a  kindly  i)  in  a 
fowl  conspirracy  against  the  Frenchmen.  He  introjuiced  kyang 
pepper  into  the  pattys,  garlick  into  the  Blemougys,  and  sent  up  the 
souffly  flavored  witli  iugyans.  He  pysoned  my  Lord's  chocolate 
with  shalott,  he  put  Tarry  gin  vinegar  into  the  Hices.  There  never 
was  such  a  conwulsion,  or  so  horrid  an  igspreshn  of  hagny  in  a 
man's,  has  (I'm  told  by  my  exlent  friend,  the  Majordomy)  my  lord's 
face  ashumed,  when  he  tasted  black  pepper  in  the  clear  soup. 

"  The  axdence  occurred  day  after  day.     It  was  one  day  when  a 

R 1  P-ss-n-dge  was  dining  with  his  Loddship ;  another  when  6 

egsiled  sovriugs  took  their  mutton  (when  he  didn't  so  much  mind) ; 
a  3d  when  he  wished  to  dine  more  igspecially  better  than  on  any 
other,  because  the  doctor  had  told  him  to  be  careful,  and  he  was 
dining  by  himself:  this  last  day  drove  him  madd.  He  sent  for 
Suprame,  addresst  that  gentilman  in  languidge  which  he  couldn't 
brook  (for  he  was  a  Major  of  the  Nashnal  Guard  of  his  Betallian, 
and  Commander  of  the  Legend  of  Honour),  and  Suprame  rasined  on 
the  spott — which  the  French  and  the  Bulgian  did  it  too. 

"  Soufflay  and  tiie  cumfectioners  hemigrated  the  nex  day.  And 
the  house  steward,  who  has  a  heasy  master,  for  Lord  G.  is  old, 
fibble,  and  70  years  of  hage,  and  whose  lady  has  an  uncommon 


IRISH    GEMS  129 

good  apinnion  of  Master  Baster,  recommended  him  to  tlie  place,  or 
at  least  to  have  the  Purvisioiial  Guvment  of  my  lord's  Quizeeii. 

"  It  wasn't  badd.  Baster  has  tallint  of  no  nuen  horder.  You 
couldn't  egsactly  find  folt  with  his  souperintendiance.  But  a  mere 
good  dinner  is  fur  from  enough  .to  your  true  amature.  A  dellixy, 
a  something,  sl  jenny squatv,  constatutes  the  diflfrants  between  talint 
and  Genus — and  my  Lord  soughered  under  it.  He  grew  melunioolly 
and  silent ;  he  dined,  its  trew,  taystiug  all  the  ontrays  as  usual,  but  he 
never  made  any  remarx  about  'em,  for  good  or  for  bad.  Young  Baster 
at  the  Igth  of  his  Hambislin,  tor  his  Air  with  rage  as  his  dinners 
came  down  1  by  1,  and  nothing  wa§  said  about  'em — nothing. 

"Lord  Guttlebury  was  hreakinfj  his  Art.  He  didn'  know  how  fond 
he  was  of  Supraym,  till  he  lost  him — how  nessasuiTy  that  maun  was 
to  his  igsistence.  He  sett  his  confidenshle  Valick  to  find  out  where 
Supraym  had  retreated  ;  and  finding  he  was  gone  to  Gascony  of 
which  he  is  a  naytif,  last  weak  without  saying  a  word  to  his  frends 
with  only  Sangsew  his  valet,  and  the  flying  ketching  fourgong,  with- 
out which  he  never  travels — my  Lord  went  to  France  and  ])ut  him- 
self again  under  Supraym.  The  sean  between  'em,  I'm  told,  was  very 
affecting.  My  Lord  has  taken  a  Shatto  near  Supraym's  house,  who 
comes  to  dress  the  dinner  of  which  the  noble  Ycount  partakes  aloan. 

"  The  town-house  is  shet  up,  and  everybody  has  ad  orders  to 
quit — all  the  footmen — all  the  quizeen,  in  coarse  including  Baster — 
and  this  is  all  he  has  gained  by  his  insidjus  haytrid  of  forraners,  and 
by  his  foolish  hambishn. 

"  XC),  my  friends,"  I  concluded  ;  "  if  gentlemen  choose  to  have 
foreign  suvnts,  it's  not  for  tis  to  intafear,  and  there  must  be  a  free 
trayd  in  flunkies  as  in  every  other  kimodaty  of  the  world." 

"  I  trust  that  my  little  remarks  pazyfled  some  of  the  discontented 
sperrits  presnt — and  can  at  least  wouch  for  the  fact  that  every  man 
shook  Ands ;  every  man  paid  his  Skoar. 


IRISH   GEMS 

FROM    THE    "benighted    IRISHMAN" 

OUR  TROOPS  having  smashed  tlirough  that  castle,  and  pulled 
down  that  flag,  which  now  floats  over  the  butcher  Clarendon 
and  his  minions,  a  flood  of  prosperity  will  rush  into  the 
country,  such  as  only  the  annals  of  the  Four  Masters  gives  count  of. 
Since  tlie  days  of  Brian  Boroimhe  such  days  of  peace,  plenty,  and 


130  MISCELLANEOUS    CONTRIliUTIONS 

civilisation  shall  not  have  been  known,  as  those  that  are  in  store  for 
our  liberated  Erin. 

There  will  be  a  Capital. 

The  Ambassadors  of  the  foreign  Powers  will  bring  their  suites 
and  their  splendours  to  the  Court  of  the  Republic.  The  nobility  will 
flock  back  in  crowds  to  our  deserted  squares.  L-ish  poplin  will 
rise  in  price  to  ten  shillings  a  yard,  so  vast  will  be  the  tleniand  for 
that  web  by  the  ladies  of  our  city.  Irish  diamonds  will  reach  the 
price  of  the  inferior  (Tohujuda  article.  Irish  linen  and  sliirtings  will 
rise  iuunensely.  Indeed,  all  Irish  produce,  not  l>eing  depreciated  by 
the  ruinous  competition  for  gold,  will  augment  in  value. 

Debt  at  home,  and  absenteeism,  have  been  the  curses  of  our 
country.      Henceforth  there  shall  be  no  absenteeism,  and  no  debt. 

He  who  refuses  to  live  amongst  us  is  not  of  us — the  soil  is  for 
the  inhabitants  of  the  soil. 

I  have  already,  my  dear  friends,  instructed  you  in  the  manner 
in  which  every  one  of  you  may  get  a  cheap  and  handsome  property 
for  himself,  viz.,  by  holding  possession  of  that  which  you  at  present 
occupy.  For,  as  every  man  has  an  indefeasible  right  to  subsistence, 
and  as  Nature  produces  for  the  good  of  all,  it  is  manifestly,  right 
that  the  many  should  have  the  possession,  and  not  the  few. 

If  a  landlord  should  object  to  this  arrangement  (who  is  but  a 
mere  accident  on  the  face  of  the  earth),  for  the  love  of  God,  boys, 
get  rifles  and  blow  his  brains  out.  It  is  much  better  that  a  few 
landlords  should  perish,  and  tlieir  families  (who  have  been  living  on 
the  tat  of  the  land  hitherto,  and  may  therefore  take  a  turn  of  ill 
fortune,  should  starve,  than  that  nuiltitudes  should  die  of  want. 

And  thus  the  curse  of  quarter-day  will  be  removed  at  once  from 
this  island  :  and  after  a  very  little  necessary  slaughter.  For  depend 
upon  it,  that  when  two  or  three  landlords  have  been  served  in  the 
way  recommended  by  me,  the  rest  will  not  care  to  be  pressing  for 
rents.  The  butchers  who  govern  us  instituted  the  system  of  hang- 
ing for  this  very  reason :  arguing,  that  one  example  before  Kilmain- 
ham  deterred  numbers  of  waverers ;  and  we  may  be  sure  that  the 
rifle,  rightly  employed,  will  act  upon  an  aristocrat  just  as  well  as 
upon  a  house-breaker ;  for,  are  not  men  vien,  whether  clad  in  Saxon 
ermine,  or  in  the  rude  frieze-coats  of  our  miserable  fatherland  1  Out 
"with  your  rifles,  boys,  in  the  name  of  humanity. 

They  say  that  the  property  of  Ireland  is  mortgaged  in  a  great 
degree,  and  for  the  most  part  to  the  brutal  Saxon  shopkeepers  and 
pedlars.  You  will  have  the  advantage  of  getting  your  land  entirely 
f["ee ;  there  will  be  no  manacle  of  del)t  to  weigh  down  the  free  arms 
which  are  hencefortli  to  till  the  beloved  soil  of  our  country. 

And  the  land  being  unencumbered,  you  will  have  the  farther 


IRISH    GEMS  131 

advantage  of  being  able  to  invite  capitalists  to  aid  you  with  money 
to  conduct  the  operations  of  agriculture.  Glorious  America,  which 
sympathises  with  you  sincerely,  will  be  much  more  ready  to  lend 
its  capital  upon  unencumbered,  than  on  encumliered  property.  And 
we  shall  negotiate  loans  in  her  magnificent  commercial  cities,  where 
I  have  no  doubt  there  will  be  a  noble  emulation  to  come  to  the  aid 
of  a  free  Irish  nation. 

The  idea  of  sending  cattle  and  pigs  to  England,  to  feed  Saxon 
rutfians,  is  then  to  be  scouted  henceforth  by  aU  honest  Irishmen. 
We  will  consume  our  own  beef  and  pork  by  our  own  firesides. 
There  is  enough  live-stock  in  this  island  to  give  every  regenerate 
Irishman  good  meals  of  meat  for  the  next  year  ensuing  ;  and  our 
lands,  notoriously  the  greenest  and  most  fertile  in  the  world,  will 
have  fed  up  a  similar  quantity  by  the  year  1850.  Thus,  we  shall 
never  want  henceforth  :  and  while  we  fatten  and  flourish,  we  shall 
see  the  Saxon  enemy  decay. 

And  as  the  beef-fed  scoundrels  cannot  live  upon  cotton  and 
hardware,  we  shall  have  the  satisfaction  of  reducing  the  prices  of 
those  commodities,  and  getting  them  at  a  much  more  reasonable 
rate  than  that  at  which  the  accursed  money-mongers  now  vend 
them. 

FROM    THE    "united    IRISHWOMAN" 

The  Duties  of  our  Women. 

In  the  coming  time  the  weapon  nearest  at  hand  is  always  the 
cheapest.  Only  dilettanti  go  about  picking  and  choosing.  Shilly- 
shallyers  are  cowards.     Brave  men  are  always  armed. 

Brave  men  and  brave  ^vomen,  a  few  suggestions  to  housekeepers 
we  have  already  given ;  we  could  supply  thousands  more. 

There  is  no  better  weapon,  for  instance,  than  one  which  is  to  be 
found  in  every  house  in  the  refined  quarter  of  the  metropolis.  A 
grand  piano  sent  down  upon  a  troop  of  hussars  will  play  such  a 
sonata  over  their  heads  as  the  scoundrels  never  luarched  off"  to.  A 
chimney-glass  is  a  rare  thing  for  smashing.  I  should  not  like  to 
be  the  Saxon  assassin  upon  whom  some  white-armed  girl  of  Erin 
flung  it. 

Pokers  and  tongs  everybody  will  know  the  use  of.  A  cut-steel 
fender  is  an  awkward  thing  for  a  dragoon  to  ride  over.  A  guards- 
man won't  look  well  with  a  copper  coal-scuttle  for  a  helmet. 

Ladies'  linen  will  make  the  best  of  lint.  A  laced  handkerchief 
tied  roimd  a  woiuided  warrior's  brow  will  be  well  besrtowed.  I  have 
seen  a  servant  in  college  knocked  down  by  a  glossy  boot,  ever  so 
slii:ht,  of  varnislied  leather  :  if  a  footman,  why  not  a  private  soldier  ? 

IJ 


132         MISCELLANEOUS    CONTRIBUTIONS 

Have  at  liim,  ladies,  from  the  bedroom  windows.     Your  husbands 
will  be  away  yonder  at  the  barricades. 

A  hot  saddle  of  mutton,  flung  by  cook  into  the  face  of  a  bawling 
Saxon  Colonel,  will  silence  him  ;  send  the  dish-cover  with  it ;  or  at 
tea-time  try  him  with  the  silver  tea-urn.  Our  wife  has  one.  She 
longs  for  an  o])portunity  to  fling  it,  heater  and  all,  into  a  Saxon 
face. 

Besides  the  bottle-rack,  the  use  of  which  and  its  contents  are 
evident,  your  husband  Avill  leave  the  keys  of  the  cellar  with  you, 
and  you  know  what  to  do.  Old  port  makes  excellent  grape-shot ; 
and  I  don't  know  any  better  use  which  you  can  make  of  a  magnum 
of  Latouche  than  to  floor  an  Englishman  with  it.  Have  at  them 
with  all  the  glasses  in  your  house,  the  china,  the  decanters,  the 
lamps,  and  the  cut-glass  chandelier. 

A  good  large  cheese  would  be  found  rather  indigestil)le  by  a 
Saxon,  if  dropped  on  his  nose  from  a  second  storey.  And  the 
children's  washing-tub  artfully  administered  may  do  execution. 
Recollect,  it  is  a  tub  to  catch  a  whale. 

There  is  a  lady  in  Leeson  Street  who  vows  to  fling  her  Angola 
cat  and  her  pet  spaniel  at  the  military  while  engaged  there.  The 
cat  may  escape  (and  it  is  not  the  first  time  tlie  Saxon  ruflians  have 
tasted  its  claws).  Tlie  Blenheim  cost  her  twenty-five  guineas.  She 
will  give  that  or  anything  else  for  her  country. 

The  water-pipes  will  be  excellent  things  to  tear  up  and  launch 
at  tlie  enemy.  They  may  make  a  slop  in  the  house  at  first,  but 
the  mains  and  the  gas  will  be  let  oft".  The  rufiians  shall  fight  us,  if 
they  dare,  in  darkness  and  drought. 

You  will  of  course  empty  the  china-closets  on  the  rascals,  and 
all  the  bedroom  foot-baths  and  washing-basins.  Have  them  ready, 
and  the  chests  of  drawers  balancing  on  the  window-sills.  Send 
those  after  them  too. 

And  if  any  coward  Saxon  bullet  pierces  the  fair  bosom  of  a 
maid  or  a  wife  of  Erin,  may  the  curses  of  Heaven  light  on  the 
butcherly  dastard  !  May  the  pikes  of  Erin  quiver  in  his  writhing 
heart,  the  bullets  of  Erin  whirl  through  his  screaming  eyeballs  ! 
May  his  orphans  perish  howding,  and  his  true  love  laugh  over  his 
grave  !  May  his  sister's  fair  fame  be  blighted,  and  his  grandmother 
held  up  to  scorn  !  May  remorse  fang  him  like  a  ban-dog,  and 
cowardice  whip  him  like  a  slave  !  May  life  weary  him  !  deatli, 
dislionour,  and  futurity  punish  him  !  Liar  Saxon  !  ruffian  Saxon  ! 
coward  Saxon  !  bloody  Saxon  !  The  gentle  and  the  pure  defy  ye, 
and  spit  on  ye  ! 


MR.    SNOB'S    REMONSTRANCE  133 


MR.  SNOB'S  REMONSTRANCE  WITH  MR.  SMITH 

MY  DEAR  SMITH, —When  we  last  met  at  tlie  Polyanthus 
Club,  you  showed  me  so  remarkably  cold  a  shoulder,  that  I  • 
was  hurt  by  your  change  of  behaviour,  and  inqmred  the 
cause  of  the  alteration.  You  are  a  kind  and  excellent  friend,  and 
used  to  tip  me,  when  I  was  a  boy  at  school ;  and  I  was  glad  to 
find  that  you  had  public  and  not  private  causes  for  your  diminished 
cordiality.  Jones  imparted  to  me  your  opinion  that  a  previous 
letter  of  mine  in  this  periodical  was  of  so  dangerous  and  disloyal  a 
character,  that  honest  men  should  avoid  the  author.  He  takes 
leave  to  exculpate  himself  through  the  same  medium. 

All  our  difference,  my  dear  sir,  is  as  to  the  method  of  displaying 
loyalty.  Without  fulsome  professions  for  the  virtuous  and  excellent 
young  matron  and  lady  who  fills  the  Throne  nowadays,  one  may 
feel  that  those  private  virtues  and  excellences  are  amongst  her  noblest 
titles  of  honom-,  and,  without  in  the  least  implicating  the  Royal 
personage  seated  in  it,  quarrel  with  the  taste  of  some  of  the  orna- 
ments of  the  Throne.  I  do  believe  that  some  of  these  are  barbarous, 
that  they  often  put  the  occupant  of  that  august  seat  in  a  false  and 
ridiculous  position,  and  that  it  would  be  greatly  to  the  advantage 
of  her  dignity  if  they  were  away. 

You  recollect  our  talk  at  the  Polyanthus,  relative  to  the  private 
letters  which  passed  between  Louis-Philippe  and  the  Sovereign  of 
this  country,  which  the  present  French  Government  has  thought  fit 
to  republish.  "Why,"  said  you,  "did  they  condescend  to  make 
public  these  private  letters'?  What  could  it  matter  to  Europe 
to  know  whether,  in  the  voyage  from  Dover  to  Calais,  'my  poor 
Montpensier'  was  dreadfully  sick,  and  the  King  did  not  suffer  at 
all  ? "  Royal  families  must  have  their  talk  and  gossip,  like  any 
other  domestic  circles.  Why  placard  the  town  M-ith  this  harmless 
jjrivate  gossip,  and  drag  innocent  peojjle  into  publicity?  And, 
indeed,  with  the  excei)tion  of  that  pretty  letter  to  the  Princess 
Royal  (in  which  her  "  old  cousin,"  Louis-Philippe,  announces  to  her 
his  present  of  a  doll  with  six-and-twenty  suits  of  clothes,  and 
exhibits  himself  very  amiably  and  artlessly  for  once,  as  a  kind- 
hearted  old  grandfather  and  gentleman),  it  is  a  pity  that  the  whole 
correspondence  were  not  consigned  to  the  bottom  of  that  ocean 
which  made  "my  poor  Montpensier"  so  unwell. 

But  if  the  privacy  of  Royalty  is  not  to  be  intruded  upon,  why  is 
it  perpetually  thrust  in  our  faces  1    Why  is  that  Court  Newsman  not 


13-i  MISCELLANEOUS    CONTRIBUTIONS 

stifled  1  I  say  that  individual  is  one  of  the  barbarous  adjuncts  of 
the  Crown  whom  we  ought  to  abolish,  and  whom  it  is  an  lionest 
man's  duty  to  lioot  off  the  stage.  I  say  it  is  mcMistrous,  immodest, 
unseemly,  tliat  in  our  time  such  details  sliould  occupy  great  columns 
of  the  newspapers,  as  that  of  a  Royal  Christening,  for  instance, 
wliich  appeared  the  other  day,  in  which  you  read  as  follows — 

"  His  Royal  Highness  the  Prince  of  Wales  was  dressed  in  sky- 
blue  velvet  embroidered  with  gold.  The  dress  of  Prince  Alfred  was 
of  white  and  silver,  and  the  three  Princesses  were  all  dressed  alike 
in  frocks  of  British  lace,  in  imitation  of  Mechlin  lace,  with  flounces 
of  the  same  over  white  satin. 

"  His  Royal  Highness  Prince  Albert  and  tlie  Duke  of  Wellington 
were  habited  in  the  uniform  of  Field-Marshals ;  the  Prince  wore 
the  collars  of  the  Garter  and  the  Bath,  and  the  ensigns  of  the 
Golden  Fleece. 

"  The  Royal  infant  was  dressed  in  a  robe  of  Honiton  lace  over 
white  satin,  and  was  attended  by  the  Dowager  Lady  Lyttelton. 
Her  Royal  Highness  was  carried  by  the  head  nurse." 

Gracious  Goodness  !  is  it  bringing  ridicule  on  the  Throne  to  say 
that  such  details  as  these  are  ridiculous  1  Does  it  add  to  the  dignity 
of  the  greatest  persons  in  this  country  that  other  citizens  should 
be  told  that  Prince  Alfred  wore  wliite  and  silver,  and  the  little 
Princesses  were  all  dressed  alike  in  frocks  of  British  lace,  in  imitation 
of  Mechlin,  with  flounces  of  the  same,  over  wliite  satin  1  Suppose 
their  Royal  Highnesses  wore  tlieir  frocks  inside  out,  what  the  deuce 
does  it  matter  to  us  1  These  details  may  interest  Mr.  Mantalini, 
but  not  men  in  England.  They  should  not  be  put  before  us.  Why 
do  we  still  laugh  at  people  for  kissing  the  Pope's  toe,  or  applaud 
Macartney's  British  spirit  in  the  last  age,  for  refusing  kotoo  to  the 
Emperor  of  China?  This  is  just  as  bad  as  kotoo.  Those  people 
degrade  the  Throne  who  do  not  remove  from  it  these  degrading 
Middle- Age  ceremonials — as  barbarous,  as  absurd,  as  unreasonable 
as  Queen  Quashymaboo's  cocked-hat  and  epaulets,  or  King  Munibo- 
Jumbo's  glass  beads  and  tinsel. 

When  the  procession  of  the  sponsors  and  her  Majesty's  pro- 
cession hsd  passed,  and  tlie  Queen  and  the  otiier  Royal  personages 
were  conducted  to  their  seats,  the  following  chorale  was  performed 
— such  a  chorale  as  was  seldom  presented  to  an  infant  before  : — 

"  In  life's  gay  morn,  ere  sprightly  youth 
By  sin  and  folly  is  enslaved, 
Oh,  may  the  Maker's  glorious  name 
Be  on  thy  infant  mind  engraved  ! 


MR.    SNOB'S    REMONSTRANCE  13.5 

So  shall  no  shade  of  sorrow  cloud 
The  sunshine  of  thy  early  days, 
But  happiness,  in  endless  round. 
Shall  still  encompass  all  th j'  ways. " 

Now,  Mr.  Smith,  ou  your,  honour  and  conscience,  does  the 
publication  of  stuff  like  this  add  to,  or  diminish  the  splendour  of 
the  Throne  1  Is  it  true  that  if,  in  "  the  morning  of  youth,"  the 
Princess  is  brought  up  piously,  she  is  sure  of  endless  happiness  to 
"  encompass  all  her  ways  "  ?  Who  says  so  1  Who  believes  it  ? 
Does  it  add  to  your  respect  for  the  Head  of  the  State,  to  represent 
her  Majesty  to  your  imagination  surrounded  by  Bishops,  Marshals, 
and  Knights  in  their  collars.  Gold  Sticks,  Sponsor-proxies,  and 
what  not,  seated  in  the  place  of  Divine  Worship  listening  to  such 
inane  verses  ?  No ;  the  disrespect  is  not  on  our  side  who  pro- 
test. No ;  the  disloyalty  is  with  those  who  acquiesce  in  ceremonies 
so  monstrous  and  so  vain.  0  Ai'chbishop,  is  this  tlie  way  people 
should  renounce  the  pomps  and  vanities  of  this  wicked  world  ? 
It  is  these  ceremonies  which  set  more  people  against  you  and  your 
like,  than  all  your  sermons  can  convince,  or  your  good  example 
keep  faithfid. 

And  I  say  that  we  are,  Mr.  Punch  and  all,  a  loyal  and 
affectionate  people,  and  that  we  exult  when  we  see  the  great 
personages  of  the  Crown  worthily  occupied.  Take  the  meeting  of 
last  Thursday,  for  instance,  for  the  Improvement  of  the  Labour- 
ing Classes,  at  which  his  Royal  Highness  the  Prince  attended 
and  spoke. 

"Depend  upon  it  that  the  interests  of  often-contrasted  classes 
are  identical,  and  it  is  only  ignorance  which  prevents  their  uniting 
to  the  advantage  of  each  other.  {Cheers.)  To  disi)el  that  igno- 
rance, and  to  show  how  man  can  help  man,  notwithstanding  the 
complicated  state  of  civilised  society,  ought  to  be  the  aim  of  every 
philantlu-opic  person.  {Loud  cheers.)  This  is  more  peculiarly  the 
duty  of  those  who,  under  the  blessing  of  Divine  Providence,  enjoy 
station,  wealth,  and  education."     {Cheers.) 

Every  man  who  heard  that,  I  say,  cheered  with  all  his  heart. 
"Tliese  are  imperial  words,  and  worthy  kings."  There  is  no 
Gold  Stick  in  tliis  empire,  no  Vice-Chamberlain,  Groom  of  the 
Stole,  Hereditary  Grand  Dancing-Master,  or  Quarterly  AVaiter  in 
Waiting,  that  will  yield  to  Mr.  Punch  and  your  hmnble  servant 
in  loyalty,  when  words  such  as  these  are  spoken,  and  in  such  a 
spirit :  and  it  is  in  tasks  like  these  that  Princes  must  busy  them- 
selves if  in  our  times  they  ask  for  loyalty  from  others  or  security 


136         MISCELLANEOUS    CONTRIBUTIONS 

for  themselves.  The  hohl  of  the  great  upon  us  now  is  by  benefi- 
ceuce,  not  by  chiptraps  and  ceremonies.  Tlie  jjcojile  is  and  knows 
itself  to  be  the  stronger.  Wisdom,  simplicity,  atfeetion,  must  be 
the  guardians  of  the  English  Throne  ;  and  may  God  keep  those 
Gentlemen-ushers  about  the  Court  of  Queen  Victoria  ! 


YESTERDAY:  A    TALE   OF  THE  POLISH  BALL 

BY    A    LADY    OF    FASHION 

"The  absence  of  the  Life  Guards,  being  on  duty  against  the  mob,  occa- 
sioned some  disappointment  to  many  of  the  fair  fashionables  at  Willis's  on 
Monday  mght.''^3Ioi-ninrj  Paper. 

LIONEL  DE  BOOTS  was  the  son  of  Lord  and  Lady  de  Booters- 
town,  and  one  of  the  most  elegant  young  men  of  this  or  any 
■^  age  or  country.  His  figure  was  tall  and  slim  ;  his  features 
beauteous  :  although  not  more  than  eighteen  years  of  age,  he  could 
spell  with  surprising  correctness,  and  had  a  sweet  yellow  tuft  growing 
on  his  chin,  already  ! 

A  pattern  of  every  excellence,  and  brought  up  under  a  fond 
mother's  eye,  Lionel  had  all  the  budding  virtues,  and  none  of  the 
odious  vices  contracted  by  youth.  He  was  not  accustomed  to  take 
more  than  three  glasses  of  wine ;  and  though  a  perfect  Nimrod  in 
the  chase,  as  J  have  heard  his  dear  mamma  remark,  he  never  smoked 
those  horrid  cigars  while  going  to  hunt. 

He  received  his  Commission  in  the  Royal  Horse  Guards  Pink 
(Colonel  Gizzard),  and  was  presentetl,  on  his  aj^pointment,  on  the 
birthday  of  his  Sovereign.  His  fond  mamma  clasped  her  mailed 
warrior  to  her  bosom,  and  wept  tears  of  maternal  love  upon  his 
brilliant  cuirass,  which  reflected  her  own  lovely  image. 

But  besides  that  of  her  Ladyship,  there  was  another  female 
heart  whicli  beat  with  affection's  i)urest  throb  for  the  youthful  Lionel. 
The  lovely  Frederica  de  Toffy  (whose  a])pearance  at  Court  this  year 
created  so  thrilling  a  sensation)  had  long  been  designed  by  her  eminent 
parents,  the  Earl  and  Countess  of  Hardybake,  to  wed  one  day  with 
the  brilliant  heir  of  the  house  of  De  Boots. 

Frederica  nearly  fainted  witli  pleasure  wdien  her  Lionel  pre- 
sented himself  at  Alycampayne  House  in  his  charming  new  uniform. 
"  My  military  duties  now  call  me,"  said  the  gallant  youth  with  a 
manly  sigh.  "  But  'twill  not  be  long  ere  next  we  meet.  Remember 
thou  art  my  partner  in  Lady  Smigsmag's  Quadrille  at  the  Polish 


YESTERDAY:    TALE    OF    THE    POLISH    BALL     137 

Ball.  An  revoir — adieu  !  "  Emotion  choked  further  utterance, 
and,  staggering  from  the  presence  of  Love,  Lionel  hastened  to  join 
his  regiment  at  Kii-(ihtshr-clge. 

That  night,  as  the  Cavaliers  of  the  Horse  Guards  Pink  sate 
in  their  tents,  carousing  to  the,  health  of  their  ladye-loves,  news 
came  from  the  Commamier-in-Chief  that  England  had  need  of 
her  warriors.  The  Chartists  had  risen !  They  were  in  arras 
in  Clerkenwell  and  Peutonville.  "Up,  Cavaliers!"  said  the 
noble  De  Gizzard,  quaffing  a  bumper  of  Ypocras.  "  Gentlemen 
of  the  Horse  Guards  Pink,  to  arms ! "  Calling  his  battle-cry, 
Lionel  laced  on  his  morion;  his  trusty  valet-de-chambre  placed 
it  on  the  golden  curls  of  his  young  ma.ster.  To  draw  his  SA\-ord, 
to  recommend  himself  to  Heaven  and  sweet  Saint  Willibald,  and 
to  mount  his  plunging  charger,  was  the  work  of  a  moment. 
The  next— and  the  plumes  of  the  Horse  Guards  Pink  might  be 
seen  waving  in  the  midnight  down  the  avenues  of  the  Park, 
wliile  the  clarions  and  violins  of  the  band  pealed  forth  the  National 
Anthem  of  Britons. 

Lionel's  mother  had  taken  heed  that  the  chamber  which  he 
was  to  occupy  at  the  barracks  was  comfortably  arranged  for 
her  ymmg  soldier.  Every  elegant  simplicity  of  the  toilet  had 
been  provided.  "  Take  care  that  there  be  bran  in  his  foot- 
bath," she  said  to  his  old  servitor  (pointing  at  the  same  time 
to  a  richly-chased  silver-gilt  bain  de  pieds,  emblazoned  with 
the  crest  of  the  De  Bootses).  And  she  had  netted  with  her 
own  hand  a  crimson  silk  nightcap  with  a  gold  ta.ssel,  which 
she  entreated — nay,  commanded  him  to  wear.  She  imaged  him 
asleep  in  his  war-chamber.  "May  my  soldier  sleep  well,"  she 
exclaimed  mentally,  "  till  the  ringing  trump  of  morn  wake  up  my 
gallant  boy  I " 

Frederica,  too,  as  far  as  modest  maiden  may,  thought  of  her 
Lionel,  "■Ah,  Crinolinette,"  she  said  to  her  maid,  in  the  French 
language,  of  which  she  was  a  mistress,  "  Ah,  que  ma  galant  Garde- 
de-vie  puisse  bien  dormir  ce  nuit !  " 

Lionel  slept  not  on  that  night — not  one  ,wink  had  the  young 
soldier.  In  the  moon,  under  the  stars,  in  the  cold  cold  midnight, 
in  the  it'V  dawn,  he  and  his  gallant  comrades  patrolled  the  lanes  of 
Clerkenwell.  Now  charging  a  pulk  of  Chartists — now  coming  to 
the  aid  of  a  squadron  of  beleagut^red  Policemen — how  interposing 
between  the  infuriate  mob  and  the  astonished  Specials — everywhere 
Lionel's  sword  gleamed.  In  the  tliick  of  the  ntcle'e  his  voice  was 
lieard  encouraging  the  troops  and  filling  the  Chartists  with  terror. 
"Oh,"  thought  he,  "that  I  could  measure  steel  with  Fus.sell,  or 
could  stand  for  five  minutes  point  to  point  with  Cuffey  ! "     But  no 


138  MISCELLANEOUS    CONTRIBUTIONS 

actual  collision  took  i)la('e,  and  tlie  Life  Guards  Pink  returned  to 
their  barracks  at  dawn,  when  Colonel  Gizzard  sent  off  a  most 
favouralilc  report  to  the  Commander-in-Chief  of  the  gallantry  of 
youuii  De  Boots. 

The  warrii)rs  cared  not  for  rest  that  day.  A  night  in  the  saddle 
is  no  hardship  to  tlie  soldier;  though  Lionel,  feeling  the  approaches 
of  a  cold  and  sore  throat,  only  took  a  little  water-gruel  and  lay 
down  for  half-an-hour  to  recruit  liimself.  But  he  could  not  sleep — 
he  thought  of  Frederica !  "  To-night  I  shall  see  her,"  he  said. 
'Twas  the  night  of  the  Polish  Ball,  and  he  bade  his  valet  ])rocure 
from  Hammersmitli  tlie  loveliest  bou(iuet  for  Frederica,  consisting 
of  the  rosy  Magnolia,  the  delicate  Polyanthus,  and  the  drooping  and 
modest  Sunflower. 

The  banquet  of  the  Horse  Guards  Pink  was  served  at  eight 
o'clock,  and  Lionel,  to  be  ready  for  the  ball,  dressed  himself  in 
pumps  and  pantaloons,  with  an  embroidered  gauze  chemise,  and  a 
mere  riband  of  lace  round  his  neck.  He  looked  a  young  Apollo  as 
he  sat  down  to  dine  ! 

But  scarce  had  he  put  the  first  spoonful  of  'potage  a  la  reine 
to  his  ruby  lips,  when  the  clarion  again  sounded  to  arms.  "  Con- 
fusion ! "  said  the  gallant  Gizzard,  "the  Chartists  are  again  in  arms, 
and  we  must  forth."  The  banquet  was  left  untasted,  and  the 
warriors  mounted  their  steeds. 

So  great  was  the  hurry,  that  Lionel  only  put  on  his  helmet  and 
cuirass,  and  rode  forth  in  his  evening  dress.  'Twas  a  pitiless  night ; 
the  rain  descended  ;  the  winds  blew  icy  cold ;  the  young  soldier 
was  wet  to  the  skin  ere  the  Guards  debouched  on  Clerkenwell 
Green. 

And  at  that  hour  Frederica  was  looking  out  of  the  left  window 
at  Almack's,  waiting  for  Lionel. 

Hours  and  hours  he  sat  on  his  war-steed  through  that  long  night 
— the  rain  descended,  the  wind  was  more  chilly,  the  dastard  Char- 
tists would  not  face  the  steel  of  the  Loyal  Cavaliers  of  the  Horse 
Guards  Pink,  but  fled  at  the  sight  of  our  warriors.  Ah  !  'twas  a 
piteous  night ! 

Frederica  was  carried  at  daybreak  to  Alycampayne  House  frona 
the  ball.  She  had  not  danced  all  that  night :  she  refused  the  most 
eligdble  partners,  for  she  could  only  think  of  her  Cavalier ;  her 
Lionel,  who  never  came  !  Her  manuna  marked  her  child's  frenzied 
eye  and  hectic  cheek,  and  shuddered  as  she  put  her  daughter  to  bed, 
and  wrote  a  hurried  note  to  Dr.  L — c — ck. 

At  that  hour,  too,  the  Horse  Guards  Pink  returned  to  their 
barracks.  The  veterans  were  unmoved  :  but,  ah  me  !  for  the 
recruits  !     Lionel  was  in  a  high  fever — two  nights'  exposure  had 


SCIENCE    AT    CAMBRIDGE  139 

struck  down  the  gallant  boy — he  was  delirious  two  hours  after  he 
was  placed  in  bed  !     "  Mamma  !  Frederica  !  "  he  shouted — 


Last  Saturday  two  hearses — the  one  bearing  the  helm  and  arms 
of  a  young  warrior,  and  the  escutcheon  of  the  De  Bootses,  the  other 
the  lozenge  of  the  Alycampaynes,  wound  their  way  slowly  to  High- 
gate  Cemetery.  Lionel  and  Frederica  were  laid  in  the  same  grave  ! 
But  how  much  of  this  agony  might  have  been  spared  if  the  odious 
Chartists  would  but  have  stayed  at  home,  or  if  that  young  couple 
had  taken  from  twelve  to  fourteen  of  Morison's  Universal  Pills, 
instead  of  the  vile  medicine  with  which  "the  Facultv"  killed  them? 


SCIENCE   AT    CAMBRIDGE 

AMONG  the  new  sciences  which  are  to  be  taught  at  Cambridge 
L^niversity,  and  for  the  teaching  of  which  eminent  Professors 
"  are  to  be  appointed,  we  are  informed  that  H.R.H.  the 
Chancellor,  and  the  Heads,  have  determined  to  create  two  new 
Chairs,  upon  the  applications  of  the  two  eminent  men  whose  letters 
we  subjoin. 

"  To  His  Roil  Highness  the  Chaxslor,  o/nd  the  Kohs  of  the 
University  of  Camhridge. 

"Tom  Spring's. 

"  Sein  perposials  for  astabblishing  new  Purfessurships  in  the 
Univussaty  of  Cambridge  (where  there  is  litell  enuff  now  liunt,  as 
Evins  knov/s),  I  beg  leaf  to  hoffer  myself  to  your  Royl  Ighness  as 
Purfessur  of  Sulf-defens,  which  signts  I  old  to  be  both  nessary  and 
useful  to  every  young  mann. 

"  I  ave  sean  on  his  entry  into  life  without  knowing  the  use  of 
his  ands,  a  young  chap  fiord  by  a  fellar  |  his  sighs ;  and  all  for  the 
want  of  those  fust  priucipills  which  a  few  terms  under  me  would 
give  him. 

"  I  ave  sean,  on  the  contry,  many  an  honest  young  Mann  per- 
vented  from  doing  right  and  knockin  down  a  raskle  who  insults  a 
lady  in  distress,  or  chaughs  you,  or  anythink,  simply  from  not 
knowing  how  to  imploy  them  fistis  wliicli  natur  has  endowd  him 
with,  and  which  it  is  manifest  were  not  made  for  nothink. 

"  I  old  that  the  fust  use  of  a  man's  ands  is  to  fight  with;  and 


140  MISCELLANEOUS    CONTRIBUTIONS 

that  the  fust  and  most  nessary  duty  of  a  feller  is  to  know  how  ta 
defend  his  nob. 

"  I  sliould  like  to  know  in  some  instanscs  whether  all  your 
Algibry  and  Mathanuulix,  your  Greik  and  Latn  and  that,  would 
serve  a  young  gent  half  so  well  as  a  good  noUidge  of  sparring  and 
fibbing,  which  I  shall  be  appy  to  teach  him,  has  also  to  serve  any 
Ead  of  any  Ouse  in  the  Unavereaty. 

"  Peraps  I  could  not  stand  up  before  Dr.  Biggwhigg  and  Doctor 
Squartoes  in  the  Latn  Mathamadics ;  but  could  they  stand  up  to  me 
with  the  gloves  ?  Why,  I  would  wop  them  with  one  and,  and  in- 
gage  to  make  the  young  gentlemen  of  the  Univussaty  to  do  lickwise. 

"Therefor  I  propose  to  your  Royal  Ighness  and  the  Eads  of 
Ouses,  to  allow  the  manly  and  trew  English  Sclents  of  Boxint  to 
be  took  ui).  for  honours  by  the  young  gentlemen  of  Cambridge. 
Igsamanations  might  be  eld  in  the  Sennit  House,  both  vith  and 
vithout  the  mufflers,  it  would  be  a  pretty  site — plesnt  to  parints  (for 
what  sight  can  be  nobler  than  for  a  fond  mother  to  see  a  galliant 
young  feller  pitcliin  into  his  man  in  good  style,  or  taking  his  jiunish- 
ment  hke  a  trump'?)  and  would  etract  quanties  of  foringers  and 
ladies  to  the  Uniwursaty,  like  the  Hancient  games  of  the  Roman 
athleeks. 

"The  Cribb  Purfessurship  in  the  branch  of  Mathamatacal 
Science,  which  I'm  blest  if  it  isn't,  I  purpose  to  your  Roil  Considera- 
tion, and  ham,  with  the  deepest  respect,  your  Royal  Highness's- 
obeadient  to  command,  Ben.tamin  Bendigo." 


From  Professor  Soyer, 

"Pall  Mall. 

"  Mighty  Prince,  and  Reverend,  and  Illustrious  Gentle- 
men ! — It  has  been  universally  allowed  by  most  nations,  that 
Science  would  be  vain  if  it  did  not  tend  to  produce  happiness,  and 
that  that  science  is  the  greatest,  by  which  the  greatest  amount  of 
happiness  is  produced. 

"'I  agree  with  the  poet  Solon  in  this  remark — and  if,  as  I  have 
no  doubt,  it  is  one  which  has  also  struck  the  august  intelligence  of 
your  Royal  Highness — I  beg  to  ask  with  retiring  modesty,  what 
Science  confers  greater  pleasure  than  that  which  I  have  the  honour 
to  profess,  and  which  has  made  my  name  famons  throughout  the 
world"? 

"  Eating  is  the  first  business  of  a  man.  If  his  food  is  unpleasant 
to  him,  his  health  suffers,  his  labour  is  not  so  productive,  his  genius 
deteriorates,  and  his  progeny  dwindles  and  sickens.      A  healthy 


SCIENCE    AT    CAMBRIDGE  141 

digestion,  on  the  other  hand,  produces  a  healthy  mind,  a  clear 
intellect,  a  vigorous  family,  and  a  series  of  inestimable  benefits  to 
generations  yet  unborn  :  and  how  can  you  have  a  good  digestion,  I 
ask,  without  a  good  dinner  ?  and  how  have  a  good  dinner,  without 
knowing  how  to  cook  it  ? 

"  May  it  please  your  Royal  "Highness  Consort  of  the  Imperial 
Crown  of  England,  and  you  ye  learned  and  reverend  doctors,  proctors, 
provosts,  gyps,  and  common  sizars  of  the  Royal  University  of 
Cambridge,  now  that  you  are  wisely  resolved  to  enlarge  the  former 
narrow  sphere  of  knowledge  in  which  your  pupils  move — I  ask  you 
at  once,  and  with  unanimity,  to  ordain  that  MY  Science  be  among 
the  new  ones  to  be  taught  to  the  ingenuous  youth  of  England. 

"  Mine  is  both  a  physical  and  moral  science — physical,  it  acts  on 
the  health ;  moral,  on  the  tempers  and  tastes  of  mankind.  Under 
one  or  other  of  these  heads,  then,  it  deserves  to  be  taught  in  the 
famous  Halls  of  Cambridge.  I  demand  and  humbly  request  that 
the  SOYER  PROFESSORSHIP  of  Culinarious  Science  be  esta- 
blished without  loss  of  tim^.  And  I  ask  of  your  Imperial  Highness 
and  the  learned  Heads  of  the  University,  what  knowledge  more 
useful  than  that  which  I  possess  and  profess  could  be  conferred  upon 
a  rising  and  ardent  youth  1 

"  Who  are  the  young  men  of  Cambridge  ?  They  are  brought  up 
for  the  most  part  to  the  study  of  the  Law  or  the  Church. 

"  Those  who  have  partaken  of  food  in  the  miserable  chambers 
of  the  law  student,  and  seen  their  cadaverous  appearance  and  un- 
earthly voracity,  will  at  once  agree  with  me  that  fhei/  are  in  a 
lamentable  state  as  regards  eating.  But  it  is  of  the  other  profession 
which  I  speak. 

"  I  can  conceive  now  no  person  so  likely  to  become  eminently 
useful  and  beloved  as  an  interesting  young  ecclesiastic  going  down 
to  take  possession  of  his  curacy  in  a  distant  and  barbarous  province, 
where  the  inhabitants  eat  their  meat  raw,  their  vegetables  crude, 
and  know  no  difference  between  a  white  and  a  browTi  sauce. — I 
say,  most  noble,  mighty,  and  learned  sirs,  I  can  conceive  of  no 
character  more  delightful  than  a  young  curate  coming  into  such  a 
district  after  having  graduated  honourably  in  MY  science.  He  i6 
like  Saint  Augustin,  but  he  bears  a  saucepan  in  his  train,  and  he 
endears  the  natives  to  him  and  to  his  doctrines  by  a  hundred 
innocent  artifices.  In  his  own  humble  home — see  my  Regenerator 
art,  my  kitchen  at  home — he  gives  a  model  of  neatness,  propriety, 
and  elegant  moderation.  He  goes  from  cottage  to  cottage  improving 
the  diet  of  the  poor.  He  flavours  the  labourer's  soup  with  simple 
herbs,  and  roasts  the  stalled  ox  of  the  squire  or  farmer  to  a  turn. 
He  makes  tables  comfortable  which  before  were  sickening  ;  families 


142  MISCELLANEOUS    CONTRIBUTIONS 

are  uiiitt'il  wlio  oiicc  avoided  each  other,  or  quarrelled  when  they 
met ;  liealth  returns,  wliich  bad  diet  had  banished  from  the 
cottager's  home ;  children  Hourish  and  nudtiply,  and  as  they  crowd 
round  the  simple  but  invigorating  repast,  bless  the  instructor  who 
has  taught  them  to  prepare  their  meal.  Ah  !  honoured  Prince, 
and  exalted  gentlemen,  what  a  picture  do  I  draw  of  clerical  influence 
and  jiarochial  harmony  !  Talk  of  schools,  indeed  !  I  very  much 
doubt  wliether  a  school-inspector  could  make  a  souffle,  or  S.  G.  0. 
of  tlie  Times  coukl  toss  a  pancake  ! 

"  And  ah  !  gentlemen,  what  a  scene  would  the  examination 
which  I  picture  to  myself  present !  The  Professor  enters  the  Hall, 
preceded  by  his  casserole  bearers ;  a  hundred  furnaces  are  lightetl ; 
a  hundred  elegant  neophytes  in  white  caps  are  present  beiiind 
them,  exercising  upon  the  roasts,  the  stews,  the  vegetables,  the 
sweets.  A  Boaixl  of  Examiners  is  assembled  at  a  table  spread 
with  damask,  and  tlie  exercises  of  the  young  men  are  carried  up 
to  them  hot  and  hot.  Who  would  not  be  proud  to  sit  on  such 
a  Board,  and  superintend  the  endeavoui-s  of  youth  engaged  in 
such  labour?  Blushing,  the  Senior  Medallist  receives  the  Vice- 
Chancellor's  compliment,  and  is  crowned  with  a  fillet  by  the 
Yeoman  Bedell ;  this — this  I  would  fain  behold  in  the  great,  the 
enlightened,  the  generous,,  the  liberal  country  of  my  adoption  ! 

"  And  if  ever  British  gratitude  should  erect  a  statue  to  a  national 
benefactor,  I  can  suppose  an  image  of  myself,  the  First  Professor  of 
Cookery  in  Cambridge,  to  be  elevated  in  some  conspicuous  situation 
in  after  ages,  holding  out  the  nectar  wliich  he  discovered,  and  the 
sauce  with  which  he  endowed  the  beloved  country  into  which  he 
came. 

"  Waiting  your  answer  with  respectful  confidence,  I  am,  of 
your  Royal  Highness  and  Gentlemen,  the  profound  servant, 

"CORYDON    SOYEE." 


THE  GREAT  SQUATTLEBOROUGH  SOIREE 

GOOD  MR.  PUNCH,— I  am  an  author  by  trade,  and  in  con- 
fidence send  you  my  card,  which  will  satisfy  you  of  my 
name  and  my  place  of  business.  If  the  designer  of  the 
series  of  cuts  called  "  Authors'  Miseries "  *  will  take  my  case  in 
hand,  I  will  not  ask  to  plead  it  myself;  otherwise,  as  it  is  one 
w^hich   concerns   most  literary   persons,   and  as   the   annoyance    of 

*  See  page  735. 


THE    GREAT    SQUATTLEBOROUGH    SOIREE     143 

which  I  complaiu  may  be  a  source  of  serious  loss  and  evil  to  them, 
I  take  leave  to  cry  out  on  behalf  of  our  craft. 

The  system  of  oj)pression  against  which  I  desire  to  protest,  is 
one  which  has  of  late  been  exercised  by  various  bodies,  in  various 
parts  of  the  kingdom — by  the  harmless,  nay,  most  laudable  Literary 
Societies  there  established.  These,  under  the  name  of  Athenaeums, 
Institutes,  Parthenons,  and  what  not,  meet  together  for  the  purposes 
of  literary  exercitation  ;  have  reading-rooms  supplied  with  magazines, 
books,  newspapers,  and  your  own  invaluable  miscellany ;  and 
lecture-rooms,  where  orators,  and  philosophers,  and  men  of  science 
appear  to  instruct  or  to  amuse.  The  Sea  Serpent,  the  character  of 
Hamlet,  the  Royal  orrery  and  dissolving  views,  the  female  characters 
in  Mrs.  Jones's  novels,  &c. — whatever  may  be  the  subject  of  the 
lecturer — I  am  sure  no  friend  to  his  kind  would  wish  either  to 
prevent  that  honest  man  from  getting  his  bread,  or  his  audience 
from  listening  to  his  harangues.  Lecturers  are  not  always  consum- 
mately wise,  but  that  is  no  reason  why  audiences  should  not  listen 
to  them.  Myself,  sir,  as  I  walked  down  Holborn  the  other  day, 
I  saw  placarded  (amongst  other  names  far  more  illustrious)  my  own 
name,  in  pretty  much  the  following  terms  : — 

"L.  A.  HUGGLESTONE. 

"are    the    writings    of    HUGGLESTONE    MORAL    OR    IMMORAL? 

"  Professor  Groutage  will  deliver  an  Essay  on  this  subject,  on 
the  25th  instant,  at  the  Philosophical  Arena  and  Psychogymnasiuni, 
Cow  Lane,  Smithfield.  After  the  Lecture,  the  Arena  will  be  opened 
for  free  discussion.     Admission  2d.,  Children  Id." 

I,  of  course,  did  not  attend,  but  female  curiosity  induced  Mrs. 
Hugglestone  to  pay  her  money.  She  returned  home,  sir,  dis- 
satisfied. I  am  informed  the  Professor  did  not  do  me  justice.  My 
writings  are  not  appreciated  by  Mr.  Groutage  (nor  indeed  by  many 
other  critics),  and  my  poor  Louisa,  who  had  taken  our  little  James, 
wlio  is  at  home  for  the  Christmas  holidays,  by  way  of  treat,  came 
home  with  mortification  in  her  lieart  that  our  Jenuny  should  have 
heard  liis  fatlier  so  sliglitingly  spoken  of  by  Groutage,  and  said, 
with  tears  in  her  own  eyes,  that  she  should  like  to  scratch  out 
those  of  the  philtjsopher  in  question. 

Because  the  Professor  has  but  a  mean  opinion  of  me,  is  that 
any  reason  why  free  discussion  sliould  not  be  pennitted'?  Far 
otherwise.  As  Indians  make  fire  witli  bits  of  wood,  blockheads 
may  strike  out  sparks  of  truth  in  tlie  trituration  of  debate,  and  I 


144  MISCELLANEOUS    (CONTRIBUTIONS 

liavo  little  doubt  that  had  my  jioor  dear  girl  but  waited  for  the 
discussion  in  the  arena,  my  works  would  have  had  their  due,  and 
Groutage  got  his  answer.  The  people  may  be  lectured  to  by  very 
stupid  quacks  (perhaps,  sir,  it  may  have  been  your  fortune  to  have 
heard  one  or  two  of  them) ;  but,  as  sure  as  they  are  quacks,  so  sure 
they  will  be  discovered  one  day  or  other,  and  I,  for  my  part,  do 
not  care  a  fig  for  the  opinion  of  the  Professor  of  Cow  Lane.  I  am 
putting  merely  my  own  case  in  illustration  of  the  projjosition,  which 
is,  that  public  debates  and  foir  play  of  thought  among  men  are 
good,  and  to  be  encouraged.  Those  who  like  to  read  better  out  of 
a  book,  than  to  listen  to  a  long-haired  lecturer,  with  his  collars 
turned  down  (so  that  his  jaws  may  wag  more  freely),  those  who 
prefer  a  pipe  at  the  neighbouring  tavern  to  a  debate,  however 
stirring,  at  the  Cow  Lane  Gymnasium,  are  welcome  and  right,  but 
so  are  the  others  on  the  other  side. 

I  will  mention  a  case  which  seems  to  me  in  point.  In  my 
early  days,  my  friend  Huffy,  the  dentist,  with  myself  and  several 
others,  belonged  to  the  Plato  Club,  meeting  of  Saturday  nights  in 
Covent  Garden,  to  discuss  the  writings  of  that  philosopher,  and  to 
have  a  plain  supper  and  a  smoke.  I  and  some  others  used  to 
attend  pretty  regularly,  but  only  at  the  smoking  and  supping  part, 
which  caused  Huffy  to  say,  with  a  look  of  considerable  scom,  "  that 
there  were  some  minds  not  capable  of  sustaining  or  relishing  a 
philosophical  investigation."  The  fact  was,  we  were  not  anxious  to 
hear  Huffy's  oiDinions  about  Plato  at  all;  and  preferred  scalloped 
oysters  to  that  controversy. 

I  submit  that,  in  this  case,  both  parties  were  right, — Huffy  in 
indulging  himself  in  Platonic  theories,  and  we  for  refraining  from 
them.  We  doubted  our  lecturer — of  our  scalloped  oysters  we  were 
sure.  We  were  only  sceptics  in  this  instance,  not  in  all ;  and  so  in 
the  multifarious  Institutes  throughout  the  country,  where  speechify- 
ing is  performed,  I  own  I  sometimes  have  doubts  as  to  the  whole- 
someness  of  the  practice.  But  it  is  certain,  that  if  there  may  be 
stupid  lectures,  there  may  be  clever  lectures ;  there  may  be  quacks 
or  men  of  genius  ;  there  may  be  knowledge  good  and  sound  acquired  ; 
there  may  be  but  a  superficial  smattering  and  parrot-like  imitation 
of  a  teacher  who  himself  is  but  a  pretender  ;  an(i  also  it  is  clear  that 
people  should  talk,  shoidd  think,  should  read,  should  have  tea  in  a 
social  manner,  and,  calling  the  fiddlers  and  tlieir  wives  and  daughters, 
have  a  dance  together  at  the  Parthenon,  Athenseum,  or  Institute, 
until  they  are  tired,  and  go  home  happy.  And  if  in  a  manufacturing 
town,  of  course  it  is  good  that  the  master  of  the  mill  should  join  in 
the  sport  in  which  his  hands  are  engaged  ;  or  in  the  coimtry  districts, 
that  the  great  man  or  Scjuire  should  aid.     For  example,  I  read  last 


THE    GREAT    SQUATTLEBOROUGH    SOIREE     U5 

year  in  the  Squattlehorough  Sentinel,  how  the  heir  of  the  noble 
house  of  Yawuy,  the  Honourable  Mr.  Drawleigh,  came  over  ten 
miles  to  Squattleborough  in  the  most  slushy  weather,  and  delivered 
four  lectures  there  on  liis  travels  in  Nineveh,  and  his  measurements 
of  the  tombs  of  Baalbec.  Some  people  fell  asleep  at  these  lectures, 
no  doubt,  but  many  liked  them,  tind  Mr.  Drawleigh  was  right  to 
give  them. 

He  represents  the  borough.  His  family  are  time  out  of  mind 
lords  of  the  neighbourhood.  Nothing  is  more  certain  than  that  the 
heir  of  Dozeley  Castle  should  do  his  utmost  to  give  pleasure  to  his 
faithful  constituents  and  the  children  of  the  quondam  retainers  of 
his  race.  .  It  was  he  who  set  up  the  Squattleborough  Parthenon,  his 
father.  Lord  Yawny,  laying  the  first  brick  of  the  edifice ;  the 
neighbouring  clergy  and  gentry  attending  and  delivering  appropriate 
orations,  and  the  library  beginning  with  two  copies  of  Drawleigh's 
own  Travels,  in  morocco  gilt.  This  is  all  right.  But  the  Squattle- 
borough Parthenon  is  not,  for  this,  "  the  Beacon  of  Truth,  the 
Centre  of  Civilisation,  the  Pharos  in  the  Storm  which  the  troubled 
voyager  sees  from  the  dark  waters,  radiating  serenely  with  the 
Truthful  and  tlie  Beautiful,"  as  Professor  Jowls  said  at  the  Inaugu- 
ration Meeting, — tlie  Squattleborough  Institution,  I  say,  is  not  in 
the  least  like  this,  l)ut  aii  excellent  good  place  enough,  where  every 
man  can  read  the  paper  if  it  is  not  in  hand ;  or  get  a  book  from  the 
library,  if  nobody,  else  has  engaged  it.  Let  things  be  called  by 
their  names,  Mr.  Punch  ;  this  i)lace  at  Squattleborough  is  a  good 
literary  club,  and  that  is  a  good  thing,  and  it  promotes  the  good 
fellowshi]),  and  aids  the  reading  and  education  of  numbers  of  people 
there  :  and  Heaven  send  every  such  scheme  prosperity. 

But  now  the  Squattleborougli  folks  are  bent  on  following  the 
fasliion,  and  having  a  grand  tea-party  at  their  Institute.  Amongst 
otliers,  I  have  been  favoured  with  a  card  to  this  party.  The 
secretary  writes  in  the  kindest  manner ;  he  says  the  directors  of  the 
Institute  are  going  to  give  a  grand  soire'e,  which  many  noblemen 
and  gentlemen  of  the  neighbourhood  have  promised  to  attend,  and 
where  they  are  most  anxious  "to  secure  tlie  leading  literary  talent." 

Noblemen  and  Gentlemen  of  the  neighbourhood,  a  la  bonne 
henre — and  it  is  very  complimentary,  doubtless,  to  be  mentioned 
amongst  the  leading  literary  talent ;  a  noble  Lord,  a  couple  of  most 
reverend  prelates,  a  great  poet,  and  so  forth,  we  are  informed,  are 
asked.  But  why  the  deuce  does  Squattleborough  want  "  to  secure 
literary  talent "  ■?  Gentlemen,  do  you  tliink  men  of  letters  have 
nothing  to  do?  Do  you  go  three  hundred  miles  to  a  tea-party, 
spend  five  or  six  pounds  on  railroads  and  inns,  give  uj)  two  days' 
work  and  a  niglit's  sleep,  .at  tlie  re(piest  of  people  hundreds  of  miles 


\i6         MISCELLANEOUS    CONTRIBUTIONS 

away,  of  Avhoni  you  have  no  earthly  knowledge  ?  There  are  one  or 
two  men  of  letters  who,  upon  a  great  occasion,  and  by  a  great  city, 
are  rightly  called  to  help  and  to  speak  ;  these  men  are  great  orators 
— whom  it  is  a  privilege  for  any  coninuinity  to  hear — but  for  tliose 
whose  gift  does  not  lie  that  way,  wliy  drag  them  out  from  their 
homes,  or  their  own  friends,  or  their  desks,  where  their  right 
places  are  ? 

I,  for  instance,  who  write  this,  have  had  a  dozen  invitations 
within  the  last  few  months.  I  should  have  had  to  travel  many 
thousands  of  miles — to  spend  ever  so  many  scores  of  pounds — to 
lose  weeks  upon  weeks  of  time — and  for  wliat  1  In  order  to  stand 
on  a  platform,  at  this  town  or  that,  to  be  pointed  out  as  the  author 
of  So-and-so,  and  to  hear  Lord  This,  or  the  Archbisho])  of  Tliat, 
say  tliat  Knowledge  was  Power,  tliat  Education  was  a  benefit,  that 
the  free  and  enlightened  people  of  What-d'ye-call-'em  were  daily  ad- 
vancing in  Civilisation,  and  that  the  learning  of  the  ingenious  arts, 
as  the  Latin  bard  had  observed,  refined  our  manners,  and  mitigated 
their  ferocity. 

Advance,  civilise,  cease  to  be  ferocious,  read,  meet,  be  friendly,  be 
happy,  ye  men  of  Squattl5borough,  and  other  places.  I  say  amen  to 
all  this;  but  if  you  can  read  for  yourselves  it  is  the  best.  If  you  can 
be  wise  without  bragging  and  talking  so  much  about  it,  you  will  lose 
none  of  your  wisdom  ;  and  as  you  and  your  wives  and  daugliters  will 
do  the  dancing  at  your  own  ball,  if  you  must  have  a  talk  likewise, 
why  not  get  your  native  lions  to  roar'? — -Yours,  dear  Mr.  Punch^ 
most  respectfully,  Leontius  Androcles  Hugglestone. 


PARIS    REVISITED 

BY    AN    OLD    PARIS    MAN 

REVERED  PUNCH, — When  your  multitudinous  readers  are 
put  in  possession  of  this  confidential  note,  Paris  will  be  a 
•  week  older ;  and  who  knows  what  may  happen  in  that 
time  ? — -Louis  Napoleon  may  be  Emperor,  or  Louis  Blanc  may  be 
King,  or  the  Revolution  that  was  to  have  broken  out  last  Monday 
may  be  performed  on  the  next ; — meanwhile,  permit  me,  sir,  to  lay 
at  your  feet  tlie  few  brief  observations  whi(;h  I  have  made  during  a 
twenty-four  hours'  residence  in  tliis  ancient  and  once  jovial  place. 

It  was  on  the  stroke  of  eleven  at  night,  sir,  on  Wednesday, 
the  31st  of  January,  that  a  traveller  might  have  been  perceived 


PARIS    REVISITED  147 

plunging  rapidly  through  the  shingles  of  Dover,  towards  a  boat 
which  lay  in  waiting  there,  to  bear  him  and  other  exiles  to  a 
steamer  which  lay  iu  the  offing,  her  slim  black  hull  scarcely  visible 
in  the  mists  of  night,  tlirough  which  her  lights,  of  a  green  and  ruby 
colour,  burned  brilliantly.  The  moon  was  looking  out  on  the  fair 
and  tranquil  scene,  the  stars  were  twinkling  in  a  friendly  manner, 
the  ancient  cliffs  of  Albion  loomed  out  of  the  distant  grey.  But 
few  lights  twinkled  in  the  deserted  houses  of  the  terraces  along  the 
beach.  The  bathing  machines  were  gone  to  roost.  There  was 
scarce  a  ripple  on  the  sluggish  wave,  as  the  boat  with  the  Traveller 
on  board  went  grinding  over  the  shingle,  and  we  pulled  to  the  ship. 
In  fact,  the  waters  of  Putney  were  not  m.ore  calm  than  those  of  the 
Channel,  and  the  night  was  as  mild  as  a  novel  by  the  last  lady 
of  fashion. 

Having  paid  a  shilling  for  the  accommodation  of  the  boat,  the 
traveller  stepped  on  board  the  deck  of  the  famous  steamer  Vivid, 
commanded  by  the  intrepid  and  polite  Captain  Smithett ;  and  the 
Mails  presently  coming  off  in  their  boat  with  the  light  at  its  bows, 
away  went  the  Vivid,  at  the  rate  of  seventeen  miles  an  hour,  and 
we  were  off  Calais  almost  before  the  second  cigar  was  smoked,  or 
we  had  had  near  time  enougli  to  think  of  those  beloved  beings  whom 
we  left  behind. 

Sir,  there  was  not  water  enough  in  the  Calais  harbour — so  a 
bawling  pilot  swore,  who  came  up  to  us  in  his  lugger ;  and  as  she 
came  plunging  and  bumping  against  tlie  side  of  the  Vivid,  Captain 
Smithett  caused  the  mail-bags  first,  and  afterwards  the  passengers, 
to  be  pitched  into  her,  and  we  all  rolled  about  amongst  the  ropes 
and  spars  on  deck,  in  the  midst  of  the  most  infernal  bawling  and 
yelling  from  the  crew  of  Frenchmen,  whose  howls  and  contortions, 
a.s  tliey  got  their  sail  up,  and  otherwise  manoeuvred  the  vessel, 
could  be  equalled  by  men  of  no  other  nation.  Some  of  us  were 
indignant  at  being  called  upon  to  pay  three  francs  for  a  ride  of  a 
mile  in  this  vessel,  and  declared  we  would  write  to  the  Times ;  but 
there  was  one  Traveller  who  had  not  heard  that  noise  of  Frenchmen 
tor  four  years,  and  their  noise  was  to  his  soul  as  the  music  of  bygone 
years.  That  Man,  sir,  is  perpetually  finding  something  ludicrous 
in  what  is  melancholy,  and  when  he  is  most  miserable  is  ah\ays 
most  especially  jocular. 

Sir,  it  was  the  first  night  of  the  new  Postal  arrangement,  by 
which  tlie  Mails  are  made  to  go  from  Calais  and  not  from  Boulogne, 
as  heretofore.  Our  goods  were  whisked  through  the  Custom  House 
with  a  rapidity  and  a  courtesy  highly  creditable  to  Frenchmen,  and 
an  enthusiastic  omnibus-driver,  lashing  his  horses  furiously,  and 
urging  them   forward  with  shrieks  and  howls,  brought  us  to  the 

12 


148         MISCELLANEOUS    CONTRIBUTIONS 

Saint  Pierre  Station  of  the  railway,  where  we  took  our  places  in 
the  train.  'Twas  two  in  the  bleak  winter's  morn.  The  engine 
whistled — the  train  set  forth — we  ])lunge(l  into  the  country,  away, 
away,  away ! 

At  eleven  o'clock,  sir,  we  dashed  into  the  enceinte  of  the  forts 
that  guard  the  metropolis  from  foreign  invasion,  and  a  few  minutes 
afterwards  we  were  in  that  dear  old  Paris  that  One  amongst  us 
had  not  seen  for  four  years. 

How  is  the  old  place  1  How  does  it  look  1  I  should  be  glad 
to  know  is  the  nightingale  singing  there  yet? — do  the  roses  still 
bloom  by  the  calm  Bendemeer?  Have  we  not  all  a  right  to  be 
sentimental  when  we  revisit  the  haunts  of  our  youth,  and  to  come 
forward,  like  the  Coiuit  in  the  Opera,  as  soon  as  the  whips  have 
ceased  cracking,  and  sing  "  Cari  luoghi "  1  Living  constantly  with 
your  children  and  the  beloved  and  respectable  Mrs.  Punch,  you 
don't  see  how  tall  Jacky  and  Tommy  grow,  and  how  old^(for  the 
truth  must  out,  and  she  is  by  no  means  improved  in  looks) — how 
old  and  plain  your  dear  lady  has  become.  So  thought  I,  as  I  once 
more  caught  sight  of  my  beloved  Lutetia,  and  trembled  to  see 
whether  years  had  affected  her. 

Sir,  the  first  thing  I  saw  on  entering  the  station,  was  that  it 
was  crammed  with  soldiers — little  soldiers,  with  red  breeches  and 
grey  capotes,  with  little  caps,  bristling  with  uncommonly  fierce 
beards,  large  hairy  tufts  (those  of  the  carroty  hue  most  warlike 
and  remarkable)  that  looked  as  if  worn  in  bravado,  as  by  the 
American  warriors,  and  growing  there  convenient  to  cut  their  heads 
off"  if  you  could.  These  bearded  ones  occupied  the  whole  place ; 
arms  were  piled  in  the  great  halls  of  the  Debarcadfere ;  some 
fiitigued  braves  were  asleep  in  the  straw,  pots  were  cooking,  drums 
were  drubbing,  officers  and  non-commissioned  officers  bustling  about. 
Some  of  us  had  qualms,  and  faiiitly  asked,  was  the  Revolution 
begun  1  "  No,"  the  omnibus  conductors  said,  laughing,  "  every- 
thing was  as  quiet  as  might  be : "  and  we  got  into  their  veliicles 
and  drove  away.  Everything  vjas  quiet.  Only,  sir,  when  you  go 
to  a  friend's  house  for  a  quiet  dinner,  and  before  he  lets  you  into 
his  door  he  puts  his  head  and  a  blunderbuss  out  of  window  and  asks 
"  Who  is  there  ? " — of  course  some  nervous  persons  may  be  excused 
for  feeling  a  little  dashed. 

Sir,  the  omnibus  drove  rapidly  to  the  hotel  whence  this  is 
written,  with  a  very  scanty  cargo  of  passengers.  We  hardly  had 
any  in  the  railway  ;  we  did  not  seem  to  take  up  any  on  the  line. 
Nothing  seemed  to  be  moving  on  the  road ;  in  the  streets  there 
was  not  much  more  life.  What  has  become  of  the  people  who 
used  to  walk  here? — of  the  stalls  and  the  carts  and  the  crowds 


PARIS    REVISITED  149 

about  the  wine-shops,  and  the  loungers,  and  the  cries  of  the  busy 
throng  1  Something  has  stricken  the  place.  Nobody  is  about :  or 
perhaps  there  is  a  review,  or  a  grand  fete  somewhere,  which  calls 
the  people  away  as  we  are  jiassing  through  a  deserted  quarter. 

As  soon  as  I  was  dressed,  I  walked  into  the  town  through  the 
ancient  and  familiar  arcades  of  the  Rue  Castiglione  and  so  forth. 
The  shops  along  the  Rue  de  Rivoli  are  dreary  and  shabby  beyond 
belief.  There  was  nobody  walking  in  the  Tuileries.  The  palace 
that  used  to  look  so  splendid  in  former  days,  stretches  out  its  great 
gaunt  wings  and  looks  dismally  battered  and  bankrupt.  In  the 
Carrousel  there  were  more  troops,  with  drumming,  and  trumpeting, 
and  artillery.  Troops  are  perpetually  passing.  Just  now  I  saw  part 
of  a  regiment  of  Mobiles  marching  out  with  a  regiment  of  the  line. 
Squads  of  the  young  Mobiles  are  eA'erywhere  in  the  streets  :  pale, 
debauched,  daring-looking  little  lads,  one  looks  at  them  vnih  curiosity 
and  interest,  as  one  thinks  that  those  beardless  young  fellows  have 
dashed  over  barricades,  and  do  not  care  for  death  or  devil. 

I  worked  my  way  to  the  Palais  Royal,  where  I  have  been  any 
time  since  1814;  and  oh,  Mr.  Punch,  what  a  change  was  there! 
I  can't  tell  you  how  dreary  it  looks,  that  once  cheerfullest  garden 
in  the  world.  The  roses  do  not  bloom  there  any  more  ;  or  the 
nightingales  sing.  All  the  song  is  gone  and  the  flowers  have 
withered.  Sir,  you  recollect  those  shops  where  the  beautiful 
dressing-gowns  used  to  hang  out,  more  splendid  and  gorgeous  than 
any  tulips,  I  am  sure.  You  remember  that  wonderful  bonnet-shop 
at  the  corner  of  the  Galerie  Vitre'e,  where  there  were  all  sorts  of 
miraculous  caps  and  hats ;  bonnets  with  the  loveliest  wreaths  of 
spring  twined  round  them  ;  bonnets  with  the  most  ravishing  plumes 
of  marabouts,  ostriches,  and  birds  of  paradise — 

'  Once  in  their  ho^vs 
Birds  of  rare  plume 
Sate  in  tlieir  bloom," 

as  an  elegant  poet  of  your  own  sings — they  are  all  gone,  sir ;  the 
birds  are  flown,  the  very  cages  are  shut  up  and  many  of  them  to 
let — the  Palais  Royal  is  no  more  than  a  shabby  bazaar.  Shutters 
are  up  in  many  of  the  shops — you  see  nobody  buying  in  the  others 
— soldiers  and  a  few  passengers  go  about  staring  at  the  fiided 
ornaments  in  the  windows  and  the  great  blank  daguerreotype 
pictures,  which  line  the  walls  as  dismal  as  death.  There  is 
nobody  there  :  there  are  not  even  English  people  walking  about, 
and  staring  with  their  hands  in  their  pockets.  Has  ruin  begun, 
then,  and  is  Paris  going  after  Rome,  Carthage,  Palmyra,  Russell 
Square,    Kilkenny,    and    other    famous    capitals?      In    the    glass 


150       miscellanp:ous  contributions 

}j;allori(\s  tliere  were  not  a  dozen  loungers,  and  the  shops  facing  the 
Palais  Royal  proper  are  closed  down  the  whole  line. 

As  for  the  square  of  the  palace  itself,  which  always  used  to 
look  so  cheerful — where  there  used  to  be,  yoix  remember,  piles  of 
comfortable  wood,  giving  ideas  of  warmth  and  hospitality  in  the 
splendid  rooms  within — that  too  is,  to  the  last  degree,  shabby  and 
forlorn.  I  saw  soldiers  looking  out  of  the  windows,  and  more — 
a  couple  of  thousands  of  them,  I  should  say — were  in  the  court. 
Many  of  them  with  their  coats  off,  and  showing  very  dingy  under- 
vestments,  were  cooking  about  the  court ;  there  they  formed  in 
squads  about  the  square,  without  their  arms,  in  their  slouching 
grey  coats ;  and,  drums  and  bugles  beginning  to  make  a  noise,  a 
small  crowd  of  blackguards  and  children  issued  someliow  from  some 
of  tlie  dark  recesses  and  black  passages  ab(jut  the  place,  and  forjiied 
a  sort  of  audience  for  the  unromantic  military  spectacle.  A  tree 
(•.>f  Liberty  is  planted  in  the  square ;  the  first  I  have  seen,  and  the 
most  dismal  and  beggarly  emblem  I  ever  set  eyes  on.  A  lean  poplar, 
with  scarce  any  branches,  a  wretched  furcated  pole  with  some 
miserable  rags  of  faded  cotton,  and,  it  may  be,  other  fetishes 
dangling  from  it  here  and  there.  0  Liberty !  What  the  deuce 
has  this  poplar  or  those  rags  to  do  with  you  1 

My  sheet  is  full — the  post  hour  nigh  ;  but  I  have  one  word 
of  rather  a  cheerful  and  consolatory  nature  to  say  after  all  this 
■despondency.  Sir,  I  happened  in  my  walk,  and  from  a  sense  of 
duty,  just  to  look  in  at  the  windows  of  Chevet,  Vt^four,  and  the 
Trois  Frferes.  Tlie  show  at  all  is  vevi/  satisfactory  indeed.  The 
game  looked  very  handsome  at  Chevet's  and  the  turbots  and  gate's 
uncommonly  fine.  I  never  saw  finer  looking  truffles  than  those 
in  the  baskets  in  Vefour's  window  ;  and  the  display  of  fruit  at 
the  Frferes  would  make  an  anciiorite's  mouth  water.  More  of 
this,  however,  anon.  There  are  some  subjects  that  are  not  to  be 
treated  in  a  trifling  manner  by  your  obedient  servant  and  con- 
tributor, FoLKSTONE  Canterbury. 


TWO    OR    THREE    THEATRES   AT   PARIS 

IF  one  may  read  the  history  of  a  people's  morals  in  its  jokes, 
what  a  queer  set  of  reflections  the  philosopliers  of  the  twentieth 
century  may  make  regarding  the  characters  of  our  two  countries 
in  perusing  the  waggeries  published  on  one  side  and  the  other ! 
When  the  future  inquirer  shall  take  up  your  volumes,  or  a  bundle 


TWO    OR    THREE    THEATRES    AT    PARIS        151 

of  French  plays,  and  contrast  the  performance  of  your  booth  with 
that  of  the  Parisian  theatre,  he  won't  fail  to  remark  how  different 
they  are,  and  what  difterent  objects  we  admire  or  satirise.  As  for 
your  morality,  sir,  it  does  not  become  me  to  compliment  you  on  it 
before  your  venerable  face ;  but  permit  me  to  say,  that  there  never 
were  before  published  in  this  workf  so  many  volumes  that  contained 
so  much  cause  for  laughing,  and  so  little  for  blushing ;  so  many 
jokes,  and  so  little  harm.  Why,  sir,  say  even  that  your  modesty, 
which  astonishes  me  more  and  more  every  time  I  regard  you,  is 
calculated,  and  not  a  virtue  naturally  inherent  in  you,  that  very 
fact  would  argue  for  the  high  sense  of  the  public  morality  among 
us.  We  will  laugh  in  the  company  of  our  wives  and  children  :  we 
will  tolerate  no  indecorum  :  we  like  that  our  matrons  antl  girls 
should  be  pure. 

Excuse  my  blushes,  sir ;  but  permit  me  to  say  that  I  have 
been  making  a  round  of  the  little  French  theatres,  and  have  come 
away  amazed  at  the  cynicism  of  the  people.  Sir,  there  are  certain 
laws  of  morality  (as  believed  by  us  at  least)  for  which  these  people 
no  more  care  tlian  so  many  Otaheitans.  They  have  been  joking 
against  marriage  ever  since  writing  began — a  pretty  man  you  would 
be,  Mr.  Punch,  if  you  were  a  F]-enchman ;  and  a  pretty  moral 
character  would  be  tlie  present  spotless  wife  of  your  affections,  the 
chaste  and  immaculate  Judy  ! 

After  going  to  these  theatres,  seeing  the  houses  all  full,  and 
hearing  the  laughter  ringing  through  every  one  of  them,  one  is 
puzzled  to  know  what  the  people  respect  at  all,  or  what  principle 
they  do  believe  in.  They  laugh  at  religion,  they  laugh  at  chastity, 
they  laugh  at  royalty,  they  laugh  at  the  Republic  most  pitilessly 
of  all ;  when  France,  in  the  piece  called  the  "  Foire  aux  Ide'es," 
says  she  is  dying  under  nine  hundred  doctors,  to  each  of  whom  she 
is  paying  a  daily  fee  of  five-and-twenty  francs,  there  was  a  cheer  of 
dtrision  through  the  house.  The  Communists  and  tlieir  schemes 
were  liooted  with  a  still  more  hearty  indignation  ;  there  is  a  general 
smash  and  bankruptcy  of  faith ;  and,  what  struck  me  perhaps  most 
as  an  instance  of  the  amazing  progress  of  the  national  atheism,  is 
to  find  that  the  tlieatre  audiences  have  even  got  to  laugh  at  military 
glory.  They  have  a  song  in  one  of  the  little  plays  wliich  announces 
that  France  &  Co.  have  closed  that  l^ranch  of  their  business ; 
that  they  wish  to  stay  at  home  and  be  quiet,  and  so  fortli ;  and 
strange  to  say,  even  the  cry  against  perfidious  England  has  died 
out ;  and  the  only  word  of  abuse  I  read  against  our  nation  Avas  in 
a  volume  of  a  novel  by  poor  old  Paul  de  Kock,  who  saluted  the 
Lion  with  a  little  kick  of  his  harmless  old  heels. 

Is  the  end  of  time  coming,  Mr.  Punch,  or  the  end  of  French- 


152         MISCELLANEOUS    CONTRIBUTIONS 

men?  and  don't  they  believe,  or  love,  or  hate  anything  any  more ? 
Sir,  tliese  funny  i)ieces  at  the  plays  frightened  me  more  than  the 
most  bloodthirsty  melodrama  ever  did,  and  inspired  your  humble 
servant  with  a  melancholy  which  is  not  to  be  elicited  from  the 
most  profound  tragedies.  There  was  something  awful,  infernal 
almost,  I  was  going  to  say,  in  the  gaiety  with  which  the  personages 
of  these  satiric  dramas  were  dancing  and  shrieking  about  among  the 
tumbled  ruins  of  ever  so  many  ages  and  traditions.  I  hope  we 
shall  never  have  the  air  of  "God  save  the  King"  set  to  ribald 
words  amongst  us — the  mysteries  of  our  religion,  or  any  man's 
religion,  made  tlie  subject  of  laughter,  or  of  a  Avorse  sort  of  excite- 
ment. In  the  famous  piece  of  "  La  Propridte  c'est  le  Vol,"  we  had 
the  honour  to  see  Adam  and  Eve  dance  a  ])olka,  and  sing  a  song 
quite  appropriate  to  tlie  costume  in  which  they  figured.  Every- 
body laughed  and  enjoyed  it — neither  Eve  nor  the  audience  ever 
thought  about  being  ashamed  of  themselves ;  and,  for  my  part,  I 
looked  with  a  vague  anxiety  up  at  the  theatre  roof,  to  see  that  it 
was  not  falling  in,  and  shall  not  be  surprised  to  hear  that  Paris 
goes  the  way  of  certain  other  cities  some  day.  They  will  go  on, 
this  pretty  little  painted  population  of  Lorettes  and  Bayadferes, 
singing  and  dancing,  laughing  and  feasting,  fiddling  and  flirting  to 
the  end,  depend  upon  it.  But  enough  of  tliis  theme  :  it  is  growing 
too  serious — let  us  drop  the  curtain.  Sir,  at  the  end  of  the  lively 
and  ingenious  piece  called  the  "  Foire  aux  Iddes,"  there  descends  a 
curtain,  on  which  Avhat  is  supposed  to  be  a  huge  newspaper  is 
painted,  and  which  is  a  marvel  of  cynicism. 

I  have  been  to  see  a  piece  of  a  piece  called  the  "  Mystt-res  de 
Londres,"  and  most  awful  )nysteries  they  are  indeed.  We  little 
know  what  is  going  on  around  and  below  us,  and  that  London  may 
be  enveloped  in  a  vast  murderous  conspiracy,  and  that  tliere  may  be 
a  volcano  under  our  very  kitchens,  which  may  blow  us  all  to 
perdition  any  day.  You  perhaps  are  not  aware,  sir,  that  there  lived 
in  London,  some  three  or  "four  years  ago,  a  young  Grandee  of  Sjjain 
and  Count  of  the  Empire,  the  Marquis  of  Rio  Santo  by  name,  who 
was  received  in  the  greatest  society  our  country  can  boast  of,  and 
walked  the  streets  of  the  metropolis  with  orders  on  his  coat  and 
white  light  pantaloons  and  a  cocked-hat.  This  Marquis  was  an 
Irishman  by  birth,  and  not  a  mere  idle  votary  of  pleasure,  as  you 
would  suppose  from  his  elegant  personal  apiiearance.  Under  the 
mask  of  fashion  and  levity  he  hid  a  mighty  design ;  which  was  to 
free  his  country  from  the  iiitolerable  tyranny  of  England.  And  as 
England's  distress  is  Ireland's  opportunity,  the  Marquis  had  imagined 
a  vast  conspiracy,  which  should  plunge  the  former  into  the  most 
exquisite  confusion  and  misery,  in  tlie  midst  of  which  his  beloved 


TWO    OR    THREE    THEATRES    AT    PARIS        153 

Erin  might  get  her  own.  For  this  end  his  Lordship  had  organised 
a  prodigious  band  of  all  the  rogues,  thieves,  and  discontented  persons 
in  the  metropolis,  who  were  sworn  into  a  mysterious  afliliation,  the 
members  of  which  were  called  the  "Gentlemen  of  the  night."  Nor 
were  these  gentlefolks  of  the  lower  sort  merely — your  swell  mob, 
your  Saint  Giles's  men,  and  vulgar  cracksmen.  Many  of  the 
principal  merchants,  jewellers,  lawyei-s,  physicians,  were  sworn  of 
the  Society.  Tlie  merchants  forged  bank-notes,  and  uttered  the 
same,  thus  poisoning  the  stream  of  commerce  in  our  great  commercial 
city ;  the  jewellers  sold  sham  diamonds  to  the  aristocracy,  and  led 
them  on  to  ruin ;  the  physicians  called  in  to  visit  their  patients, 
poisoned  such  as  were  enemies  of  the  good  cause,  by  their  artful 
prescriptions  ;  the  lawyers  prevented  the  former  from  being  hanged  ; 
and  the  whole  realm  being  })lunged  into  anarchy  and  dismay  by 
these  manoeuvres,  it  was  evident  that  Ireland  would  greatly  profit. 
This  astonishing  Marquis,  who  was  supreme  chief  of  the  Society, 
thus  had  his  spies  and  retainers  everywhere.  The  police  was 
corrupted,  the  magistrature  tampered  with^Themis  was  bribed  on 
her  very  bench ;  and  even  the  Beefeaters  of  the  Queen  (one 
shudders  as  one  thinks  of  this)  were  contaminated,  and  in  the 
service  of  the  Association. 

Nimibers  of  lovely  women  of  course  were  in  love  with  the 
Marquis,  or  othenvise  subjugated  by  him,  and  the  most  beautiful 
and  iimocent  of  all  was  disguised  as  a  Countess,  and  sent  to  Court 
on  a  Drawing-room  day,  with  a  mission  to  steal  the  diamonds  oft" 
the  neck  of  Lady  Brompton,  the  special  favourite  of  his  Grace 
Prince  Dimitri  Tolstoy,  the  Russian  Ambassador. 

Sir,  his  Grace  the  Russian  Ambassador  had  only  lent  these 
diamonds  to  Lady  B.,  that  her  Ladyship  might  sport  them  at  the 
Drawing-room.  The  jewels  were  really  the  property  of  the  Prince's 
Imperial  Master.  What,  then,  must  have  been  his  Excellency's 
rage  when  the  brilliants  were  stolen  1  The  theft  was  committed  in 
the  most  artful  manner.  Lady  Brompton  came  to  Court,  her  train 
held  up  by  \\&v  jockei.  Suzanna  (the  Marquis's  emissary)  came  to 
Court  with  her  train  similarly  borne  by  her  page.  The  latter  was 
an  experienced  pickpocket ;  the  pages  were  changed ;  the  jewels 
were  taken  off"  Lady  Brompton's  neck  in  the  antechamber  of  the 
palace  ;  and  his  Grace  Prince  Tolstoy  was  in  such  a  rage  that  he 
menaced  war  on  the  part  of  his  Government  unless  the  stones  were 
returned  ! 

Beyond  tliis  point  I  confess,  sir,  I  did  not  go,  for  exhausted 
nature  would  l^ear  no  more  of  the  Mysteries  of  London,  and  I  came 
away  to  my  hotel.  But  I  wish  you  could  have  seen  the  Court  of 
Saint  James,  the  Beefeaters,  the  Life-Guards,  the  Heralds-of-Arms 


l.U         MISCELLANEOUS    CONTRIBUTIONS 

ill  tlieir  tabards  of  the  sixteenth  century,  and  have  heard  tlie  ushers 
on  the  stairs  shouting  the  names  of  the  nobihty  as  they  walked  into 
the  presence  of  the  Sovereign  !  I  caught  those  of  tlie  Countess  of 
Derby,  the  Lady  Campbell,  the  Lord  Somebody,  and  the  Honourable 
Miss  Trevor,  after  whom  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  came.  Oh 
such  an  Archbishop  !  He  had  a  velvet  trencher  caj)  profusely 
ornamented  with  black  fringe,  and  a  dress  something  like  our  real 
and  venerated  prelates,  with  the  excej^tion  of  the  wig,  which  was 
far  more  curly  and  elegant  ;  and  he  walked  by,  making  the  sign  of 
the  Cross  with  his  two  forefingers,  and  blessing  the  peoi^le. 

I  hear  that  the  author  of  this  great  work.  Monsieur  Paul  Fdval, 
known  for  some  time  to  the  literature  of  his  country  as  Sir  Francis 
TroUope,  passed  a  whole  week  in  London  to  make  himself  thoroughly 
acquainted  with  our  manners  ;  and  here,  no  doubt,  he  saw  Countesses 
whose  trains  were  carried  by  jockeys  ;  Lords  going  to  Court  in  full- 
bottomed  wigs  ;  and  police  magistrates  in  ])olicemen's  coats  and 
oilskin  hats,  with  white  kerseymere  breeches  and  silk  stockings  to 
distinguish  them  from  the  rank  and  file.  How  well  the  gentlemen 
of  Bow  Street  would  look  in  it !  I  recommend  it  to  the  notice  of 
Mr.  Punch. 

These,  sir,  are  all  the  plays  which  I  have  as  yet  been  able  to 
see  in  this  town,  and  I  have  the  honour  of  reporting  upon  them 
accordingly.  AVhatever  they  may  do  with  other  pieces,  I  don't 
think  that  our  dr^imatists  will  be  disposed  to  steal  these. 


ON   SOME    DINNERS   AT   PARIS 

SOME  few  words  about  dinners,  my  dear  friend,  I  know  your 
benevolent  mind  will  expect.  A  man  who  comes  to  Paris 
without  directing  his  mind  to  dinners,  is  like  a  fellow  who 
travels  to  Athens  without  caring  to  inspect  ruins,  or  an  individual 
who  goes  to  the  Opera,  and  misses  Jenny  Lind's  singing.  No,  I 
should  be  ungrateful  to  that  appetite  with  which  Nature  has 
bountifully  endowed  me — to  those  recollections  which  render  a 
consideration  of  the  past  so  exquisite  an  enjoyment  to  me — were 
I  to  think  of  coming  to  Paris  without  enjoying  a  few  quiet  evenings 
at  the  Trois  Freres,  alone,  with  a  few  dishes,  a  faithful  waiter  who 
knows  me  of  old,  and  my  own  thoughts  ;  undisturbed  by  conversa- 
tion, or  having  to  help  the  soup,  or  carve  the  turkey  for  the  lady 
of  the  house ;  by  the  exertion  of  telling  jokes  for  the  entertainment 
of  the  company ;  by  the  ennui  of  a  stupid  neighbour  at  your  side, 


ON    SOME    DINNERS    AT    PARIS  155 

to  whom  you  are  forced  to  impart  them ;  by  the  disgust  of  hearing 
an  opposition  wag  talk  better  than  yourself,  take  the  stories  with 
which  you  have  come  primed  and  loaded  out  of  your  very  mouth, 
and  fire  them  off  himself,  or  audaciously  bring  forward  old  Joe 
Millers,  and  get  a  laugh  from  all  the  company,  when  your  own 
novelties  and  neatest  impromptils  and  mots  pass  round  the  table 
utterly  disregarded. 

I  rejoiced,  sir,  in  my  mind,  to  think  that  I  should  be  able  to 
dine  alone ;  without  rivals  to  talk  me  out,  hosts  or  ladies  to  coax 
and  wheedle,  or  neighbours  who,  before  my  eyes  (as  they  often 
have  done),  will  take  the  best  cutlet  or  favourite  snipe  out  of  the 
dish,  as  it  is  handed  round,  or  to  whom  you  have  to  give  all  the 
breast  of  the  pheasant  or  capon,  when  you  carve  it. 

All  the  way  in  the  railroad,  and  through  the  tedious  hours  of 
night,  I  whiled  away  such  time  as  I  did  not  employ  in  sleeping,  or 
in  thinking  about  Miss  Br-wn  (who  felt,  I  think,  by  the  way,  some 
little  pang  in  parting  with  me,  else  why  was  she  so  silent  all  night, 
and  why  did  she  apply  her  pocket-handkerchief  so  constantly  to 
her  lovely  amethyst  eyes  1) — all  the  way  in  the  railroad,  I  say, 
when  not  occupied  by  other  thoughts,  I  amused  the  tedium  of  the 
journey  by  inventing  little  bills  of  fare  for  one, — solitary  Barmecide 
banquets, — which  I  enjoyed  in  s])irit,  and  projjosed  to  discuss  bodily 
on  my  arrival  in  the  Capital  of  the  Kitchen. 

"  Monsieur  will  dine  at  the  tabh-cVhote  ?  "  the  laqtiais  de  place 
said  at  the  hotel,  whilst  I  was  arranging  my  elegant  toilette  before 
stepping  forth  to  renew  an  acquaintance  with  our  beloved  old  city. 
An  expression  of  scornful  incredulity  shot  across  the  fine  features  of 
the  person  addressed  by  the  laquais  de  pAace.  My  fine  fellow, 
thought  I,  do  you  think  I  am  come  to  Paris  in  order  to  dine  at  a 
tahle-d'hote  'I — to  meet  twenty-four  doubtful  English  and  Americans 
at  an  ordinary  %  "  LucuUus  dines  with  LucuUus  to-day,  sir ; " 
which,  as  the  laquais,  de  place  did  not  vmderstand,  I  added,  "  I  never 
dine  at  taUe-d'hote,  except  at  an  extremity." 

I  had  arranged  in  my  mind  a  little  quiet  week  of  dinners. 
Twice  or  thrice,  thinks  I,  I  will  dine  at  the  Frferes,  once  at  Vdry's, 
once  at  the  Cafe  de  Paris.  If  my  old  friend  Voisin  opposite  the 
Assomption  has  some  of  the  same  sort  of  bordeaux  which  we  re- 
collect in  1844,  I  will  dine  there  at  least  twice.  Philippe's,  in  the 
Rue  Montoi'gueil,  must  be  tried,  wliich,  they  say,  is  as  good  as  the 
Rocher  de  Cancale  used  to  be  in  our  time  :  and  the  seve*i  days  were 
chalked  out  already,  and  I  saw  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to 
breakfast  a  In  fourcheUe  at  some  of  the  other  places  which  I  had 
in  my  mind,  if  I  wished  to  revisit  all  my  old  haunts. 

To  a  man  living  much  in  the  world,  or  surrounded  by  his  family. 


15f)         MISCELLANEOUS    CONTRIBUTIONS 

there  is  nothins;  so  ,£cood  as  this  solitude  from  time  to  time — tliere 
is  nothini:;  like  communing  with  your  own  heart,  and  giving  a  calm 
and  deliberate  judgment  upon  the  great  question — the  truly  vital 
question,  I  may  say— before  you.  What  is  the  use  of  having  your 
children,  who  live  on  roast  nuitton  in  the  nursery,  and  think  treacle- 
pudding  the  summit  of  cookery,  to  sit  down  and  take  the  best  three- 
fourtlis  of  a  perdyeau  trufe  with  you  1  What  is  the  use  of  helping 
your  wife,  who  doesn't  know  the  difference  between  sherry  and 
"madeira,  to  a  glass  of  priceless  Romande  or  sweetly  odoriferous 
Chateau  Lafitte  of  '42  1  Poor  dear  soul !  she  would  be  as  happy 
with  a  slice  oi'  the  children's  joint,  and  a  cup  of  tea  in  the  evening. 
She  takes  them  when  you  are  away.  To  give  fine  wine  to  that 
dear  creature  is  like  giving  pearls  to — to  animals  who  don't  know 
their  value. 

Wliat  I  like,  is  to  sit  at  a  restaurant  alone,  after  having  taken 
a  glass  of  absinthe  in  water,  about  half-an-hour  previous,  to  muse 
well  over  the  carte,  and  pick  out  some  little  dinner  for  myself;  to 
converse  with  the  sommelier  confidentially  about  the  wine — a  pint  of 
champagne,  say,  and  a  bottle  of  bordeaux,  or  a  bottle  of  burgundy, 
not  more,  for  your  private  drinking.  He  goes  out  to  satisfy  your 
wishes,  and  returns  with  the  favourite  flask  in  a  cradle,  very  likely. 
Whilst  he  is  gone,  comes  old  Antoine — who  is  charmed  to  see 
Monsieur  de  retoiir ;  and  vows  that  you  rajeunissez  tous  les  ans 
— with  a  plate  of  oysters — dear  little  juicy  green  oysters  in  their 
upper  shells,  swimming  in  their  sweet  native  biine — not  like  your 
great  white  flaccid  natives  in  England,  that  look  as  if  they  had  l)een 
fed  on  pork  :  and  ah  !  how  kindly  and  pretty  that  attention  is  of 
the  two  little  plates  of  radishes  and  butter,  whi(;h  they  bring  you 
in,  and  with  wdiich  you  can  dally  between  the  arrival  of  the  various 
dishes  of  your  dinner  :  they  are  like  the  delicate  symphonies  which 
are  played  at  the  tlieatre  between  the  acts  of  a  charming  comedy. 
A  little  bread-and-butter,  a  little  radish, — you  crimch  and  relish ; 
a  little  radish,  a  little  piece  of  bread-and-butter— you  relish  and 
crunch — when  lo  !  up  goes  the  curtain,  and  Antoine  comes  in  with . 
the  entree  or  the  roast. 

I  pictured  all  this  in  my  mind  and  went  out.  I  will  not  tell 
any  of  my  friends  that  I  am  here,  thought  I.  Sir,  in  five  minutes, 
and  before  I  had  crossed  the  Place  Vendome,  I  had  met  five  old 
acquaintances  and  friends,  and  in  an  hour  afterwards  the  arrival  of 
your  humble  servant  was  known  to  all  our  old  set. 

My  first  visit  was  for  Tom  Dash,  with  whom  I  had  business. 
That  friend  of  my  youth  received  me  with  the  utmost  cordiality : 
and  our  business  transacted  and  our  acquaintances  talked  over  (four 
of  them  I  had  seen,  so  that  it  was  absolutely  necessary  I  should 


ON    SOME    DINNERS    AT    PARIS  157 

call  oil  them  and  on  the  rest),  it  was  agreed  that  I  should  go  forth 
and  jiay  visits,  and  tliat  on  my  return  Tom  and  I  should  dine 
somewhere  together.  I  called  upon  Brown,  upon  Jones,  upon 
Smith,  upon  Robinson,  upon  our  old  Paris  set,  in  a  word,  and  in 
due  time  returned  to  Tom  Dash. 

"Where  are  we  to  dine,  Tomi"  says  I.  "What  is  the  crack 
restaurant  now?  I  am  entirely  in  your  hands;  and  let  us  be  off 
early  and  go  to  the  play  afterwards." 

"  Oh,  hang  restaurants,"  says  Tom — "  I'm  tired  of  'em  ;  we  are 
sick  of  them  here.  Thompson  came  in  just  after  you  were  gone, 
and  I  told  him  you  were  coming,  and  he  will  be  here  directly  to 
have  a  chop  with  me." 

There  was  nothing  for  it.  I  had  to  sit  down  and  dine  with 
Thompson  and  Tom  Dash,  at  the  latter's  charges — and  am  bound 
to  say  that  the  dinner  was  not  a  bad  one.  As  I  have  said  some- 
where before,  and  am  proud  of  being  able  to  say,  I  scarcely  recollect 
ever  to  have  had  a  bad  dinner. 

But  of  what  do  you  think  the  present  repast  was  composed  1 
Sir,  I  give  you  my  honour,  we  had  a  slice  of  salmon  and  a  leg  of 
mutton,  and  boiled  potatoes,  just  as  they  do  in  my  favourite  Baker 
Street. 

"Dev'lish  good  dinner,"  says  Thompson,  covering  the  salmon 
with  lots  of  Harvey  sauce — and  cayenne  pepper,  from  Fortnum 
and  Mason's. 

"  Donnez  du  sherry  k  Monsieur  Canterbury,"  says  Tom  Dash 
to  Franc^'ois  his  man.  "There's  porter  or  pale  ale  if  any  man 
likes  it." 

They  poured  me  out  sherry ;  I  might  have  had  porter  or  pale 
ale  if  I  liked :  I  had  leg  of  mutton  and  potatoes,  and  finished 
dinner  with  Stilton  .cheese  :  and  it  was  for  this  that  I  have  revisited 
my  dear  Paris. 

"Thank  you,"  says  I  to  Dash,  cutting  into  the  mutton  with 
the  most  bitter  irony.  "  This  is  a  dish  that  I  don't  remember  ever 
having  seen  in  England;  but  I  tasted  pale  ale  there,  and  won't 
take  any  this  evening,  thank  you.  Are  we  going  to  have  port 
wine  after  dinner"?  or  could  you  oblige  me  with  a  little  London 
gin  and-water  ? " 

Tom  Dash  laughed  his  mighty  laugh ;  and  I  will  say  we  had 
not  port  wine,  but  claret,  fit  for  the  repast  of  a  pontiff",  after  dinner, 
and  sat  over  it  so  late  that  the  theatre  was  impossible,  and  the  first 
day  was  gone,  and  might  as  well  have  been  passed  in  Pump  Court 
or'Pall  Mall,  for  all  the  good  I  had  out  of  it. 

But,  sir,  do  you  know  what  had  happened  in  the  morning  of 
that  day  during  which  I  was  paying  the  visits  before  mentioned  i 

N 


158         MISCELLANEOUS    CONTRIBUTIONS 

Kobinson,  my  very  old  friend,  pressed  me  so  to  come  and  dine 
with  him,  and  fix  my  day,  that  I  could  not  refuse,  and  fixed 
Friday. 

Brown,  who  is  very  rich,  and  with  whom  I  had  had  a  dif- 
ference, insisted  so  upon  our  meeting  as  in  old  times,  that  I  could 
not  refuse ;  and  so  being  called  on  to  appoint  my  own  day — I 
selected  Sunday. 

Smith  is  miserably  poor,  and  it  would  offend  him  and  Mrs. 
Smith  mortally  that  I  should  dine  with  a  rich  man,  and  turn  up 
my  nose  at  his  kind  and  humble  table.  I  was  free  to  name  any 
day  I  liked,  and  so  I  chose  Monday. 

Meanwhile,  our  old  friend  Jones  had  heard  that  I  had  agreed 
to  dine  with  Brown,  with  whom  he,  too,  was  at  variance,  and  he 
offered  downright  to  quarrel  with  me  unless  I  gave  him  a  day  :  so- 
I  fixed  Thursday. 

"  I  have  but  Saturday,"  says  I,  with  almost  tears  in  my  eyes. 

"Oh,  I  have  asked  a  party  of  the  old  fellows  to  meet  you," 
cries  out  Tom  Dash;  "and  made  a  dinner  expressly  for  the 
occasion." 

And  this,  sir,  was  the  fact.  This  was  the  way,  sir,  that  I  got 
my  dinners  at  Paris.  Sir,  at  one  house  I  had  boiled  leg  of  mutton 
and  turnips,  at  another  beefsteak ;  and  I  give  you  my  word  of 
honour,  at  two  I  had  mock-turtle  soup !  In  this  manner  I  saw 
Paris.  This  was  what  my  friends  called  welcoming  me — we  drank 
sheiTy ;  we  talked  about  Mr.  Cobden  and  the  new  financial  reform ; 
I  was  not  allowed  to  see  a  single  Frenchman,  save  one,  a  huge 
athletic  monster,  whom  I  saw  at  a  club  in  London,  last  year,  who 
speaks  English  as  well  as  you,  and  who  drank  two  bottles  of  port 
wine  on  that  very  night  for  his  own  share.  I  offended  mortally 
several  old  friends  with  whom  I  didn't  dine,  and  1  might  as  well 
have  been  sitting  under  your  mahogany  tree  in  Fleet  Street,  for  all 
of  Paris  that  I  saw. 

I  have  the  honour  to  report  my  return  to  this  country,  and  to 
my  lodgings  in  Piccadilly,  and  to  remain  your  very  obedient 
servant  and  contributor,  Folkstone  Canterbuey. 

P.S. — I  stop  the  ])ost  to  give  the  following  notice  from  the 
Constitutionnel : — "Lady  Jane  Grey  (femme  du  Chancelier  de 
I'Echiquier)  vient  de  donner  le  jour  h,  deux  jumeaux.  Sa  sant^  est. 
aussi  satisfaisante  que  possible." 


HOBSON'S    CHOICE  159 


HOBSON'S    CHOICE 

OK,    THE    TRIBULATIONS    OF    A    GENTLEMAN    IN    SEARCH    OF    A 
MAN-SERVANT 

I 

BEFORE  my  wife's  dear  mother,  Mrs.  Captain  Budge,  came  to 
live  with  us, — which  slie  did  on  occasion  of  the  birth  of  our 
darling  third  child,  Albert,  named  in  compliment  to  a  Gracious 
Prince,  and  now  seven  and  a  half  years  of  age, — our  establishment 
was  in  rather  what  you  call  a  small  way,  and  we  only  had  female 
servants  in  our  kitchen. 

I  liked  them,  I  own.  I  like  to  be  waited  on  by  a  neat-handed 
Phillis  of  a  parlour-maid,  in  a  nice  fitting  gown,  and  a  pink  ribbon 
to  her  cap :  and  I  do  not  care  to  deny  that  I  liked  to  have  my 
parlour-maids  good-looking.  Not  for  any  reason  such  as  jealous]/ 
might  suggest — such  reasons  I  scorn ;  but  as,  for  a  continuance 
and  for  a  harmless  recreation  and  enjoyment,  I  would  much  rather 
look  out  on  a  pretty  view  of  green  fields  and  a  shining  river  from 
my  drawing-room  window,  than  upon  a  blank  wall,  or  an  old- 
clothesman's  shop  :  so  I  am  free  to  confess  I  would  choose  for 
preference  a  brisk,  rosy,  good-natured,  smiling  lass  to  put  my  dinner 
and  tea  before  me  on  the  table,  rather  than  a  crooked,  black-muzzled 
frump,  with  a  dirty  cap  and  black  hands.  I  say  I  like  to  have 
nice-looking  people  about  me  ;  and  when  I  used  to  chuck  my  Anna 
Maria  under  the  chin,  and  say  that  was  one  of  the  reasons  for  which 
I  married  her,  I  warrant  you  Mrs.  H.  was  not  oflended ;  and  so 
she  let  me  have  my  harmless  way  about  the  parlour-maids.  Sir, 
the  only  way  in  which  we  lost  our  girls  in  our  early  days  was  by 
marriage.  One  mariied  the  baker,  and  gives  my  boy,  Albert, 
gingerbread,  whenever  he  passes  her  shop  ;  one  became  the  wife  of 
Policeman  X.,  who  distinguished  himself  by  having  his  nose  broken 
in  the  Chartist  riots  ;  and  a  third  is  almost  a  lady,  keeping  her  one- 
liorse  carriage,  and  being  wife  to  a  cai-jienter  and  builder. 

Well,  Mrs.  Captain  Budge,  Mrs.  H.'s  mother,  or  "Mamma," 
as  she  insists  that  I  should  call  her — and  I  do  so,  for  it  pleases 
lier  warm  and  affectionate  nature — came  to  stop  for  a  few  weeks, 
on  the  occasion  of  our  darling  Albert's  birth,  anno  Domini  1842; 
and  the  child  and  its  mother  being  delicate,  Mrs.  Captain  B.  stayed 
to  nurse  them  both,  and  so  has  remained  with  us,  occupying  the 


160         MISCELLANEOUS    CONTRIBUTIONS 

room  which  used  to  be  my  study  and  dressing-room  ever  since. 
When  she  came  to  lis,  we  may  be  said  to  have  moved  in  a  huvihle 
sphere,  viz.,  in  Bernard  Street,  Foundling  Hos])ital,  which  we  left 
four  years  ago  for  our  i)rcsent  residence,  Stucco  Gardens,  Pocklington 
Square.  And  up  to  the  period  of  Mrs.  Captain  B.-'s  arrival,  we 
were,  as  I  say,  waited  upon  in  the  parlour  by  maids ;  the  rough 
below-stairs  work  of  knife  and  slioe  cleaning  being  done  by  Grundsell, 
our  greengrocer's  third  son. 

But  though  Heaven  forbid  that  I  should  say  a  word  against  my 
mother-in-law,  who  has  a  handsome  sum  to  leave,  and  who  is 
besides  a  woman  all  self-denial,  with  her  every  thought  for  our 
good ;  yet  I  think  that  without  Mamma  ray  wife  would  not  have 
had  those  tantrums,  may  I  call  them,  of  jealousy,  which  she  never 
exhibited  previously,  and  which  slie  certainly  began  to  show  very 
soon  after  our  dear  little  scapegrace  of  an  Albert  was  born.  We 
had  at  that  time,  I  remember,  a  parlour  servant,  called  Emma 
Buck,  who  came  to  us  from  the  country,  from  a  Doctor  of  Divinity's 
family,  and  who  pleased  my  wife  very  well  at  first,  as  indeed  she 
did  all  in  her  power  to  please  her.  But  on  the  very  day  Anna 
Maria  came  downstairs  to  the  dramng-room,  being  brought  down 
'  in  these  very  arms,  which  I  swear  belong  to  as  faithful  a  husband 
as  any  in  the  City  of  London,  and  Emma  bringing  up  her  little  bit 
of  dinner  on  a  tray,  I  observed  Anna  Maria's  eyes  look  uncommon 
savage  at  the  poor  girl,  Mrs.  Captain  B.  looking  away  the  whole  time, 
on  to  whose  neck  my  wife  plunged  herself  as  soon  as  the  girl  had 
left  the  room ;  bursting  out  into  tears  and  calling  somebody  a  viper. 

"Hullo,"  says  I,  "  my  beloved,  what  is  the  matter?  Where's 
the  viper  ■?  I  didn't  know  there  were  any  in  Bernard  Street "  (for 
I  thought  she  might  be  nervous  still,  and  wished  to  turn  off  the 
thing,  whatever  it  might  be,  with  a  pleasantry).  "Who  is  the 
serpent  1 " 

"That  —  that  —  woman,"  gurgles  out  Mrs.  H.,  sobbing  on 
Mamma's  shoulder,  and  Mrs.  Captain  B.  scowling  sadly  at  me  over 
her  daughter. 

"What,  Emmar'  I  asked  in  astonishment;  for  the  girl  had 
been  uncommonly  attentive  to  her  mistress,  making  her  gruels  and 
things,  and  sitting  up  with  her,  besides  tending  my  eldest  daughter, 
Emily,  through  the  scarlet  fever. 

"Emma !  don't  say  Emma  in  that  cruel  audacious  way,  Marma- 
(Juke — Mr.  Ho — o — obson,"  says  my  wife  (for  such  are  my  two 
names  as  given  me  by  my  godfathers  and  my  fathers).  "  You  call 
the  creature  by  her  Christian  name  before  my  very  face  ! " 

"Oh,  Hobsou,  Hobson!"  says  Mrs.  Captain  B.,  wagging  her 
head. 


HOBSON'S    CHOICE  •    l6l 

"Confound  it" — ("Don't  swear,"  says  Mamma) — "Confound 
it,  my  love,"  says  I,  stamping  my  foot,  "you  wouldn't  have  me 
call  the  girl  Buck,  Buck,  as  if  she  was  a  rabbit  1  She's  the  best 
girl  that  ever  was :  she  nursed  Emily  through  the  fever ;  she  has 
been  attentive  to  you ;  she  is  always  up  when  you  want  her " 

"  Yes  ;  and  when  you-oo-oo  come  home  from  the  chih,  Marma- 
duke,"  my  wife  shrieks  nut,  and  falls  again  on  Mamma's  shoulder,  who 
looks  me  in  the  face  and  nods  her  head  fit  to  drive  me  mad.  I  come 
home  from  the  club,  indeed !  Wasn't  I  forbidden  to  see  Anna 
Maria  ?  Wasn't  I  turned  away  a  hundred  times  from  my  wife's 
door  by  Mamma  herself,  and  could  I  sit  alone  in  the  dining-room  (for 
my  eldest  two,  a  boy  and  girl,  were  at  school) — alone  in  the  dining- 
room,  where  that  very  Emma  would  liave  had  to  wait  upon  me  1 

Not  one  morsel  of  chicken  would  Anna  Maria  eat.  (She  said 
she  dared  to  say  that  woman  would  poison  the  egg-sauce.)  She 
had  hysterical  laughter  and  tears,  and  was  in  a  highly  nervous  state, 
a  state  as  dangerous  for  the  motlier  as  for  the  darling  baby,  Mrs. 
Captain  B.  remarked  justly ;  and  I  was  of  course  a  good  deal 
alarmed,  and  sent,  or  rather  went  off  for  Boker,  our  medical  man. 
Boker  saw  his  interesting  patient,  said  that  her  nerves  were  highly  ex- 
cited, that  she  must  at  all  sacrifices  be  kept  quiet,  and  corroborated 
Mrs.  Captain  B.'s  opinion  in  every  particular.  As  we  walked  down- 
stairs I  gave  him  a  hint  of  what  was  the  matter,  at  the  same  time 
requesting  him  to  step  into  the  back-parlour,  and  there  see  me  take 
an  affidavit  that  I  was  as  innocent  as  the  blessed  baby  just  born,  and 
named  but  three  days  before  after  his  Royal  Highness  the  Prince. 

"  I  know,  I  know,  my  good  fellow,"  says  Boker,  poking  me  in 
the  side  (for  he  has  a  good  deal  of  fun),  "  that  you  are  innocent. 
Of  course  you  are  innocent.  Everybody  is,  you  sly  dog.  But 
what  of  that?  The  two  women  have  taken  it  into  their  heads 
to  be  jealous  of  your  maid — and  an  uncommonly  pretty  girl  she  is 
too,  Hobson,  you  sly  rogue,  you.  And  were  she  a  Vestal  Virgin, 
the  girl  must  go  if  you  want  to  have  any  peace  in  the  house  :  if 
you  want  your  wife  and  the  little  one  to  thrive — if  you  Avant  to 
have  a  quiet  house  and  family.  And  if  you  do,"  says  Boker,  looking 
me  in  the  face  hard,  "though  it  is  against  my  own  interest,  will  you 
let  me  give  you  a  bit  of  advice,  old  boy  1 " 

We  had  been  bred  up  at  Merchant  Taylors  together,  and  had 
licked  each  other  often  and  often,  so  of  course  I  let  him  speak. 

"Well,  then,"  says  he,  "Hob  my  boy,  get  rid  of  the  old  dragon 
— the  old  mother-in-law.  She  meddles  with  my  prescriptions  for 
your  wife ;  she  doctors  the  infant  in  private :  you'll  never  have  a 
(juiet  house  or  a  quiet  wife  as  long  as  that  old  Catamaran  is  here." 

"Boker,"  says  I,  "Mrs.  Captain  Budge  is  a  lady  who  must  not, 


I6i3  .      MISCELLANEOUS    CONTRIBUTIONS 

at  least  in  mn  house,  be  called  a  Catamaran.  She  has  seven 
thousaufl  pounds  in  the  funds,  and  always  says  Anna  Maria  is  her 
favourite  daughter."  And  so  we  partetl,  not  on  the  best  of  terms,  for 
I  did  not  like  j\Iamnia  to  be  spoken,  of  disrespectfully  by  any  man. 

Wiiat  was  the  upsliot  of  this  ?  When  Mamma  heard  from  Anna 
Maria  (who  weakly  told  her  what  I  had  let  slip  laughing,  and  in 
confidence  to  my  wife)  that  Boker  had  called  her  a  Catamaran,  of 
course  she  went  up  to  pack  her  trunks,  and  of  (bourse  we  apologised 
and  took  another  medical  man.  And  as  for  Emma  Buck,  there  was 
nothing  for  it  but  that  she,  poor  girl,  should  go  to  the  liglit  about ; 
my  little  Emily,  tiien  a  child  of  ten  years  of  age,  crying  bitterly  at 
parting  with  her.  The  child  very  nearly  got  me  into  a  second 
scrape,  for  I  gave  her  a  sovereign  to  give  to  Enuna,  and  she  told 
her  grandmamma  :  who  would  have  related  all  to  Anna  Maria,  but 
that  I  went  down  on  my  knees,  and  begged  her  not.  But  she  had 
me  in  her  power  after  that,  and  made  me  wince  when  she  would 
say,  "Marmaduke,  have  you  any  sovereigns  to  give  awayT'  &c. 

After  Emma  Buck  came  Mary  Blackmore,  whose  name  I  re- 
member because  Mrs.  Captain  B.  called  her  Mary  Blackymore  (and 
a  dark  swarthy  girl  she  was,  not  at  all  good-looking  in  mi/  eyes). 
This  poor  Mary  Blackmore  was  sent  about  her  business  because  she 
looked  sweet  on  the  twopenny  postman.  Mamma  said.  And  she 
knew,  no  doubt,  for  (my  wife  being  downstairs  again  long  since) 
Mrs.  B.  saw  everything  that  was  passing  at  the  door  as  she  regularly 
sat  in  the  parlour  window. 

After  Blackmore  came  another  girl  of  Mrs.  B.'s  own  choosing : 
own  rearing,  I  may  say,  for  she  was  named  Barliara,  after  Mamma, 
being  a  soldier's  daughter,  and  coming  from  Portsea,  where  the  late 
Captain  Budge  was  quartered,  in  command  of  his  company  of 
marines.  Of  this  girl  Mrs.  B.  would  ask  questions  out  of  the 
"  Catechism "  at  breakfast,  and  my  scapegrace  of  a  Tom  would 
burst  out  laughing  at  her  blundering  answers.  But  from  a  demure 
coiflitry  lass,  as  she  was  when  she  came  to  us.  Miss  Barbara  very 
quickly  became  a  dressy,  impudent-looking  thing ;  coquetting  with 
the  grocer's  and  butcher's  boys,  and  weaiing  silk  gowns  and  flowers 
in  her  bonnet  when  she  went  to  church  on  Sunday  evenings,  and 
actually  appearing  one  day  with  her  hair  in  bands,  and  the  next 
day  in  ringlets.  Of  course  she  was  setting  her  cap  at  me,  Mamma 
said,  as  I  was  the  only  gentleman  in  the  house,  though  for  my  ])art 
I  declare  I  never  saw  the  set  of  her  cap  at  all,  or  knew  if  her  hair 
was  straight  or  curly.  So,  in  a  word,  Barbara  was  sent  back  to  her 
mother,  and  Mrs.  Budge  didn't  fail  to  ask  me  whether  I  had  not  a 
sovereign  to  give  her? 

After  this  girl  we  had  two  or  three  more  maids,  wliose  appear- 


HOBSON'S    CHOICE  l63 

ance  or  history  it  is  not  necessary  to  particularise — the  hitter  was 
uninteresting,  let  it  suffice  to  say  ;  the  former  grew  worse  and  worse. 
I  never  saw  such  a  woman  as  Grizzel  Scrimgeour,  from  Berwick- 
upon-Tweed,  who  was  the  last  that  waited  on  us,  and  who  was 
enougli,  I  declare,  to  curdle  the  very  milk  in  the  jug  as  she  put  it 
down  to  breakfast. 

At  last  the  real  aim  of  ray  two  conspirators  of  women  came  out. 
"  Marmaduke,"  Mrs.  Captain  B.  said  to  me  one  morning,  after  this 
Grizzel  Had  brought  me  an  oniony  knife  to  cut  the  bread  ;  "women 
servants  are  very  well  in  their  way,  but  there  is  always  something 
disagreeable  with  them,  and  in  families  of  a  certain  rank  a  man- 
-servant  commonly  waits  at  table.  It  is  proper :  it  is  decent  that 
it  should  be  so  in  the  respectable  classes  :  and  tve  are  of  those 
classes.  In  Captain  Budge's  lifetime  we  were  never  without  our 
groom,  and  our  tea-l>oy.  My  dear  lather  had  his  butler  and  coach- 
man, as  our  family  has  had  ever  since  the  Conquest  ;  and  though 
you  are  certainly  in  business,  as  your  father  was  before  you,  yet 
your  relations  are  respectable ;  your  gi-andfather  was  a  dignified 
clergyman  in  the  West  of  England ;  you  have  connections  botli  in 
the  army  and  navy,  who  are  members  of  Clubs  and  known  in  the 
fashionable  world ;  and  (though  I  shall  never  speak  to  that  man 
again)  remember  that  your  wife's  sister  is  married  to  a  barrister 
who  lives  in  Oxford  Square,  and  goes  the  Western  Circuit.  He 
keeps  a  man-servant.  Thei/  keep  men-servants,  and  I  «clo  not  like 
to  see  my  poor  Anna  Maria  occupying  an  infeiior  position  in  society 
to  her  sister  Frederica,  named  after  the  Duke  of  York  though  she 
was,  when  his  Royal  Highness  reviewed  the  Marines  at  Chatham ; 

and  seeing  some  empty  bottles  carried  from  the  table,  said " 

"  In  mercy's  name,"  says  I,  bursting  out,  for  when  she  came  to 
this  story  Mamma  used  to  drive  me  frantic,  "  have  a  man,  if  you 
like,  ma'am,  and  give  me  a  little  peace." 

"  You  needn't  swear,  Mr.  Hobson,"  she  replied  with  a  toss  of 
her  head  :  and  when  I  went  to  business  that  day  it  was  decided 
by  the  women  that  our  livery  should  be  set  up. 


II 

PETER  GRUNDSELL,   the  knife-boy,   the  youth   previously 
mentioned  as  son  of  my  greengrocer  and  occasional  butler,  a 
<lemure  little  fair-haired  lad,  who  had  received  his  education 
in  a  green  V)aize  coat  and  yellow  leather  breeches  at  Saint  Blaize's 
Charitv  School,  was  our  first  foot-boy  or  page.     Mamma  thought  that 
13  ' 


1()+         MISCELLANEOUS    CONTRIBUTIONS 

a  full-sized  footman  might  oorasion  inoonvcuienoe  in  the  house,  and 
would  not  be  able  to  sleep  in  our  baek  attic  (which  indeed  was 
scarcely  six  feet  long),  and  she  had  somehow  conceived  a  great 
fondness  for  this  youth  with  his  pale  cheeks,  blue  eyes,  and  yellow 
hair,  who  sang  the  sweetest  of  all  the  children  in  the  organ-loft  of 
Saint  Blaize's.  At  five  o'clock  every  morning,  winter  and  sununer, 
that  boy,  before  he  took  a  permanent  engagement  in  my  establish- 
ment, slid  down  our  area  steps,  of  which  and  of  the  kitchen  entrance 
he  was  entrusted  with  the  key.  He  crept  up  the  stairs  as  silent 
as  a  cat,  and  carried  otf  the  boots  and  shoes  from  the  doors  of  our 
respective  apartments  without  disturbing  one  of  us  :  the  knives  and 
shoes  of  my  domestic  circle  were  cleaned  as  brilliant  as  possible 
before  six  o'clock ;  he  did  odd  jobs  for  the  cook  :  he  went  upon 
our  messages  and  errands  ;  he  carried  out  his  father's  potatoes  and 
caulitiowere  ;  he  attended  school  at  Saint  Blaize's  :  he  tinned  his 
mother's  mangle : — there  was  no  end  to  the  work  that  boy  could 
do  in  the  course  of  a  day,  and  he  was  the  most  active,  iiuiet.  humble 
little  rogue  you  ever  knew.  Mrs.  Captain  Budge  then  took  a  just 
liking  to  the  lad,  and  resolved  to  promote  him  to  the  situation  of 
page.  His  name  was  changed  from  Peter  to  Philip,  as  being  more 
genteel :  and  a  hat  with  a  gold  cord  and  a  knob  on  the  top  like  a 
gilt  Brussels  sprout,  and  a  dark  green  suit,  with  a  white  galloon 
stripe  down  the  trouser-seams,  and  a  bushel  of  Imttons  on  the 
jacket,  were  purchased  at  an  establishment  in  Holborn,  off  the 
dummy  at  the  door.  j\Iamma  is  a  great  big  strong  woman,  with  a 
high  spirit,  who,  I  should  think,  could  protect  herself  very  well  ; 
but  when  Philip  had  his  livery,  she  made  him  walk  behind  her 
regidarly,  and  never  could  go  to  church  without  Philip  after  lier  to 
cany  the  books,  or  out  to  tea  of  an  evening  without  that  boy  on 
the  box  of  the  cab. 

Mrs.  Captain  B.  is  fond  of  good  living  herself:  and,  to  do  her 
justice,  always  kept  our  servants  well.  I  don't  meddle  with  the 
kitchen  atfairs  myself,  having  my  own  liusiness  to  attend  to  ;  but  I 
believe  my  servants  had  as  much  meat  as  they  could  eat,  and  a 
great  dejil  more  than  was  good  for  them.  They  went  to  lied  pretty 
soon,  for  ours  was  an  early  house,  and  when  I  came  in  from  the 
City  after  business,  I  was  glad  enough  to  get  to  bed  :  ami  they  got 
up  rather  late,  for  we  are  all  good  sleepers  (especially  Mrs.  B.,  who- 
takes  a  heavy  supper,  which  /  never  could  indidge  in),  so  that  they 
were  never  called  upon  to  leave  their  beds  much  before  seven 
o'clock,  and  had  their  eight  or  nine  good  hours  of  rest  every  night. 

And  here  I  cannot  help  remarking,  that  if  these  folks  knew 
their  luck — sua  si  bona  norint,  as  we  used  to  say  at  Mercliant 
Taylors  ;  if  they  remembered  that  they  are   fed  as  well  as  lords^ 


HOBSON'S    CHOICE  \65 

that  they  have  warm  beds  and  plenty  of  sleej)  in  them  ;  that,  if 
they  arc  ill,  they  have  frequently  their  master's  doctor ;  that  they 
get  good  wages,  and  beer,  and  sugar  and  tea  in  suthciency  :  they 
need  not  be  robbing  their  employers  or  taking  fees  from  tradesmen, 
or  gi-umbling  at  their  lot.  My  friend  and  head-elerk  Raddles  has  a 
hiuidred  and  twenty  a  year  and  eight  children  ;  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Bittles,  our  esteemed  cimite  at  Saint  Blaize's,  has  the  same  stipend 
and  family  of  three ;  and  I  am  sure  that  both  of  those  gentlemen 
woi'k  harder,  and  fare  worse,  than  any  of  the  servants  in  my 
kitchen,  or  my  neighbour's.  And  I,  who  have  seen  that  dear,  good 
elegant  aiigel  *  of  a  Mrs.  Bittles  ironing  her  husband's  bands  and 
neckcloths ;  and  that  uncommonly  shy  supper  of  dry  bread  and 
milk-and-water,  which  the  Raddles  family  take  when  I  have  dropj)ed 
in  to  visit  them  at  their  place  (Glenalvon  Cottage,  Magnolia  Road 
South,  Camden  Town),  on  my  walks  from  Hampstead  on  a  Sunday 
evening : — I  say,  I,  who  have  seen  these  people,  and  thought  about 
my  servants  at  home,  on  the  same  July  evening,  eating  buttered 
toast  round  the  kitchen  fire — have  marvelled  how  resigned  and 
contented  some  people  were,  and  how  readily  other  people 
grumbled. 

Well,  then,  this  young  Philip  being  introduced  into  my  family, 
and  being  at  that  period  as  lean  as  a  wliipping-post,  and  as  contented 
with  the  scraps  and  broken  victuals  which  the  cook  gave  him,  as  an 
alderman  with  his  turtle  and  venison,  now  left  his  mother's  mangle 
— on  which  or  on  a  sack  in  his  father's  potato-bin,  he  used  to  sleep 
— and  put  on  my  buttons  and  stripes;  waited  at  my  own  table,  and 
took  his  regular  place  at  that  in  tlie  kitchen,  and  occupied  a  warm 
bed  and  three  blankets  in  the  back  attic. 

The  efiect  of  the  three  (or  four  or  five,  is  it? — for  the  deuce 
knows  how  many  they  take)  meals  a  day  upon  the  young  rascal  was 
speedily  evident  in  his  personal  appearance.  His  lean  cheeks  began 
to  fill  out,  till  they  grew  as  round  and  pale  as  a  pair  of  suet 
dumplings.  His  dress  from  the  little  dummy  in  Holborn  (a  bargain 
of  Mrs.  Captain  B.'s),  which  was  always  a  tight  fit,  grew  tighter 
and  tighter ;  as  if  his  meals  in  the  kitchen  were  not  sutficient  for 
any  two  Christians,  the  little  gormandiser  levied  contributions  ujton 
■our  parlour  dishes.  And  one  day  my  wife  spied  him  with  his  mouth 
smeared  all  over  with  our  jam-pudding ;  and  on  another  occasion  he 
■came  in  with  tears  in  his  eyes  and  hardly  able  to  speak,  from  the 
•effects  of  a  curry  on  which  he  had  laid  hands  in  the  hall,  and  which 

*  I  say  this,  because  I  think  so,  and  will  not  be  put  down.  My  wife  says 
she  thinks  there  is  nothing  in  Mrs.  Bittles,  and  Mamma  says  she  g-ives  herself 
airs,  and  has  a  cast  in  her  eye  ;  Vmt  a  more  elegant  woman  /  have  never  seen, 
no,  not  at  a  Mansion  House  ball,  or  the  Opera. — M.  H. 


166         MISCELLANEOUS    CONTRIBUTIONS 

we  make  (from  the  Nawob  of  Mulligatawney's  own  receipt)  remark- 
ably line,  and  as  liot,  as  iiot — as  the  dog-days. 

As  for  the  crockery,  both  the  common  bhie  and  the  stone  china 
Mamma  gave  us  on  our  marriage  (and  wliich,  I  must  confess,  I 
ilidn't  mind  seeing  an  end  of,  because  she  bragged  and  bothmrd  sO' 
about  it),  the  smashes  that  boy  made  were  incredible.  Tlie  handles 
of  all  the  tea-cups  went ;  and  the  knobs  off  the  covers  of  tiie 
vegetable  dishes  ;  and  the  stems  of  the  wine-gla»sses ;  and  tlie  china 
punch-bowl  my  Anna  Maria  was  christened  in.  And  the  days  he 
did  not  break  the  dishes  on  the  table,  he  spilt  the  gravy  on  the 
cloth.  Lord  !  Lord  !  how  I  did  wish  for  my  pretty  neat  little 
parlour-maid  again.  But  I  had  best  not,  for  peace'  sake,  enlarge 
again  upon  that  point. 

And  as  for  getting  up,  I  suppose  the  suppers  and  dinners  made 
him  sleepy  as  well  as  fat ;  certainly  the  little  rascal  for  the  first 
week  did  get  up  at  his  usual  hour :  then  he  was  a  little  later :  at 
the  end  of  a  month  he  came  yawning  downstairs  after  the  maids  had 
long  been  at  work  :  there  was  no  more  polishing  of  boots  and  knives  : 
barely  time  to  get  mine  clean,  and  knives  enough  ready  for  me  and 
my  wife's  breakfast  (Mrs  Captain  B.  taking  hers  and  her  poached 
eggs  and  rashers  of  bacon  in  bed) — in  time  enough,  I  say,  for  my 
breakfast,  before  I  went  into  the  City. 

Many  and  many  a  scolding  did  I  give  that  boy,  until,  my 
temper  being  easy  and  the  lad  getting  no  earthly  good  from  my 
abuse  of  him,  I  left  off — from  sheer  weariness  and  a  desire  for  a 
quiet  life.  But  Mamma,  to  do  her  justice,  was  never  tired  of  giving 
it  to  him,  and  rated  him  up  hill  and  down  dale.  It  was  "  Philip, 
you  are  a  fool ; "  "  Philip,  you  dirty  wretch  ;  "  "  Philip,  you  sloven," 
and  so  forth,  all  dinner-time.  But  still,  when  I  talked  of  sending 
him  off,  Mrs.  Captain  B.  always  somehow  pleaded  for  him  and 
insisted  upon  keeping  him.  Well.  My  weakness  is  that  I  can't  say 
no  to  a  woman,  and  Master  Philip  stayed  on,  breaking  the  plates  and 
smashing  the  glass,  and  getting  more  mischievous  and  lazy  every  day. 

At  last  there  came  a  crash,  which,  though  it  wasn't  in  my 
crockery,  did  Master  Philip's  business.  Hearing  a  great  laughter 
in  the  kitchen  one  evening,  Mamma  (who  is  a  good  housekeeper, 
and  does  not  like  her  servants  to  laugh  on  any  account)  stepped 
down, — and  what  should  she  find  ? — Master  Philip,  mimicking  her 
to  the  women  servants,  and  saying,  "  Look,  this  is  the  way  old 
Mother  Budge  goes ! "  And  j)ulling  a  napkin  romid  his  head 
(something  like  the  Turkish  turban  Mrs.  Captain  B.  wears),  he 
began  to  speak  as  if  in  her  way,  saying,  "  Now,  Philip,  you 
nasty,  idle,  good-for-nothing,  lazy,  dirty  boy  you,  why  do  you  go 
for  to  spill  the  gravy  so  1 "  &c. 


HOBSON'S    CHOICE  l67 

Mrs.  B.  nished  forward  and  boxed  his  ears  soundly,  and  the 
next  day  he  was  sent  about  his  business  ;  for  flesh  and  blood  could 
bear  him  no  longer. 

Why  he  had  been  kept  so  long,  as  I  said  before,  I  could  not 
comprehend,  until  after  Philip  had  left  us  ;  and  then  Mamma  said, 
looking  with  tears  in  her  eyes  at  the  chap's  jacket,  as  it  lay  in  the 
pantry,  that  her  httle  boy  Augustus  w^as  something  like  him,  and 
he  wore  a  jacket  with  buttons  of  that  sort.  Then  I  knew  she 
was  thinking  of  her  eldest  son,  Augustus  Frederick  York  Budge, 
a  midshipman  on  board  the  Hippopotamus  frigate.  Captain  Swang, 
C.B.  (/  knew  the  story  well  enough),  who  died  of  yellow  fever  on 
the  "West  India  Station  in  the  year  1814. 


Ill 

BY  the  time  I  had  had  two  or  three  more  boys  in  my  family, 
I  got  to  hate  them  as  if  I  had  been  a  second  Herod,  and  the 
rest  of  my  household,  too,  w^as  pretty  soon  tired  of  the 
wretches.  If  any  young  housekeepers  read  this,  I  would  say  to 
them.  Profit  by  my  experience,  and  never  keep  a  boy;  be  happy 
with  a  parlour-maid,  put  up  with  a  charwoman,  let  the  cook  bring 
up  your  dinner  from  the  kitchen  ;  get  a  good  servant  who  knows  his 
business,  and  pay  his  wages  as  cheerfully  as  you  may  ;  but  never 
have  a  boy  into  your  place,  if  you  value  your  peace  of  mind. 

You  may  save  a  little  in  the  article  of  wages  with  the  Uttle 
rascal,  but  how  much  do  you  pay  in  discomfort !  A  boy  eats  as 
much  as  a  man,  a  boy  breaks  twice  as  much  as  a  man,  a  boy  is 
twice  as  long  upon  an  errand  as  a  man ;  a  boy  batters  your  plate 
and  sends  it  up  to  table  dirty ;  you  are  never  certain  that  a  boy's 
fingers  are  not  in  the  dish  which  he  brings  up  to  your  dinner ;  a 
boy  puts  your  boots  on  the  wrong  trees ;  and  when  at  the  end 
of  a  year  or  two  he  has  broken  his  way  through  your  crockery,  and 
at  last  leanied  some  of  his  business,  the  little  miscreant  privately 
advertises  himself  in  the  Times  as  a  youth  who  has  two  years' 
character,  and  leaves  you  for  higher  wages  and  another  place.  Two 
yoiuig  traitors  served  me  so  in  the  course  of  my  fatal  experience 
with  boys. 

Then,  in  a  family  council,  it  was  agreed  that  a  man  should  be 
engaged  for  our  establishment,  and  we  had  a  series  of  footmen. 
Our  curate  recommended  to  me  our  first  man,  whom  the  clergyman 
had  found  in  the  course  of  his  charitable,  excursions.  I  took  Jnlm 
Tomkins  out  of  the  garret,  where  he  was  starving.     He  had  pawned 


168         MISCELLANEOUS    CONTRIBUTIONS 

every  article  of  value  belonging  to  him  ;  he  had  no  decent  clothes 
left  in  which  he  could  go  out  to  offer  himself  for  a  situation;  he 
had  not  tasted  meat  for  weeks,  except  such  i-are  bits  as  he  could 
get  froni  the  poor  curate's  spare  table.  He  came  to  my  house,  and 
all  of  a  sudden  rushed  into  plenty  again.  He  had  a  comfortable 
supply  of  clothes,  meat,  fire,  blankets.  He  had  not  a  hard  master, 
and  as  for  Mamma's  scolding,  he  took  it  as  a  matter  of  course.  He 
had  but  few  pairs  of  shoes  to  clean,  and  lived  as  well  as  a  man  of 
five  hundred  a  year.  AVell,  John  Tomkins  left  my  service  in  six 
montlis  after  he  liad  been  drawn  out  of  the  jaws  of  death,  and 
after  he  had  considered  himself  lucky  at  being  able  to  get  a  crust 
of  bread,  because  the  cook  served  him  a  dinner  of  cold  meat  two 
days  running — "  He  never  'ad  been  used  to  cold  meat ;  it  was  the 
custom  in  no  good  fam'lies  to  give  cold  meat — he  wouldn't  stay 
where  it  was  practised."  And  away  he  went,  then — very  likely  to 
starve  again. 

Him  there  followed  a  gentleman,  whom  I  shall  call  Mr.  Abershaw, 
for  I  am  positive  he  did  it,  although  we  never  could  find  him  (nit. 
We  had  a  character  with  this  amiable  youth  whicli  an  angel  might 
have  been  proud  of — had  lived  for  seven  years  with  General  Hector 
— only  left  because  the  family  was  going  abroad,  the  Ceneral  being- 
made  Governor  and  Commander-in-Cliief  of  the  Tapioca  Islands — ■ 
the  General's  sister,  Mrs.  Colonel  Ajax,  living  in  lodgings  in  the 
Edgware  Road,  answered  for  the  man,  and  for  the  authenticity  of 
the  General's  testimonials.  When  Mamma,  Mrs.  Captain  B.,  waited 
upon  her,  Mrs.  Captain  B.  remarked  that  Mrs.  Colonel's  lodgings 
were  rather  queer,  being  shabby  in  themselves,  and  over  a  shabbier 
shop — and  she  thought  there  was  a  smell  of  hot  spirits  and  water 
in  Mrs.  Colonel's  room  when  Mrs.  B.  entered  it  at  one  o'clock  ;  bu.t, 
perhaps,  she  was  not  very  rich,  the  Colonel  being  on  half-pay,  and 
it  might  have  been  ether  and  not  rum  which  Mrs.  B.  smelt.  She 
came  home  announcing  that  she  had  found  a  treasure  of  a  servant, 
and  Mr.  Abershaw  stepped  into  our  pantry  and  put  on  our  livery. 

Nothing  could  be  better  for  some  time  than  this  gentleman's 
behaviour ;  and  it  was  edifying  to  remark  how  he  barred  up  the 
house  of  a  night,  and  besought  me  to  see  that  the  plate  was  all 
right  wlien  he  brought  it  upstairs  in  the  basket.  He  constantly 
warned  us,  too,  of  thieves  and  rascals  about ;  and  though  he  had  a 
villainous  hang-dog  look  of  his  own,  which  I  could  not  bear,  yet 
Manmra  said  this  was  only  a  prejudice  of  mine,  and,  indeed,  I  had 
no  fault  to  find  with  the  man.  Once  I  thought  something  was 
wrong  with  the  lock  of  my  study-taljle ;  but  as  I  keep  little  or  no 
money  in  the  house,  I  diil  not  give  this  circumstance  much  thought, 
and  once  Mrs.  Captain  Budge  saw  Mr.  Abershaw  in  conversation 


HOBSOXS    CHOICE  I69 

with  a  lady  who  hiul  very  much  the  appearance  of  Mrs.  Colonel 
Ajax,  as  she  afterwards  remembered,  but  the  resemblance  did  not, 
unluckily,  strike  Mamma  at  the  time. 

It  happened  one  evening  that  we  all  went  to  see  the  Christmas 
pantomime ;  and  of  course  took  the  footman  on  the  box  of  the  fly, 
and  I  treated  him  to  the  pit,  wh'ere  I  could  not  see  him  ;  but  he 
said  afterwards  that  he  enjoyed  the  play  very  much.  When  the 
pantomime  was  over,  he  was  in  waiting  in  the  lobby  to  hand  us 
back  to  the  carriage,  and  a  pretty  good  load  we  were— our  three 
children,  ourselves,  and  Mrs.  Captain  B.,  who  is  a  very  roomy 
woman. 

When  we  got  home — the  cook,  with  rather  a  guilty  and  terrified 
look,  owned  to  her  mistress  that  a  most  "  singlar  "  misfortune  had 
happened.  She  was  positive  she  shut  the  door — she  could  take 
her  Bible  oath  she  did — after  the  boy  who  comes  every  evening 
with  the  paper ;  but  the  policeman,  about  eleven  o'clock,  had  rung 
and  knocked  to  say  that  the  door  was  open — and  open  it  was,  sure 
enough ;  and  a  greatcoat,  and  two  hats,  and  an  umbrella  were 
gone. , 

"Thank  'Evins!  the  plate  was  all  locked  up  safe  in  my  pantry," 
Mr.  Abershaw  said,  turning  up  his  eyes ;  and  he  showed  me  that  it 
"was  all  right  before  going  to  bed  that  very  night ;  he  could  not 
sleep  unless  I  counted  it,  he  said — and  then  it  was  that  he  cried 
out.  Lord  !  Lord  !  to  think  that  while  he  was  so  happy  and  un- 
suspicious, enjoyin'  of  himself  at  the  play,  some  rascal  should  come 
in  and  rob  his  kind  master !  If  he'd  a  know'd  it,  he  never  would 
have  left  the  house — no,  that  he  wouldn't. 

He  was  talking  on  in  this  way,  when  we  heard  a  loud  shriek 
from  Mamma's  room,  and  her  bell  began  to  ring  like  mad :  and 
presently  out  she  ran,  roaring  out,  "  Anna  Maria  !  Cook !  Mr. 
Hobson  !     Thieves  !     I'm  robbed,  I'm  robbed  !  " 

"Where's  the  scoundreH  "  says  Abershaw,  seizing  the  poker  as 
valiant  as  any  man  I  ever  saw  ;  and  he  rushed  upstairs  tow'ards 
Mrs.  B.'s  apartment,  I  following  behind  more  leisurely ;  for,  if  the 
rascal  of  a  housebreaker  had  pistols  with  him,  how  was  I  to  resist 
him,  I  shovdd  like  to  know  1 

But  when  I  got  up — there  was  no  thief.  The  scoundrel  had 
been  there :  but  he  was  gone :  and  a  large  box  of  Mrs.  B.'s  stood 
in  the  centre  of  the  room,  burst  open,  with  numbers  of  things 
strewn  about  the  floor.  Mamma  was  sobbing  her  eyes  out,  in  her 
big  chair ;  my  wife  and  the  female  servants  already  assembled ;  and 
Abershaw,  with  the  poker,  banging  under  the  bed  to  see  if  the 
villain  was  still  there. 

I  was  not  aware  at  first  of  the  extent  of  Mrs.  B.'s  misfortune, 


170         MISCELLANEOUS    CONTRIBUTIONS 

and  it  was  only  by  degrees,  as  it  were,  that  that  unfortunate  lady 
was  brought  to  tell  us  what  she  had  lost.  First,  it  was  her  dresses 
she  bemoaned,  two  of  wdiich,  her  rich  purple  velvet  and  her  black 
satin,  were  gone ;  then,  it  was  her  Cashmere  shawl ;  then,  a  box 
full  of  ornaments,  her  jet,  her  pearls,  and  her  garnets  ;  nor  was  it 
until  the  next  day  that  she  confessed  to  my  wife  that  the  great  loss 
of  all  was  an  old  black  velvet  reticule,  containing  two  hundred  and 
twenty-three'  pounds,  in  gold  and  notes.  I  suppose  she  did  not  like 
to  tell  me  of  this  ;  for  a  short  time  before,  being  somewhat  pressed 
for  money,  I  had  asked  her  to  lend  me  some ;  when,  I  am  sorry  to 
say,  the  old  lady  declared,  upon  her  honour,  that  she  had  not  a 
guinea,  nor  shoukl  have  one  until  her  dividends  came  in.  Now,  if 
she  had  lent  it  to  me,  she  w^ould  have  been  paid  back  again,  and 
this  she  owned  with  tears  in  her  eyes. 

Well,  when  she  had  cried  and  screamed  sutRciently,  as  none  of 
this  grief  would  mend  matters,  or  bring  back  her  money,  we  went 
to  bed,  Abershaw  clapping  to  all  the  bolts  „of  the  house  door,  and 
putting  the  gi'eat  bar  up  with  a  clang  that  might  be  heard  all 
through  the  street.  And  it  was  not  until  two  days  after  the  event 
that  I  got  the  numbers  of  the  notes  which  Mrs.  Captain  6.  had 
lost,  and  which  were  all  paid  into  the  Bank,  and  exchanged  for 
gold  the  morning  after  the  robbery. 

When  I  was  aware  of  its  extent,  and  when  the  horse  w^as  stolen, 
of  course  I  shut  the  stable-door,  and  called  in  a  policeman — not  one 
of  your  letter  X  policeman — but  a  gentleman  in  plain  clothes,  who 
inspected  the  premises,  examined  tlie  family,  and  questioned  the 
servants  one  by  one.  This  gentleman's  opinion  was  that  the 
robbery  was  got  up  in  the  house.  First  he  suspected  the  cook, 
then  he  inclined  towards  the  housemaid,  and  the  young  fellow  with 
■whom,  as  it  appeared,  that  artful  hussy  was  keeping  company ;  and 
those  two  poor  wretches  expected  to  be  carried  off  to  jail  forthwith, 
so  great  was  the  terror  under  which  they  lay. 

All  this  wliife  Mr.  Abershaw  gave  the  policeman  every  informa- 
tion ;  insisted  upon  having  his  boxes  examined  and  his  accounts 
looked  into,  for  though  he  was  absent,  waiting  upon  liis  master  and 
mistress,  on  the  night  when  the  robbery  was  conunitted,  he  did  not 
wish  to  escape  search — not  he ;  and  so  we  looked  over  his  trunks 
just  out  of  compliment. 

The  officer  did  not  seem  to  be  satisfied — as,  indeed,  he  had 
discovered  nothing  as  yet — and  after  a  long  and  fruitless  visit  in 
the  evening,  returned  on  the  next  morning  in  company  with  another 
of  the  detectives,  the  famous  Scroggins  indeed. 

As  soon  as  the  famous  Scroggins  saw  Abershaw,  all  matters 
seemed  to  change — "Hullo,  Jerry!"  said  he;  "what,  you   here? 


THOUGHTS    ON    A    NEW    COMEDY  171 

at  your  old  tricks  again  1  This  is  the  man  what  has  done  it,  sir," 
he  said  to  me  ;  "  he  is  a  well-known  rogue  and  prig."  Mr.  Abershaw 
swore  more  than  ever  that  he  was  innocent,  and  called  upon  me  to 
swear  that  I  had  seen  him  in  the  pit  of  the  theatre  during  the  whole 
of  the  performance ;  but  I  coidd  neither  take  my  affidavit  to  this 
fact,  nor  was  Mr.  Scroggins  a  bit  satisfied,  nor  would  he  be  until 
he  had  the  man  up  to  Beak  Street  Police  Court  and  examined  by 
the  magistrate. 

Here  my  young  man  was  known  as  an  old  practitioner  on  the 
treadmill,  and,  seeing  there  was  no  use  in  denying  tlie  fact,  he 
confessed  it  very  candidly.  He  owned  that  he  liad  been  unfortunate 
in  his  youth  :  that  he  had  not  been  in  General  Hector's  service  these 
five  years  ;  that  the  character  he  had  got  was  a  sham  one,  and  Mrs. 
Ajax  merely  a  romantic  fiction.  But  no  more  would  he  acknow- 
ledge. His  whole  desire  in  life,  he  said,  was  to  be  an  honest  man ; 
and  ever  since  he  had  entered  my  service  he  had  acted  as  such. 
Could  I  point  out  a  single  instance  in  which  he  had  failed  to  do  his 
duty  1  But  there  was  no  use  in  a  poor  fellow  who  had  met  with 
misfortune  trying  to  retrieve  himself:  he  began  to  cry  when  he  said 
this,  and  spoke  so  naturally  that  I  was  almost  inclined  to  swear 
that  I  had  seen  him  under  us  all  night  in  the  pit  of  the  theatre. 

There  was  no  evidence  against  him ;  and  this  good  man  was 
discharged,  both  from  the  Police  Office  and  from  our  service,  where 
he  couldn't  abear  to  stay,  he  said,  now  that  his  Hhonour  was 
questioned.  And  Mrs.  Budge  believed  in  his  innocence,  and  per- 
sisted in  turning  off  the  cook  and  housemaid,  who  she  was  sure 
had  stolen  her  money ;  nor  was  she  quite  convinced  of  the 
contrary  two  years  after,  when  Mr.  Abershaw  and  Mrs.  Colonel 
Ajax  were  both  transported  for  forgery. 


THOUGHTS    OF   A    NEW    COMEDY 

(being    a    letter    from    MR.    J S    PLUSH    TO    A    FRIEND) 

Whell  of  Fortune  Baer, 

Jenyoury  tiventy-Jith. 

MY  DEAR  RINCER,— Me  and  Mary  Hann  was  very  much 
pleased  with  the  box  of  feznts  and  woodcox,  which  you  sent 
us,  both  for  the  attention  which  was  dellygit,  and  because 
the  burds  was  imcommon  good  and  full  of  fiaviour.  Some  we  gev 
away  :  some  we  hctt :  and  I  leave  you  to  emadgin  that  the  Mann 


172         MISCELLANEOUS    CONTRIBUTIONS 

as  sent  era  will  holways  find  a  glass  of  somethink  comforable  in  our 
Barr ;  and  I  hope  youll  soon  coine  back  to  London,  Rincer,  my  boy. 
Your  acount  of  the  Servants'  all  festivvaties  at  Fitzbattleaxe  Castle, 
and  your  dancing'  Sir  Rodjydycovyly  (I  dont  know  how  to  spell  it) 
witli  Lady  Hawguster,  eniused  Mary  Hann  very  much.  That 
sottathing  is  very  well — onst  a  year  or  so  :  but  in  my  time  I  thought 
tlie  fun  liidnt  begin  until  the  great  folks  had  gone  away.  Give  my 
kind  suvvices  to  Mrs.  Lupin,  and  tell  Munseer  Beshymell  with  my 
and  Mary  Hann's  best  wishes,  that  our  little  Fanny  can  play  several 
tunes  on  his  i)ianner.      Conips  to  old  Coachy. 

Till  parlyniint  nothink  is  stirring,  and  theres  no  noose  to  give 
you  or  till  my  slieat — igsept  (and  I  dessay  this  will  surprize  you) — 
igsept  I  talk  about  the  new  Play. 

Although  Im  not  genly  a  patternizer  of  the  Drammer,  which  it 
interfears  very  much  with  my  abbits  and  ixpeshly  is  not  plesnt 
dareckly  after  dinner  to  set  hoff  to  a  cold  theayter  for  a  middle- 
Hage  Mann,  who  likes  to  take  things  heazy  ;  yet,  my  dear  feller,  I  do 
from  time  to  time  step  in  (witli  a  border)  to  the  walls  of  tlie  little 
Aymarket  or  Old  Dewry,  sometimes  to  give  a  treat  to  Mrs.  Jeames 
and  the  youngnns,  sometimes  to  wild  away  a  hidle  hour  when  shes 
outatown  or  outateraper  (which  sometimes  will  ocur  in  the  best 
reglated  fiimlies  you  know)  or  wlien  some  private  mellumcolly  or 
sorrer  of  my  own  is  a  hagitating  hof  me. 

Yesdy  evening  it  was  none  of  these  motifs  which  injuiced  me  to- 
go  to  the  theayter — I  had  heard  there  was  a  cominady  jest  brought 
out,  inwolving  the  carrickter  of  our  profession — that  profeshn  which 
you  and  me,  Mr.  Rincer,  did  onst  belong  to.  I'm  not  above  that 
profeshn ;  I  ave  its  liintarests  and  Honor  at  art :  and  of  hevery 
man  tliat  wears  the  Plush,  I  say  that  Mann  is  my  Brother — (not 
that  I  need  be  phondcr  of  him  for  that ;  on  the  contry,  I  recklect 
at  our  school  where  I  lunt  the  fust  rules  of  athography  and  grammer, 
the  Brothers  were  holwis  a  pitchen  into  each  other) — but  in  fine,  I 
love  the  Plush  of  hold  days,  and  hah  !  I  regret  that  hold  Father 
Time  is  doing  somethink  to  my  Air,  which  wightns  it  mora 
pumminantly  than  the  Powder  which  once  I  war ! 

A  commady,  sir,  has  been  brought  out  (which  Im  surprized  it 
aint  been  mentioned  at  my  Barr,  though  to  be  sure  mose  gents  is 
keeping  Grismass  Olydays  in  the  Country)  in  which  I  was  creddably 
informmed — one  of  bus — one  of  the  old  Plushes — why  should  I 
ezitate  to  say,  a  Footman,  forms  the  prinsple  drammitis-pursony. 
How  is  my  border  represented  on  the  British  Stage  I  hast  myself? 
Are  we  spoke  of  respeckful  or  otherwise  ?  Does  anybody  snear  at 
our  yoiniiform  or  purfeshn  1  I  was  determingd  to  see  ;  and  in  case 
of  hanythink  inslant  being  said  of  us,  I  took  a  key  with  me  in 


THOUGHTS    ON    A    NEW    COMEDY  173- 

border  to  iss  propply ;  and  bought  sevral  horringers  jest  to  make 
uce  of  em  if  I  sor  any  nesessati/. 

]\Iy  dear  Rincer.  I  greave  to  say,  that  though  there  was 
nothink  against  our  purfeshn  said  in  the  pease — and  thougli  the 
most  delligit  and  sensatif  footman  (and  Ive  known  no  men  of  more 
dellixy  of  feehn  and  sensabillaty  tlian  a  well-reglated  footman  is 
whether  hin  or  hout  of  hvry)  could  find  folt  with  the  kwr/uidffe  of 
the  New  Commady  of  "  Leap  Year,"  yet  its  prinsples  is  dangerous 
to  pubhck  maralaty,  as  likewise  to  our  beloved  purfeshn. 

The  plot  of  the  Pease  is  founderd  upon  a  hancient  Lor,  which 
the  Hauther,  Mr.  Buckstone,  discovvred  in  an  uncommon  hold  lx)ok, 
and  by  which  it  epears  that  in  Lip-Year  (or  whats  called  Bissixdile 
in  Istronnamy)  it  is  the  women  who  have  the  libbaty  of  choosing 
their  usbands,  and  not  as  in  hornary  times,  the  men  who  choose 
their  wives  (I  reckmend  you  old  feller  who  are  a  reglar  hold 
Batchylor,  to  look  out  in  the  Ormnack  for  Lip  Year,  and  kip  hout 
of  the  imy  that  year)  and  this  pragtice  must  be  common  anough  in 
Hengland,  for  a  commady  is  a  reprasentation  of  natur,  and  in  tliis 
one,  every  one  of  the  women  asts  every  one  of  the  men  to  marry  : 
igsept  one,  and  slie  asts  two  of  em. 

Onst  upon  a  time  there  was  an  old  genlmn  by  the  name  of 
Flowerdew  as  married  a  young  woman,  who  became  in  consquince 
Mrs.  Flora  Flowerdew.  She  made  this  hold  buck  so  Appy  during 
the  breaf  coarse  of  his  meddrimonial  career,  that  he  left  a  will, 
bordering  her  to  marry  agin  before  three  years  was  over,  failing 
vich,  hevary  shillin  of  his  proppaty  should  go  to  his  nex  Hair. 
Aving  maid  these  destimentry  erangements  hold  Flowerdew  died. 
Peace  be  to  his  Hashes  ! 

His  widder  didnt  cry  much  (for  betwigst  you  and  me  F.  must 
have  been  rayther  a  silly  old  feller),  but  lived  on  in  a  genteal 
manner  in  a  house  somewhere  in  the  drecshon  of  Amstid  I  should 
think,  entertaining  her  trends  like  a  lady  :  and  like  a  lady  she  kep 
her  coachman  and  groom  :  had  her  own  maid,  a  cook  &  housemaid 
of  coarse,  a  yjage  and  a  MANN. 

If  /  had  been  a  widder  I  would  have  choas  a  Man  of  a  better 
Ithe,  than  Mrs.  Flowerjew  did.  Nothink  becomes  a  footman  so 
much  as  Ithe.  Its  that  which  dixtinguidges  us  from  the  wulgar, 
and  I  greave  to  say  in  this  pedicklar  the  gentleman  as  hacted  Villiam 
Valker,  Mrs.  F's  man,  was  sadly  defishnt.  •  He  was  respeckble,' 
quiet,  horderly,  hactive — but  his  figger  I  must  say  was  no  go.  You 
and  me  Rincer  ave  seen  footmen  and  know  whats  the  proper  sort — 
seen  em  1  Hah,  what  men  there  was  in  hour  time !  Do  you 
recklect  Bill  the  Maypole  as  was  with  us  at  Lord  Ammersmiths  ? 
What  a  chap  that  was !  what  a  leg  he  ad  !     The  young  men  are 


174         MISCELLANEOUS    CONTRIBUTIONS 

not  like  us,  Tom  Rincer, — but  I  am  tliwerging  from  my  tail,  which 
I  reshume. 

I  diddnarive  at  the  commensment  of  the  drammcr  (for  their 
■was  a  Purty  a  settling  his  skower  in  my  Barr  which  kep  me  a 
cumsederable  time),  but  when  I  hentered  the  theaytre  I  fown 
myself  in  presnts  of  Mr.  &  Mrs.  C.  Kean  in  a  droring-roomb, 
Mrs.  K.  at  a  tabble  pertending  to  right  letters,  or  to  so  ankyshuffs, 
or  somethink,  Mr.  K.  a  clasping  his  &s,  a  rowling  his  his,  and  a 
quoating  poatry  &  Byrom  and  that  sort  of  thing  like  anythink. 

Mrs.  Kean,  she  was  the  widdo,  and  Mr.  K.  he  was  Villiam 
the  man.  He  wasnt  a  Buttler  dear  Rincer  like  U.  He  wasnt 
groom  of  tlie  Chimbers  like  Mr.  Mewt  at  my  Lords  (to  whomb 
my  best  complymince),  he  wasnt  a  mear  footman,  he  wasnt  a 
page :  but  he  was  a  mixter  of  all  4.  He  had  trowzies  like  a  page 
with  a  red  strip  ;  he  had  a  coat  like  a  Hunndress  John  ;  he  had  the 
helegant  mistary  of  Mr.  Mewt,  and  tliei-e  was  a  graceful  abanding 
and  a  daggijay  hair  al^out  him  which  I  whish  it  was  more  adopted 
in  our  pvu'feshn. 

Haltho  in  hour  time,  dear  Rincer,  we  didn  quoat  Byrom  and 
Shikspyer  in  the  droring-room  to  the  ladies  of  the  famly,  praps 
things  is  haltered  sins  the  marge  of  hintalect,  and  the  young 
Jeamses  do  talk  potry. — Well,  for  sevral  years,  during  which  he 
had  been  in  Mrs.  F.'s  service.  Walker  had  been  goin  on  in  this 
manner,  and  it  was  heasy  at  once  to  see  at  the  very  hopening  of 
the  pease,  from  the  manner  of  missis  and  man,  that  there  was 
more  than  the  common  sewillaties  of  a  lady  and  a  genlman  in 
livary  goin  on  between  em,  and  in  one  w^ord  that  they  w^ere 
pashintly  in  love  with  each  other.  This  wont  surprize  you, 
Rincer,  my  boy ;  and  in  the  coarse  of  my  expearance  I  might  tell 
a  story  or  two — 0  Lady  Harabellar ;  but  Honor  forbids,  and  Im 
mumm. 

Several  shutors  come  to  wlioo  the  widow ;  but  none,  and  no 
great  wonder,  have  made  an  impreshn  on  her  heart.  One  she 
takes  as  a  husband  on  trial — and  he  went  out  to  dinner  on  the 
very  fust  day  of  his  apprentiship,  and  came  home  intogsicated. 
Another  whomb  she  would  not  have,  a  Captain  in  the  Harmy, 
pulls  out  a  bill  when  she  refuses  him,  and  requestes  her  to  pay  for 
his  loss  of  time,  and  the  clothes  he  has  bordered  in  border  to 
captiwate  her.  Finely  the  piece  hends  by  the  widdo  proposing  to 
William  Walker,  her  servant,  and  marrying  that  pusson. 

I  don't  hask  whether  widdos  take  usbands  on  trial.  I  do  not 
pores  to  inquier  whether  Cap  tings  send  in  bills  of  costs  for  courtship, 
or  igsamming  other  absuddaties  in  this  Commady.  I  look  at  it 
purfeshnly,  and  I  look  at  it  gravely,  Rincer.     Hand  I  can't  help 


THE    SIGHTS    OF    LONDON  175 

seeing   that   it   is   dangerous    to    our   border,    and    subwussive   of 
domestic  maralaty. 

I  say  tlieres  a  Prinsple  in  a  bonist  footman  which  should  make 
him  purtest  and  rewolt  aginst  such  doctorings  as  these.  A  fatle 
pashn  may  hapn  hany  day  to  hany  Maun ;  as  a  cbimbly-pott  may 
drop  on  bis  head,  or  a  homnibus  drive  hover  him.  We  cant  help 
falUng  in  love  with  a  line  woman — we  are  men  :  we  are  fine  men 
praps  ;  and  praps  she  retiu-ns  our  harder.  But  wbats  the  use  of 
it  ?  There  can  be  no  marridges  between  footmen  and  families  in 
which  they  live.  There's  a  Lor  of  Natur  against  it,  and  it  should 
be  wrote  in  the  prayer-books  for  the  use  of  Johns  that  a  man  may 
not  marry  his  Missus — If  this  kind  of  thing  was  to  go  on  hoften, 
there  would  be  an  end  to  domestic  life.  John  would  be  holways 
up  in  the  droring-room  courting :  or  Miss  would  be  for  hever  down 
in  the  pantry  :  you'd  get  no  whirk  done.  How  could  he  clean  his 
plate  propply  with  Miss  holding  one  of  his  ands  sittin  on  the  knife 
bord  1  It's  impawsable.  ,We  may  marry  in  other  families  but  not 
in  our  hown.  We  have  each  our  spears  as  we  have  each  our  Bells. 
Theirs  is  the  fust  flor  ;  hours  is  the  basemint.  A  man  who  marris 
his  JNIissis  hingers  his  pmfeshnal  bruthering.  I  would  cut  that 
Man  dedd  who  married  his  Missis.  I  would  blackbawl  him  at  the 
clubb.  Let  it  oust  git  abroad  that  we  do  so,  and  famlies  will  leave 
off  iring  footmen  haltogether  and  be  weighted  upon  by  maids,  which 
the  young  ladies  cant  marry  them,  and  I  leave  you  to  say  whether 
the  purfeshn  isnt  a  good  one,  and  whether  it  woodnt  be  a  pity  to 
spoil  it  — Yours  hever,  my  dear  Eincer,  J.  P. 

To  ]\Ir.  Rincer,  ' 

at  the  Duke  of  Fitzbattleaxes, 

Fitzbattleaxe  Castle,  Flintshire. 


THE   SIGHTS    OF   LONDON 

SIR, — I  am  a  country  gentleman,  infirm  in  health,  stricken  in 
years,  and  only  occasionally  visiting  the  metropolis,  of  which 
the  dangers,  and  the  noise  and  the  crowds,  are  somewhat  too 
much  for  my  quiet  nerves.  But  at  this  season  of  Easter,  having 
occasion  to  come  to  London,  where  my  son  resides,  I  was  induced 
to  take  his  carriage  and  his  five  darling  children  for  a  day's  sight- 
seeing. And  of  sight-seeing  I  have  had,  sir,  enough,  not  for  a  day, 
but  for  my  whole  life. 

My  son's  residence  is  in  the  elegant  neighbourhood  of  P-rtm-n 


176         MISCELLANEOUS    CONTRIBUTIONS 

Square  ;  and  taking  his  carriage,  of  which  both  the  horse  and  driver 
are  i)erfectly  steady  and  past  tlie  prime  of  life,  our  first  visit  was 
to  the  Tenebrorama,  in  the  Regent's  Park,  where  I  was  told  some 
neat  paintings  were  exhibited,  and  I  could  view  some  scenes  at 
least  of  foreign  countries  without  the  danger  and  ftxtigue  of  personal 
travel.  I  paid  my  money  at  the  entrance  of  the  building,  and 
entered  with  my  unsuspicious  little  charges  into  the  interior  of  the 
building.  Sir,  it  is  like  the  entrance  to  the  Eleusinian  mysteries, 
or  what  I  have  been  given  to  understand'  is  the  initiation  into 
Freemasonry.  We  plunged  out  of  the  light  into  such  a  profound 
darkness,  that  my  darling  Anna  Maria  instantly  began  to  cry.  We 
felt  we  were  in  a  chamber,  sir,  dimly  creaking  and  moving  under- 
neath us — a  horrid  sensation  of  sea-sickness  and  terror  overcame 
us,  and  I  was  almost  as  frightened  as  my  poor  innocent  Anna 
Maria. 

The  first  thing  we  saw  was  a  ghastly  view  of  a  church — the 
Cathedral  of  Saint  Sepulchre's,  at  Jericho,  I  believe  it  was  called 
—a  dreary  pile,  with  not  a  soul  in  it,  not  so  much  as  a  pew-opener 
or  verger  to  whom  one  could  look  for  refuge  from  the  dismal 
solitude.  Sir,  I  don't  care  to  own  I  am  frightened  at  being  in  a 
church  alone ;  I  was  once  locked  up  in  one  at  the  age  of  thirteen, 
having  fallen  asleeji  during  the  sermon ;  and  though  I  have  never 
seen  a  ghost,  they  are  in  my  family  :  my  grandmother  saw  one.  I 
hate  to  look  at  a  great  ghastly,  naked  edifice  paved  with  gravestones, 
and  surrounded  with  epitaphs  and  death's  heads,  and  I  own  that 
I  thought  a  walk  in  the  Park  would  have  been  more  cheerful 
than  this. 

As  we  looked  at  tlie  picture,  the  dreary  church  became  more 
dreary  ;  the  shadows  of  night  (by  means  of  curtains  and  contrivances, 
which  I  heard  in  the  back  part  of  the  mystery  making  an  awful 
flapping  and  pulling)  fell  deeply  and  more  terribly  on  the  scene. 
It  grew  pitch  dark  ;  my  poor  little  ones  clung  convulsively  to  my 
knees  ;  an  organ  commenced  playing  a  dead  march — it  was  midnight 
— tapers  presently  began  to  flicker  in  the  darkness — the  organ  to 
moan  more  dismally — and  suddenly,  by  a  hideous  optical  delusion, 
the  church  was  made  to  appear  as  if  full  of  people,  the  altar  was 
lighted  up  with  a  mortuary  illumination,  and  the  dreadful  monks 
were  in  their  stalls. 

I  have  been  in  churches.  I  have  thought  the  sermon  long. 
I  never  thought  the  real  service  so  long  as  that  painted  one  which 
I  witnessed  at  the  Tenebrorama.  My  dear  children  whispered, 
"Take  us  out  of  this  place,  Grandpapa."  I  would  have  done  so. 
I  started  to  get  up  (the  place  being  now  dimly  visible  to  our  eyes, 
accustomed  to  the   darkness,   and   disclosing  two   other  wretches 


THE    SIGHTS    OF    LONDON  177 

looking  on  in  the  twilight  besides  ourselves) — I  started,  I  say,  to 
get  up,  when  the  cliamber  began  to  move  again,  and  I  sank  back 
on  my  seat,  not  daring  to  stir. 

Tlie  next  view  we  saw  was  the  Summit  of  Mount  Ararat,  I 
believe,  or  else  of  a  mountain  in  Switzerland,  just  before  dawn.  I 
can't  bear  looking  down  from  mountains  or  heights ;  when  taken 
to  Saint  Paul's  by  my  dear  mother  as  a  child,  I  had  well-nigh 
fainted  when  brought  out  into  the  outer  gallery ;  and  this  view  cf 
Mount  Ai-arat  is  so  dreadful,  so  lonely,  so  like  nature,  that  it  was 
all  I  could  do  to  prevent  myself  from  dashing  down  the  peak  and 
plunging  into  the  valley  below.  A  storm,  the  thunderous  rumble 
of  which  made  me  run  cold,  the  fall  of  an  avalanche  destroying  a 
village,  some  lightning,  and  an  eclipse  I  believe  of  the  sun,  were 
introduced  as  ornaments  to  this  picture,  which  I  would  as  lief  see 
again  as  undergo  a  nightmare. 

More  dead  than  alive,  I  took  my  darling  children  out  of  the 
place,  and  tenderly  embraced  them  when  I  was  out  of  the  door. 

Tlie  Haidorama  is  next  by,  and  my  dear  little  third  grandchild 
insisted  upon  seeing  it.  Sir,  we  unsuspecting  ones  went  into  the 
place,  and  saw —  what  do  you  think  1 — the  Earthquake  of  Lisbon  ! 
Ships  were  tossed  and  dashed  aliout  the  liver  before  us  in  a  fright- 
ful manner.  Convents  and  castles  toppled  down  before  our  eyes 
and  burst  into  flames.  We  heard  the  shrieks  of  the  mariners  in  the 
storm,  the  groans  of  the  nuserable  people  being  swallowed  up  or 
smaslied  in  the  rocking  reeling  ruins — tremendous  darkness,  lurid 
lightning  flashes,  and  the  awful  booming  of  thunderbolts  roared  in 
our  ears,  dazzled  our  eyes,  and  frightened  our  senses  so,  that  I  pro- 
test I  was  more  dead  than  alive  when  I  quitted  the  premises,  and 
don't  know  how  I  found  myself  in  my  carriage. 

We  were  then  driven  to  the  Zoological  Gardens,  a  place  which 
I  often  like  to  visit  (keeping  away  from  the  larger  beasts,  such  as 
the  bears,  who  I  often  fancy  may  jump  from  their  poles  upon 
certain  unoffending  Cliristians ;  and  the  howling  tigers  and  lions 
who  are  continually  biting  the  keepers'  heads  oft),  and  where  I  like 
to  look  at  the  monkeys  in  the  cages  (the  little  rascals  !)  and  the 
birds  of  various  plumage. 

Fancy  my  feelings,  sir,  when  I  saw  in  these  gardens — in  these 
gardens  frecjuented  by  nursery-maids,  mothers,,  and  children,  an 
immcjise  brute  of  an  elephant,  about  a  hundred  feet  high,  rushing 
about  with  a  wretched  little  child  on  his  back,  and  a  single  man 
vaiidy  endeavoui'ing  to  keep  him  back  !  I  uttered  a  shriek— I 
called  my  dear  children  round  about  me.  And  I  am  not  ashamed 
to  confess  it,  sir,  I  ran.  I  ran  for  refuge  into  a  building  hard  by, 
where  I  sa'v^ — ah,  sir  I  I  saw  an  immense  boa-constrictor  swallow- 


178         MISCELLANEOUS    CONTRIBUTIONS 

ing  a  live  rabbit — swallowing  a  live  rabbit,  sir,  and  looking  as  it 
he  would  have  swallowed  one  of  my  little  boys  afterwards.  Good 
heavens  !  sir,  do  we  live  in  a  Cliristian  country,  and  are  i)arents 
and  eliildreii  to  be  subjected  to  sights  like  these "? 

Our  next  visit — of  pleasure,  sir  !  bear  with  me  when  I  say 
pleasure — was  to  the  Waxwork  in  Baker  Street, — of  which  I  have 
only  to  say  that,  rather  than  be  left  alone  in  that  gallery  at  night 
with  those  statues,  I  would  consent  to  be  locked  up  with  one  of  the 
horrid  lions  at  the  Zoological  Gardens.  There  is  a  woman  in  black 
there  lying  on  a  sofa,  and  whose  breast  heaves — there  is  an  old.  man 

whose  head  is  always  slowly  turning  round — there  is  her  M y 

and  the  R-y-1  Children  looking  as  if  they  all  had  the  yellow  fever 
— sights  enough  to  terrify  any  Christian  I  should  think — sights 
which,  nevertheless,  as  a  man  and  a  grandfather,  I  did  not  mind 
undergoing. 

But  ray  second  boy.  Tommy,  a  prying  little  dare-devil,  full  of 
mischief,  must  insist  upon  our  going  to  what  he  called  the  reserved 
apartment,  where  Napoleon's  carriage  was,  he  said,  and  other 
curiosities.  Sir,  he  caused  me  to  pay  sixpences  for  all  the  party, 
and  introduced  me  to  what  ? — to  the  Chamber  of  Horrors,  sir  ! 
— they're  not  ashamed  to  call  it  so — they're  proud  of  the  frightful 
title  and  the  dreadful  exhibition — and  what  did  I  there  behold? — 
murderers,  sir, — murderers;  some  of  them  in  their  own  cold  blood 
— Robespierre's  head  off  in  a  plate — Marat  stuck  and  bleeding 
in  a  bath — Mr.  and  Mrs.  Manning  in  a  frightful  colloquy  with 
Courvoisier  and  Fieschi  about  the  infernal  machine — and  my  child, 
my  grandchild,  sir,  laughed  at  my  emotion  and  ridiculed  his  grand- 
father's just  terror  at  witnessing  this  hideous  scene  ! 

Jacky,  my  fifth,  is  bound  for  India — and  wished  to  see  the 
Overland  Journey  portrayed,  which,  as  I  also  am  interested  in  the 
future  progress  of  that  darling  child,  I  was  anxious  to  behold.  We 
came  into  the  Exhibition,  sir,  just  at  the  moment  when  the  Simoom 
was  represented.  Have  you  ever  seen  a  simoom,  sir?  Can  you 
figure  to  yourself  what  a  simoom  is  % — a  tornado  of  sand  in  which 
you  die  before  you  can  say  Jack  Robinson ;  in  which  camels,  horses,, 
men  are  swept  into  death  in  an  instant — and  this  was  the  agreeable 
sight  which,  as  a  parent  and  a  man,  I  was  called  upon  to  witness  ! 
Shuddering,  and  calling  my  little  charges  around  me,  I  cpiitted 
Waterloo  Place,  and  having  treated  the  dear  beings  to  a  few  bims 
in  the  Haymarket,  conducted  them  to  their  last  place  of  amusement, 
viz.,  the  Panorama,  in  Leicester  Place. 

Ah,  sir  !  of  what  clay  are  mortals  supposed  to  be  made,  that 
they  can  visit  that  exhibition  %  Dreams  I  have  had  in  my  life,  but 
as  that  view  of  the  Arctic  Regions  nothing  so  terrible.*    My  blood 


THE    LION-HUNTRESS    OF    BELGRAVIA     179 

freezes  as  I  think  of  tliat  frightful  summer  even — but  what  to  say 
of  the  winter  1  By  heavens,  sir !  I  could  not  face  the  sight — the 
icy  picture  of  eternal  snow — the  livid  northern  lights,  the  killing 
glitter  of  the  stars ;  the  wretched  mariners  groi)ing  about  in  the 
snow  round  the  ship  ;  they  causetl  in  me  such  a  shudder  of  surprise 
and  fright,  that  I  don't  blush  to  own  I  popped  down  the  curtain 
after  one  single  peep,  and  would  not  allow  my  children  to  witness  it. 
Are  others  to  be  so  alarmed,  so  misled,  so  terrified?  I  beseech  all 
people  who  have  nerves  to  pause  ere  they  go  sight-seeing  at  the  pre- 
sent day;  and  remain,  your  obedient  servant,         Goliah  Muff. 


THE    LION-HUNTRESS    OF   BELGRAVIA; 

BEING    LADY    NIMROD'S    JOURNAL    OF    THE    PAST    SEASON 


WHEN  my  husband's  father,  Sir  John  Nimrod,  died,  after 
sixteen  years'  ill-health,  which  ought  to  have  killed  a 
dozen  ordinary  baronets,  and  which  I  bore,  for  my  part, 
with  angelic  patience,  we  came  at  length  into  the  property  which 
ought,  by  rights,  to  have  been  ours  so  long  before  (otherwise,  I  am 
sure,  I  would  never  have  married  Nimrod,  or  gone  through  eighteen 
years  of  dulness  and  comparative  poverty  in  second-rate  furnished 
houses,  at  home  and  abroad),  and  at  length  monte  \l  my  maison  in 
London.  I  married  Nimrod  an  artless  and  beautiful  young  woman, 
as  I  may  now  say  without  vanity,  for  I  have  given  up  all  claims 
to  youth  or  to  personal  appearance  ;  and  am  now  at  the  mezzo  of 
the  path  of  nostra  vita,  as  Dante  says :  having  no  pretensions  to 
flirt  at  all,  and  leaving  that  frivolous  amusement  to  the  young  girls. 
I  made  great  sacrifices  to  marry  Nimrod  :  I  gave  up  for  liim  Captain 
(now  General)  Flather,  the  handsomest  man  of  his  time,  who  was 
ardently  attached  to  me ;  Mr.  Pyx,  then  tutor  to  the  Earl  of 
Noodlebury,  but  now  Lord  Bishop  of  Bullocksmithy ;  and  many 
more  whom  I  need  not  name,  and  some  of  whom,  I  dare  say,  have 
never  forgiven  me  for  jilting  them,  as  they  call  it.  But  how  could 
I  do  otherwise  ?  Mamma's  means  were  small.  Who  could  suppose 
tliat  a  captain  of  dragoons  at  Brigliton,  or  a  nobleman's  tutor  and 
ihaplain  (who  both  of  them  adored  me  certainly),  would  ever  rise 
to  their  present  eminent  positions?  And  I  therefore  sacrificed 
myself  and  my  inclinations,  as  every  well-nurtured  and  highly 
■  14 


180         MISCELLANEOUS    CONTRIBUTIONS 

principled  girl  will,  and  became  Mrs.  Nimrod  — remaining  Mrs. 
Nimrod — plain  Mrs.  Nimrod,  as  Mr.  Grimstone  said — for  eighteen 
years.  What  I  suttered  no  one  can  tell.  Nimrod  has  no  powers 
-of  conversation,  and  I  am  all  soul  and  genius.  Nimrod  cares  neither 
for  jioetry,  nor  for  company,  nor  for  science,  and  without  geology, 
without  poesy,  without  society,  life  is  a  blank  to  me.  Provided 
he  could  snooze  at  home  witli  the  children,  poor  N.  was  (and  is) 
happy.  But  ah  !  could  their  innocent  and  often  foolish  conversa- 
tion sutRce  to  a  woman  of  my  poAvers  1  I  was  wretcliedly  deceived, 
it  must  be  owned,  in  my  marriage,  but  what  mortal  among  us  has 
not  his  or  her  tracaaseries  and  desillusionnements  ?  Had  I  any 
idea  that  the  old  Sir  John  Nimrod  would  have  clung  to  life  with 
such  uncommon  tenacity,  I  might  now  have  been  the  occupant  of 
the  palace  of  Bullocksmithy  (in  place  of  poor  Mrs.  Pyx,  who  is  a 
vulgar  creature),  and  not  the  mistress  of  my  house  in  Eaton  Crescent, 
and  of  Hornby  Hall,  Cumberland,  where  poor  Sir  Charles  Nimrod 
generally  lives,  shut  up  with  his  gout  and  his  children. 

He  does  not  come  up  to  London,  nor  is  he  fait  jiour  y  briller. 
My  eldest  daughter  is  amiable,  but  she  has  such  frightful  red  hair 
that  I  really  could  not  bring  her  into  the  world ;  the  boys  are  with 
their  tutor  and  at  Eton ;  and  as  I  was  born  for  society,  I  am  bound 
to  seek  for  it  alone.  I  pass  eight  months  in  London,  and  the 
remainder  at   Baden,    or   at   Brighton,  or  at   Paris.      We  receive 

company  at  Hornby  for  a  fortnight  when  I  go.     Sir  C N 

■does  not  trouble  himself  much  with  London  or  mon  monde.  He 
moves  about  my  saloons  without  a  word  to  say  for  himself;  he 
asked  me  whether  Dr.  Buckland  was  a  poet,  whether  Sir  Sidney 
Smith  was  not  an  Admiral ;  he  generally  over  eats  and  drinks 
himself  at  the  house-dinners  of  his  clubs,  being  a  member  of  both 
Snooker's  and  Toodle's,  and  returns  home  after  six  weeks  to  his 
stupid  Cumberland  solitudes.  Thus  it  will  be  seen  that  my  lot  in 
life  as  a  domestic  character  is  not  a  happy  one.  Born  to  briller  in 
society,  I  had  the  honour  of  singing  on  the  table  at  Brighton  before 
the  epicure  George  the  Fourth  at  six  years  of  age.*  What  was 
the   use  of  sliiniug  under  such  a  bushel  as  poor  dear  Sir  C— : — 

N ?     There  are  some  of  us  gifted  but  unfortunate  beings  whose 

lot  is  the  world.  We  are  like  the  Wanderer  in  my  dear  friend 
Eugene  k?ue's  elegant  novel,  to  whom  Fate  says,  "  Marche,  marche:" 
for  us  pilgrims  of  society  there  is  no  rest.  The  Bellairs  have  been 
a  fated  race  :  dearest  mamma  dropped  down  in  the  tea-rooms  at 
Almack's,  and  was  carried  home  paralysed ;  I  have  ^leard  that 
papa  (before  our  misfortunes,  and  wlien  he  lived  at  Castle  Bellairs, 

*  It  was  not  before  George  the  Fourth,  but  before  the  Prince  of  Wales,  that 
Lady  Nimrod,  then  Miss  Bellairs,  performed  at  the  Pavilion. 


THE    LION-HUNTRESS    OF    BELGRAVIA     181 

and  in  Rutland  Square,  never  dined  alone  for  twenty-seven  years 
and  three-quarters,  and  rather  than  be  without  company  he  would 
sit  and  laugh  and  quaff  with  the  horrid  V)ailifFs  who  often 
arrested  him. 

I  am  a  creature  of  the  worldj  then  ;  I  cannot  help  my  nature. 
The  Eagle  (the  crest  of  the  Bellairs)  flies  to  the  dazzling  sun, 
while  the  "  moping  owl "  prefers  the  stupid  darkness  of  the 
thicket. 

They  call  me  the  Lion-Huntress.  I  own  that  I  love  the  society 
of  the  distinguished  and  the  gi-eat.  A  mere  cultivator  of  frivolous 
fashion,  a  mere  toady  of  the  great,  I  despise  ;  but  genius,  but  poetry, 
but  talent,  but  scientific  reputation,  but  humour,  but  eccentricity 
above  all  I  adore.  I  have  opened  my  salons  now  for  several 
seasons.  Everybody  of  note  who  has  been  in  our  metropolis  I  have 
received, — the  great  painters,  the  great  poets  and  sculptors  (dear 
dear  sculptures,  I  adore  them  !)  the  great  musicians  and  artists,  the 
great  statesmen  of  all  the  great  countries,  the  great  envoys,  the 
great  missionaries,  the  gi-eat  generals,  the  great  erer^ybodies  have 
honoured  the  reunions  of  Clementina  Nimrod.  I  have  had  at  the 
same  dinner  the  wise  and  famous  Monsieur  Doctrinaire  (and  was  in 
hopes  he  would  have  come  to  me  in  the  footman's  suit  in  which  he 
escaped  from  Paris ;  but  he  only  came  with  his  Golden  Fleece,  his 
broad  ribbon  of  the  Legion  of  Honour,  and  eighteen  orders),  Signor 
Bombardi  the  Roman  tribune,  General  Prince  Rubadubsti  the 
Russian  General,  and  dear  Tarboosh  Pasha,  -who  was  converted  to 
Islamism  after  his  heroic  conduct  in  Hungary.  I  have  had  Monsieur 
Sansgene,  the  eminent  socialist  refugee ;  Rabbi  Jehoshaphat,  from 
Jerusalem ;  the  Archbishop  of  Mealypotatoes,  n?  2'artibns  inMelnim, 
and  in  purple  stockings  ;  Brother  Higgs,  the  Mormon  Prophet ;  and 
ray  own  dear  Bishop  of  Bullocksmithy,  who  has  one  of  the  prettiest 
ankles  and  the  softest  hands  in  England,  seated  round  my  lowly 
board.  I  have  had  that  darhng  Colonel  Milstone  Reid,  the  decipherer 
of  the  Babylonish  inscriptions  ;  the  eminent  Professor  Htidwinck,  of 
Halle,  author  of  those  extraordinary  "  Hor«  Antediluvians^,"  and 
"The  History  of  the  Three  Hundred  First  Sovereigns  of  the  Fourth 
Preadamite  Period  ; "  and  Professor  Blenkinhoi-n  (who  reads  your 
handwriting  in  that  wonderful  way,  you  know,  for  thirteen  stamps) 
round  one  tea-table  in  one  room  in  my  house.  I  have  had  the  hero 
of  Acre,  the  hero  of  Long  Acre,  and  a  near  relation  of  Greenacre  at 
the  same  soiree  ;  and  I  am  not  ashamed  to  own,  that  when  during 
his  trial  the  late  atrocious  Mr.  Rawhead,  confiding  in  his  acquittal, 
wrote  to  order  a  rump  and  dozen  at  the  inn,  I  was  so  much  deceived 
by  the  barefaced  wretch's  protestations  of  innocence,  that  I  sent  him 
a  little  note,  requesting  the  honour  of  his  company  at  an  evening 


182         MISCELLANEOUS    CONTRIBUTIONS 

party  at  my  house.  He  was  found  justly  guilty  of  the  murder  of 
Mrs.  Tripes,  was  hanged,  and,  of  cour.se,  could  not  come  to  my 
party.  But  had  he  been  innocent,  what  shame  would  tliere  have 
been  in  my  receiving  a  man  so  certainly  remarkable,  and  wlio.se 
imdoubted  courage  (had  it  been  exerted  in  a  better  cause)  migiit 
have  led  him  to  do  great  things  1  Yes,  and  if  I  take  that  villa  at 
Fulliam  next  year,  I  hope  to  have  a  snug  Sunday  party  from  the 
Agapemone  for  a  game  at  hockey ;  when  I  hope  that  my  dear 
Bishop  of  Bullocksmithy  will  come. 

Indeed,  what  is  there  in  life  worth  living  for  but  the  enjoyment 
of  the  society  of  men  of  talent  and  celebrity  1  Of  the  mere  monde, 
you  know,  one  person  is  just  like  another.  Lady  A.  and  Lady  B. 
have  their  dresses  made  by  the  same  milliner,  and  talk  to  the  same 
pattern.  Lord  C.'s  whiskers  are  exactly  like  Mr.  D.'s,  and  their 
coats  are  the  same,  and  their  plaited  shirt-fronts  are  the  same,  and 
they  talk  about  the  same  things.  If  one  dines  with  E.,  or  F.,  or 
G.,  or  H.,  one  has  the  same  dinner  at  each  table ;  the  very  same 
soup,  entrees,  sweets,  and  ices,  interspersed  with  the  same  conver- 
sation carried  round  in  an  undertone.  If  one  goes  to  I.  House  or 
K.  House,  there  is  the  same  music — the  sanae  Mario  and  Lablache, 
the  same  Lablache  and  Mario.  As  for  friends  in  the  world,  we 
know  what  the)/  are,  stupid  frumps  and  family  connections,  who  are 
angry  if  they  are  not  invited  to  all  one's  parties,  who  know  and  tell 
all  one's  secrets,  who  spread  all  the  bad  stories  about  one  that  are 
true  or  half-true,  or  untrue ;  I  make  a  point,  for  my  part,  to  have  no 
friends.  I  mean,  nobody  who  shall  be  on  such  a  confidential  footing 
as  that  he  or  she  shall  presume  to  know  too  much  of  my  aftairs,  or 
that  I  shall  myself  be  so  fond  of,  that  I  should  miss  them  were  they 
to  be  estranged  or  to  die.  One  is  not  made,  or  one  need  not  be 
made,  to  be  uncomfortable  in  life  :  one  need  have  no  painful  sensa- 
tions about  anybody.  And  that  is  why  I  admire  and  am  familiar 
with  remarkable  people  and  persons  of  talent  only  ;  because,  if  they 
■die,  or  go  away,  or  bore  me,  I  can  get  other  people  of  talent  or 
remarkable  persons  in  their  place.  For  instance,  this  year  it  is 
the  Nepaulese  Princes,  and  Mile.  Vandermeer,  and  the  Hippo- 
potamus, one  is  interested  about ;  next  year  it  may  be  the  Chinese 
Ambassadors,  or  the  Pope,  or  the  Duke  of  Bordeaux,  or  who  knows 
who  ?  This  year  it  is  the  author  of  the  "  Memoriam  "  (and  a  most 
pleasing  poet),  or  Mr.  Cumming,  tlie  Lion-Hunter  of  South  Africa, 
or  that  dear  Prelude  ;  next  year,  of  course,  tliere  will  be  somebody 
else,  and  some  other  poems  or  deliglitful  works,  which  will  come 
in  ;  and  of  which  there  is  always  a  bountiful  and  most  providential 
and  blessed  natural  supply  with  every  succeeding  season. 

And  as  I  now  sit  calmly,  at  the  end  of  a  well-spent  season, 


THE    LION-HUNTRESS    OF    BELGRAVIA     183 

surveying  my  empty  apartments,  and  tliinking  of  tlie  many  interest- 
ing personages  who  have  passed  through  them,  I  cannot  but  think 
how  wise  my  course  has  been,  and  I  look  over  the  lists  of  my  lions 
with  pleasure.  Poor  Sir  C ,  in  the  same  way,  keeps  a  game- 
book,  I  know,  and  puts  down  the  hares  and  pheasants  which  he 
has  bagged  in  his  stupid  excursions,  and  if  that  strange  and  delight- 
ful bearded  hunter,  Mr.  Gumming  (wlio  was  off  for  Scotland  just 
when  I  went  to  his  charming  and  terrible  Exhiljition,  close  by  us  at 
Knightsbridge,  and  with  an  intimate  Scotch  nuitual  acquaintance, 
who  would  have  introduced  me,  when  I  should  have  numbered  in 
my  AVednesday  list  and  my  dinner-list  one  noble  lion  more) — if  Mr. 
Gumming,  I  say,  keeps  his  journal  of  springboks,  and  elephants  and 
sea-cows,  and  lions  and  monsters,  why  should  not  Clementina  Nimrod 
be  permitted  to  recur  to  her  Little  journals  of  the  sporting  season  % 


II 

CONTINUALLY  have  I  been  asked.  What  is  a  lion  %  A  lion 
is  a  man  or  woman  one  must  have  at  one's  parties — I  have 
no  other  answer  but  that.  One  has  a  man  at  one's  parties 
because  one  sees  him  at  everybody  else's  parties  ;  I  cannot  tell  you 
why.  It  is  the  way  of  tlie  world,  and  when  one  is  of  the  world, 
one  must  do  as  the  world  does. 

Vulgar  people,  and  persons  not  of  the  world,  nevertheless,  have 
their  little  parties  and  their  little  great  men  (the  foolish  absurd 
creatures  !),  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  at  any  little  lawyer's  wife's 
tea-table  in  Bloomsbury,  or  merchant's  heavy  mahogany  in  Portland 
Place,  our  manners  are  ludicrously  imitated,  and  that  these  i>eople 
show  otf  their  lions  just  as  we  do.  I  heard  Mr.  Grimstone  the 
otlier  night  telling  of  some  people  with  whom  he  had  been  dining, 
a  kind  who  are  not  in  society,  and  of  whom,  of  course,  one  has 
never  heard.  He  said  that  their  manners  were  not  unlike  ours  ; 
that  they  lived  in  a  very  comfortably  furnished  house ;  that  they 
had  tntrees  from  the  confectioner's,  and  that  kind  of  tiling  ;  and 
tliat  they  had  their  lions,  the  absurd  creatures,  in  imitation  of  us. 
Some  of  these  people  have  a  great  respect  for  the  peerage,  and 
Grimstone  says  that  at  tliis  house,  which  belongs  to  a  relative  of 
his,  they  never  consider  their  grand  dinners  complete  without  poor 
Lord  Muddlchead  to  take  the  lady  of  the  house  to  dinner.  Lord 
Muddlehead  never  speaks ;  but  drinks  unceasingly  dui-ing  dinner- 
time, and  is  tliere,  Grimstone  says,  that  the  host  may  have  the 
jileasure  of  calling  out  in  a  loud  voice,  and  the  liearing  of  his  twenty 


184  MISCELLANEOUS    CONTRIBUTIONS 

guests,  "  Lord  Muddleliead,  may  I  liave  the  honour  of  taking  ■\vine 
with  your  Lordship?" 

I  am  told  tliere  are  several  members  of  the  aristocraey  who 
let  themselves  out  to  be  dined,  as  it  were,  in  this  sad  way  ;  and 
do  not  dislike  tlie  })art  of  lion  which  they  ])lay  in  these  inferior 
houses. 

Well,  then? — what  must  we  acknowledge? — that  persons  not 
in  society  imitate  us ;  and  that  everybody  has  his  family  (;ircle  and 
its  little  lion  for  the  time  being.  With  us  it  is  Nelson  come  home 
from  winning  the  battle  of  Aboukir ;  with  others  it  is  Tom  Smith 
Avho  lias  gained  the  silver  sculls  at  the  rowing  match.  With  us 
it  is  a  Foreign  Minister,  or  a  Prince  in  exile ;  with  others  it  may 
be  Master  Thomas  who  has  just  come  from  Cambridge,  or  Mr.  and 
Mi"s.  Jones  who  have  just  been  on  a  tour  to  Paris.  Poor  creatures  1 
do  not  let  us  be  too  hard  on  them  !  People  may  not  be  in  society 
— and  yet,  I  dare  say,  mean  very  well.  I  have  found  in  steam- 
boats on  the  Rhine,  and  at  tahles-d'hote  on  the  Continent,  very 
well  informed  persons,  really  very  agreeable  and  well  mannered, 
with  wliom  one  could  converse  very  freely,  and  get  from  them  much 
valuable  information  and  assistance — and  who,  nevertheless,  were 
not  in  society  at  all.  These  people  one  does  not,  of  course,  recognise 
on  returning  to  this  country  (unless  they  happen  to  get  into  the 
world,  as  occasionally  they  do)  :  bdt  it  is  surprising  how  like  us 
many  of  them  are,  and  what  good  imitations  of  our  manners  they 
give. 

For  instance,  this  very  Mr.  Grimstone — Lady  Tollington  took 
him  up,  and,  of  course,  if  Lady  Tollington  takes  up  a  man  he  goes 
everywhere  —  four  or  five  years  ago  in  Germany  I  met  liim  at 
Wiesbaden ;  he  gave  me  up  his  bedroom,  for  the  inn  was  full,  and 
he  slept  on  a  billiard-table,  I  think,  aiid  was  very  good-natured, 
amusing,  and  attentive.  He  was  not  then  du  monde,  and  I  lost 
sight  of  him  :  for,  though  he  bowed  to  me  one  night  at  the  Opera, 
I  thought  it  was  best  not  to  encourage  him,  and  my  glass  would 
not  look  his  way.  But  when  once  received — difficulties  of  course 
vanished,  and  I  was  delighted  to  know  him. 

"0  Mr.  Grimstone!"  I  said,  "how  charmed  I  am  to  see  you 
among  us.  How  jileasant  you  must  be,  ain't  you?  I  see  you  Avere 
at  Lady  Tollington's  and  Lady  Trumpington's ;  and  of  course  you 
will  go  everywhere  :  and  will  you  come  to  my  Wednesdays  ? " 

"It  is  a  great  comfort.  Lady  Nimrod,"  Grimstone  said,  "to  be 
in  society  at  last — and  a  great  privilege.  You  know  that  ray 
relations  are  low,  that  my  father  and  mother  are  vulgar,  and  that 
until  I  came  into  the  monde,  I  had  no  idea  what  decent  manners 
were,  and  had  never  met  a  gentleman  or  a  lady  before  ? " 


THE    LION-HUNTRESS    OF    BELGRAVIA     185 

Poor  young  mau  !  Considering  his  disadvantages,  he  really  pro- 
nounces his  h's  very  decently ;  and  I  watched  him  all  through 
dinner-time,  and  he  behaved  quite  well.  Lady  Blinker  says  he  is 
satirical :  but  he  seems  to  me  simple  and  quiet. 

Mr.  Grimstone  is  a  lion  now.  His  speech  in  Parliament  made 
him  talked  about.  Directly  one  is  talked  about,  one  is  a  lion.  He 
is  a  Radical ;  and  his  principles  are,  I  believe,  horrid.  But  one 
must  have  him  to  one's  parties,  as  he  goes  to  Lady  Tollington's. 

There  is  nothing  which  I  dislike  so  much  as  the  illiberality  of 
some  narrow-minded  English  people,  who  want  to  judge  everything 
by  their  own  standard  of  morals,  and  are  squeamish  with  distin- 
guished foreigners  whose  nianners  do  not  exactly  correspond  with 
their  own.  Have  we  any  right  to  quarrel  with  a  Turkish  gentle- 
man because  he  has  three  or  four  wives'?  With  an  officer  of 
Austrian  Hussars,  because,  in  the  course  of  his  painful  duties,  he 
has  had  to  inflict  personal  punishment  on  one  or  two  rebellious 
Italian  or  Hungarian  ladies,  and  whip  a  few  little  boys  1  Does 
anybody  cut  Dr.  Hawtrey,  at  Eton,  for  correcting  the  boys  1 — ?«y 
sons,  I'm  sure,  would  be  the  better  for  a  little  more.  When  the 
Emperor's  aide-de-camj).  Count  Knoutoff,  was  in  tliis  country,  was 
he  not  perfectly  well  received  at  Court  and  in  the  very  first  circles '? 
It  gives  one  a  sort  of  thrill,  and  imparts  a  piquancy  and  flavour  to 
a  whole  party  when  one  has  a  lion  in  it  who  has  hanged  twenty-five 
Polish  colonels,  like  Count  Knoutoft';  or  shot  a  couple  of  hundred 
Carlist  officers  before  breakfast,  like  General  Garbanzos,  than  whom 
I  never  met  a  more  mild,  accomplished,  and  elegant  man.  I  should 
say  he  is  a  man  of  the  most  sensitive  organisation,  that  he  would 
shrink  from  giving  pain — he  has  the  prettiest  white  hand  I  ever 
saw,  except  my  dear  Bishop's ;  and,  besides,  in  those  countries  an 
officer  must  do  his  duty.  These  extreme  measures,  of  course,  are 
not  wliat  one  would  like  officers  of  one's  own  country  to  do  :  but 
consider  the  difference  of  the  education  of  foreigners  ! — and  also,  it 
must  be  remembered,  that  if  poor  dear  General  Garbanzos  did  shoot 
the  Carlists,  those  horrid  Carlists,  if  they  had  caught  him,  would 
certainly  have  shot  hi?n. 

In  the  same  way  about  remarkable  women  who  come  among  us 
— their  standard  of  propriety,  it  nuist  be  remembered,  is  not  ours, 
and  it  is  not  for  us  to  judge  them.  When  that  delightful  Madame 
Andria  came  amongst  us  (whom  Grimstone  calls  Polyandria,  though 
her  name  is  Ali)lionsine),  who  ever  thought  of  refusing  to  receive 
her?  Count  Andria  and  her  first  husband,  the  Baron  de  Frump, 
are  the  best  friends  imaginable ;  and  I  have  heard  that  the  Baron 
was  present  at  his  wife's  second  marriage,  wished  her  new  husband 
joy  with  all  his  heart,  and  danced  with  a  Royal  Princess  at  the 


186         MISCELLANEOUS    CONTRIBUTIONS 

wedding.  It  is  well  known  that  the  Prince  Gregory  Raganioffski, 
who  comes  out  of  Prussian  Pol;\nd — (wliere  I  hojie  Miss  Hulkor,  ot' 
Lombard  Street,  leads  a  liajipy  life,  and  finds  a  couronne  fernu'e  a 
consolation  for  a  bad  odious  husband,  an  uncomfortable  hide-and- 
seek  barn  of  a  palace  as  it  is  called,  and  a  hideous  part  of  the 
country)— I  say  it  is  well  known  that  Ragamoffski  was  married 
before  he  came  to  England,  and  that  he  made  a  separation  from  his 
Princess  a  Vaimahle ;  and  came  hither  expressly  for  an  lieires.-!. 
Who  minds  these  things  1  Ragamoffski  was  everywhere  in  London  ; 
and  there  were  Dukes  at  Saint  George's  to  sign  the  register ;  and  at 
the  breakfast  in  Hyde  Park  Gardens,  which  old  Hulker  gave,  with- 
out inviting  me,  by  the  way.  Thence,  I  say  it  ought  to  be  clear  to 
us  that  foreigners  are  to  be  judged  by  their  own  ways  and  habits, 
and  not  ours — and  that  idle  cry  which  people  make  against  some  of 
them  for  not  conforming  to  our  practices  ought  to  be  put  down  ! 
Cry  out  against  them,  indeed  !  Mr.  Grimstone  says,  that  if  the 
Emperor  Nero,  having  slaughtered  half  Christendom  the  week 
before,  could  come  to  England  with  plenty  of  money  in  his 
pocket,  all  London  would  welcome  him,  and  he  would  be  pressed 
at  the  very  first  houses  to  play  the  fiddle — and  that  if  Queen 
Catherine  of  Medicis,  though  she  had  roasted  all  the  Huguenots 
in  France,  had  come  over  afterwards  to  Mivart's,  on  a  visit  to 
Queen  Elizabeth,  the  very  best  nobility  in  the  country  would 
have  come  to  put  their  names  down  in  her  visiting-book. 


Ill 

AMONG  the  most  considerable  lions  who  have  figured  in  my 
menagerie,  I  may  mention  Bobbachy  Bahawder,  the  Prince 
'  of  Delhi,  who  came  over  on  a  confidential  mission,  from  His 
Imperial  Majesty  the  Emperor  Auruugzebe,  his  august  sovereign 
and  master.  No  soiree  was  for  some  time  complete  without  the 
Bobbachy.  Of  all  the  Orientals  who  have  visited  our  shores,  it  was 
agreed  that  he  was  the  most  witty,  interesting,  and  accomplished ; 
he  travelled  with  a  small  suite  of  Hookabadars,  Kitmutgars,  and 
Lascars ;  and  the  sensation  was  prodigious  which  was  occasioned 
by  the  intelligence,  that  the  distinguished  Envoy  had  it  in  command 
from  his  Imperial  master,  to  choose  out  from  among  the  beauties  of 
Britain  a  young  lady  who  would  not  object  to  become  Empress  of 
Delhi  in  place  of  the  late  lamented  wife  of  the  sovereign,  for  whose 
loss  his  Majesty  was  inconsolable.  It  was  only  after  he  had  been 
for  some  time  in  the  country,  that  this  the  real  object  of  his  mission 


THE    LION-HUNTEESS    OF    BELGRAVIA     187 

transpired :  for,  for  some  time,  the  Bobbachy  lived  in  the  most 
private  manner,  and  lie  was  not  even  presented  at  Court,  nor  asked 
to  a  turtle  dinner  by  the  East  India  Company.  In  fact,  some  of 
the  authorities  of  Leadeuhall  Street  said  that  the  Bobbachy  was  no 
more  an  Ambassador  than  you  or  I,  and  hinted  lie  was  an  impostor ; 
but  his  Excellency's  friends  knewljetter,  and  that  there  are  differ- 
ences of  such  a  serious  nature  between  the  East  India  Company 
and  the  Delhi  Emperor,  that  it  was  to  the  interest  of  the  Leadenhall 
Street  potentates  to  ignore  the  Bobbachy,  and  throw  all  the  dis- 
credit which  they  could  upon  the  Envoy  of  the  great,  widowed,  and 
injured  sovereign. 

Lady  Lynx  took  this  line,  and  would  not  receive  him ;  but  the 
manner  in  which  her  Ladyship  is  liee  with  some  of  those  odious 
directors,  and  the  way  in  which  she  begs,  borrows,  and,  as  /  believe, 
sells,  the  cadetships  and  writerships  which  she  gets  from  them,  is 
very  well  known.  She  did  everything  malice  and  envy  could 
suggest  to  bring  this  eminent  Asiatic  into  disrepute ;  she  said .  he 
was  not  a  Prince,  or  an  Envoy  at  all,  or  anything  but  a  merchant 
in  his  own  country ;  but  as  she  always  tries  to  sneer  at  my  lions, 
and  to  pooh-pooh  my  parties,  and  as  I  was  one  of  the  first  to 
welcome  the  distinguished  Bobbachy  to  this  country,  the  very  ill- 
will  and  envy  of  Lady  Lynx  only  made  me  the  more  confident  of 
the  quality  of  this  remarkable  person ;  and  I  do  not  blush  to  own 
that  I  was  among  the  first  to  welcome  him  to  our  shores.  I  asked 
people  to  meet  the  Ambassador  of  the  Emj)eror  of  Delhi.  That  I 
own,  and  that  he  denied  altogether  that  he  Avas  here  in  any  such 
capacity  ;  but  if  reasons  of  State  prevented  him  from  acknowledging 
his  rank,  that  was  no  reason  why  we  should  not  award  it  to  him ; 
and  I  was  proud  to  have  the  chance  of  presenting  his  Excellency  to 
society,  in  opposition  to  that  stupid  iniinteresting  Hungarian  General 
whom  Lady  Lynx  brought  out  at  the  same  time,  and  who,  to  the 
best  of  my  belief,  was  an  Irishman  out  of  Connaught,  for  he  spoke 
English  with  a  decided  Connemara  brogue. 

When  the  Bobbachy  first  came  to  this  country,  he  occupied 
humble  lodgings  in  Jermyn  Street,  and  lived  at  no  expense ;  but 
happening  to  be  staying  at  the  Star  and  Garter  at  Eichmond,  where 
he  one  day  came  to  dinner,  I  introduced  myself  to  him  in  the  hotel 
gardens ;  said  I  was  the  Lady  Nimro<l,  one  of  the  chiefs  of  English 
society,  of  whom  perhaps  he  had  heard,  and  tliat  I  should  be  glad 
to  do  anything  in  my  power  to  make  the  metropolis  welcome  for 
him,  and  introduce  him  into  the  best  company.  He  put  both  his 
hands  before  him  on  his  breast,  as  if  he  was  going  to  swim  at  me, 
Mr.  Grinistone  said,  and  made  me  a  most  elegant  bow ;  answering 
in  very  good  English  that  my  humble  name  and  the  reputation  of 


188          MISCELLANEOUS    CONTRIBUTIONS 

my  parties  had  often  formed  the  svdyeet  of  conversation  at  the 
Court  of  Delhi  and  throughout  the  East ;  and  tliat  it  was  a  white 
day  in  his  life  in  whieli  he  had  the  delight  to  see  the  countenance 
of  one  who  was  so  illustrious  for  l)cauty,  as  he  was  pleased  to  say  I 
was.  "  Ah  !  "  he  often  said  afterwards,  "  why  lias  Fate  disposed  so 
early  of  such  a  lovely  creature  1  What  a  lucky  individual  is  he  " 
(meaning  Nimrod)  "  who  possesses  such  a  pearl !  It  is  fit  to  be 
worn  in  an  Emperor's  turban,  and  I  must  not  speak  about  you  to 
my  master  or  show  your  portrait  to  him  unless  I  can  take  you  to 
him  ;  for  he  will  certainly,  when  I  get  back  to  Delhi,  chop  my 
head  off  from  rage  and  disappointment  at  my  returning  home 
witliout  you." 

This  speech,  though  Oriental,  at  least  shows  he  was  well  bred. 
As  for  my  marrying  the  Emperor,  that  is  out  of  the  question,  for 
Nimrod  is  alive  in  the  country,  and  we  have  no  means  of  pursuing 
your  Oriental  practices  of  bowstringing  here.  I  told  the  Bobbachy 
at  .once  that  the  Emperor  nuist  never  think  of  me,  must  never  be 
spoken  to  about  me,  and  that  I  must  live  and  die  an  English,  not 
an  Indian  lady.  But  this  was  in  after-times,  and  when  we  grew 
more  intimate  together.  Meanwhile  it  gave  me  great  pleasure  in 
introducing  into  the  world  this  amiable  and  polite  exotic. 

At  first,  as  I  have  said,  he  lived  in  a  very  humble  and  retired 
manner  in  Jermyn  Street.  When  I  called  upon  him  in  my  carriage 
with  my  footmen,  the  door  was  opened  by  a  maid  of  all  work, 
who  told  us  with  wonder  that  "  the  Injan  gent,"  as  she  called  him, 
lived  on  the  second-floor.  I  toiled  up  to  his  apartment  (how 
different  to  the  splendid  halls  and  alabaster  pillars  and  sparkling 
fountains  of  the  palaces  of  his  native  East !)  and  there  found  his 
Excellency  on  a  horsehair  sofa,  smoking  his  hookah.  I  insisted 
upon  taking  him  a  drive  into  the  Park.  It  happened  to  be  a  fine 
day,  and  there  was  a  throng  of  carriages,  and  most  eyes  were 
directed  towards  the  noble  stranger,  as  he  sat  by  my  side  in  the 
carriage  in  a  simple  Oriental  costume  with  a  turban  of  red  and 
gold.  I  would  have  taken  the  back  seat  and  have  let  him  sit 
cross-legged,  but  I  had  Miss  Higgs,  my  companion,  and  Fido  on 
the  back  seat.  I  mentioned  everywhere  who  he  was,  took  him  to 
the  Opera  that  night,  and  had  him  at  my  Wednesday,  with  a  2)etit 
diner  diosi  to  meet  him. 

He  had  not  been  at  Court  as  yet,  nor  with  the  East  India 
Company,  for  the  reasons  I  have  stated ;  until  the  presents  for 
her  Majesty,  with  which  the  Burrumpooter  East  Indiaman 
was  loaded,  had  reached  London — presents  consisting  of  the  most 
valuable  diamonds,  shawls,  elephants,  and  other  choice  specimens 
of  Oriental  splendour — had  arrived  in  the  East  India  Docks,  it  was 


THE    LION-HUNTRESS    OF    BELGRAVIA      189 

not  etiquette  for  him  to  present  himself  before  the  sovereign  of  this 
country.  Hence  his  quiet  retreat  in  his  Jermyn  Street  lodgings  ; 
and  he  laughed  at  the  audacity  of  the  landlord  of  the  odious  house. 
"  Landlord,"  he  said,  "  lie  think  me  rogue.  Landlord  he  send  nie 
bill.  Landlord  he  tliink  Bobbachy  Bahawder  not  pay.  Stop  till 
Burrumpuoter  come,  then  see  whether  landlord  not  go  down  on 
his  knee  before  the  Emperor's  Ambassador."  Indeed  his  Excellency 
had  arrived  with  only  two  attendants,  by  the  steamer  and  tlie 
overland  route,  leaving  the  bulk  of  his  suite  and  the  invaluable 
baggage  to  follow  in  the  Bxvrrumpooter. 

He  was  a  fine  judge  of  diamonds  and  shawls,  of  course,  and 
very  curious  about  the  jewellers  and  shawl  merchants  of  London. 
I  took  him  in  my  carriage  to  one  or  two  of  our  principal  tradesmen  ; 
but  there  was  very  little  which  he  admired,  having  seen  much  finer 
brilliants  and  shawls  in  his  own  romantic  land. 

When  he  saw  my  house  he  was  delighted  and  surprised.  He 
said  he  thought  all  houses  in  London  like  that  lodging  in  Jermyn 
Street — all  sofas  black,  all  sky  black  :  why  his  dam  secretary  take 
him  to  that  black  hole  %  Landlord— dam  secretary's  uncle — charge 
him  hundred  pound  month  for  that  lodging.  I  represented  how 
atrociously  his  Excellency  had  been  imposed  upon,  and  that  if  he 
intended  to  receive  company,  he  should  certainly  transport  himself 
to  better  apartments.  It  is  wonderful  how  these  simple  foreigners 
are  imposed  upon  by  our  grasping  countrymen  ! 

The  Bobbachy  took  my  advice,  and  removed  to  handsome  rooms 
at  Green's  Hotel,  where  he  engaged  a  larger  suite,  and  began  to 
give  entertainments  more  befitting  his  rank.  He  brought  a  native 
cook,  who  prepared  the  most  delicious  curries,  pillaus,  and  Indian 
dishes,  which  really  made  one  cry— they  were  so  hot  with  pepper. 
He  gradually  got  about  him  a  number  of  the  most  distinguished 
people,  and,  thanks  to  my  introduction  and  his  own  elegant  and 
captivating  manners,  was  received  at  many  of  our  best  houses ;  and 
when  the  real  object  of  his  mission  came  out  (which  he  revealed  to 
me  in  confidence),  that  he  was  anxious  to  select  a  lady  for  the 
vacant  throne  of  Delhi,  it  was  wonderful  how  popular  he  became, 
and  how  anxious  people  were  about  him.  The  portrait  of  his 
Imperial  master,  the  Emperor,  seated  on  a  gold  throne,  was  hung 
up  in  his  principal  drawing-room  ;  and  tliough  a  vile  daub,  as  most 
people  said,  especially  that  envious  Grimstone,  who  said  he  must 
liave  bought  it  of  some  Strand  limner  for  a  guinea— yet  what 
can  one  expect  from  an  Indian  artist  %  and  the  picture  represented 
a  handsome  young  man,  with  a  sM'eet  black  heard,  a  thin  waist, 
and  a  necklace  of  diamonds  worth  millions  and  billions  of 
rupees 


I  f )0  M  r  S  V  E  L  L  A  N  E 0  U  S    ( '  0  N  T  il  I B  IT  T 1 0  N  S 

If  the  young  ladies  mid  manimas  of  London  tK)cked  to  see  this 
picture,  you  may  imagine  how  eager  the  mammas  and  young  ladies 
were  to  show  their  own  beauties !  Everybody  read  up  about  Delhi, 
and  was  so  anxious  to  know  about  it  from  his  Excellency  !  Mrs. 
(Jraniley;  hearing  that  the  Orientals  like  stout  ladies,  sent  to 
Scotland  for  that  enormous  Miss  Cramley,  who  is  obliged  to  live 
in  seclusion  on  account  of  her  size,  and  who  really  would  do  for  a 
show  ;  old  Lady  Glum  said  if  she  allowed  her  daughter  to  make 
such  a  marriage,  it  would  be  with  the  fervent  hope  of  converting 
the  Emperor  and  all  India  with  him ;  little  Miss  Cockshaw  was 
anxious  to  know  if  the  widows  wei'e  burned  still  at  Delhi.  I  don't 
know  how  many  women  didn't  ask  his  Excellency  when  this  news 
was  made  public,  and  my  lion  was  nearly  torn  to  pieces.  It  was 
"  Boblmchy  Bahawder  and  suite,"  "  His  Excellency  Bobbachy 
Bahawder,"  "  His  Excellency  Prince  Bobbachy  Bahawder,"  every- 
where now,  his  name  in  all  the  newspapers,  and  who  should  be 
most  eager  to  receive  him. 

The  number  of  pictures  of  young  ladies  of  rank  which  my  friend 
received  from  all  parts  of  the  country  woidd  have  formed  a  series 
of  Books  of  Beauty.  There  came  portraits  from  Belgravia — portraits 
from  Tyburnia — portraits  from  the  country  ;  portraits  even  from 
Bloomsbury  and  the  City,  when  the  news  was  made  public  of  the 
nature  of  his  Excellency's  mission.  Such  wicked  deceptive  portraits 
they  sent  up  too  !  Old  Miss  Cruickshanks  had  herself  painted  like 
a  sylph  or  an  opera  dancer  ;  Mrs.  Bibb,  who  is  five-and-forty  if 
she's  a  day  old,  went  to  a  great  expense,  and  had  a  fashionable 
painter  to  draw  her  in  a  crop  and  a  pinafore,  like  a  schoolgirl. 
Fathers  bi"ought  their  children  to  walk  up  and  down  before  his 
Excellency's  hotel,  and  some  bribed  his  Excellency's  secretary  to 
be  allowed  to  w^ait  in  the  anteroom  until  he  should  pass  out 
from  breakfast.  That  Lady  Lynx  said  that  the  only  ready  money 
which  the  mission  got  was  from  these  bribes ;  and  the  pictures,  I 
must  confess,  were  sold  upon  the  Minister's  withdrawal  from  this 
country. 

A  sudden  revolution  at  the  Court  of  Delhi  occurred,  as  is  very 
well  known,  in  May  last,  and  the  news  of  his  recall  was  brought 
to  my  excellent  friend.  The  demand  for  his  return  was  so  peremp- 
tory, that  he  was  obliged  to  quit  England  at  a  moment's  notice,  and 
departed  with  his  secretary  only,  and  before  he  had  even  had 
time  to  take  leave  of  me,  his  most  attached  friend. 

A  lamentable  accident  must  have  happened  to  the  Burruni- 
pooter  Indiaman,  with  the  diamonds  and  elephants  on  board,  for 
the  unfortunate  ship  has  never  reached  England,  and  I  dare  say 
has  sunk  with  all  on  board. 


WHY    CAN'T    THEY    LEAVE    US    ALONE      191 

But  that  is  no  reason  for  the  shinder  of  ill-natured  people  who 
want  to  make  the  world  believe  that  there  never  was  such  a  ship 
as  the  Burrumpooter  at  all;  and  that  the  Bobbachy  and  his 
secretary  were  a  couple  of  rogues  in  league  together,  who  never  had 
a  penijy,  and  never  would  ha\:e  made  their  way  in  society  but  for 
my  introduction.  How  am  I  to  know  the  pedigrees  of  Indian 
Princes,  and  the  manners  of  one  blackamoor  from  another'?  If  I 
introduced  the  Bobbachy  I'm  sure  other  people  have  introduced 
other  dark-complexioned  people  ;  and  as  for  the  impudence  of  those 
tradesmen  who  want  me  to  pay  his  bills,  and  of  Mr.  Green,  of  the 
hotel,  who  says  he  never  had  a  shilling  of  his  Excellency's  money, 
I've  no  words  to  speak  of  it. 

Besides,  I  don't  believe  he  has  defrauded  anybody ;  and 
when  the  differences  at  the  Court  of  Delhi  are  adjusted,  I've  little 
doubt  but  that  he  will  send  the  paltry  few  thousand  pounds  he 
owes  here,  and  perhaps  come  back  to  renew  the  negotiations  for 
the  marriage  of  his  Imperial  master. 


WHY    CAN'T    THEY   LEAVE    US    ALONE   IN 
THE    HOLIDAYS? 

From  Home,  as  yet.     \Qth  January. 

RESPECTED  Mr.  Punch, — I  am  a  young  gentleman  of  good 
family,  and  exceedingly  gentle  disposition,  and  at  present 
home  for  the  Christmas  holdidays  with  my  dear  Papa  and 
Mamma.  I  believe  I  am  not  considered  clever  at  school,  b^ing 
always  last  in  my  class :  and  the  Doctor,  the  Usher,  the  French 
Master,  and  all  the  boys  except  Tibbs  Minimus  (who  is  only  six, 
and  in  the  last  form  with  me)  beat  me  and  ill-use  me  a  great  deal. 
And  it's  a  great  shame  that  I  for  my  part  am  not  allowed  to  whop 
Tibbs  Minimus,  which  I  could,  being  14  myself  last  birthday; 
but  that  nasty  brute  Tibbs  Minor  says  he'll  thrash  me  if  I  do — 
and  it's  very  unkind  of  him  ;  for  wlien  he  was  a  child  in  petticoats, 
and  I  was  ten,  and  he  was  in  the  last  class  with  me,  I  never  beat 
him,  as  I  easily  could  have  done,  and  now  the  unkind  hoy  is  always 
attacking  and  wooriting  me. 

I  cannot  do  lesso7is  and  ihat,  Mr.  Punch  ;  for  when  the  Dr. 
calls  me  up  my  tongue  cleaves  to  the  roof  of  my  inouf,  I'm  so 
fritned  ;  and  same  way  in  French,  and  same  in  Arythmetic  ;  and 
I  can't  fight  like  some  boys,  because  I'm  a  nervous  boy ;  but  the 


192  MI8CKLJ.ANK0US    CONTRIBUTIONS 

l)iif  boj's  keep  me  ;i\vake  telliiiif  stories  to  'em  all  nujht ;  and  I 
know  ever  so  many,  and  am  always  making  stories  in  my  head; 
and  somehow  I  feel  that  I'm  better  than  inaiiy  of  the  chaps — only 
/  can't  do  anything.  And  they  chaff  me  and  laugh  at  me,  because 
I'm  afraid  of  heimj  in  the  dark  and  see  int/  ghosts  and  that,  which' 
I  caiit  help  it.  My  mamma  had  a  fright  before  I  u<as  born,  and 
that's  what  it  is,  I  suppose. 

Sir,  I  am  very  miserable  at  school  with  everybody  licking  me  ; 
and  hate  the  place  ;  and  the  going  back  to  it — and  the  idear  of  it 
altogether.  Why  was  schools  ever  invented  1  When  I'm  at  my 
dear  home,  with  dear  Ma  and  sisters,  and  in  bed  as  long  as  I  choose, 
and  wish  twace  to  meat,  or  three  times,  if  I  like ;  and  I  walk  in  the 
Park,  and  go  to  see  a  lovely  Pantamirae  ;  and  so  I  lose  the  horrid 
thought  of  school ;  and  it's  only  in  my  dreams,  sometimes,  I  see 
that  abommanable  old  Doctor. 

What  I  want  you  to  do  in  the  interest  of  .all  School  Boys,  is  to 
stop  the  Times  in  holy  time  from  jniblishing  those  advertisements 
about  schools.  On  this  day,  Wednesday,  jest  against  the  leading 
article,  there's  no  less  than  2  columns  of  schools ;  and  Papa,  who's 
always  jokin'  and  chaffin'  me,  reads  'em  out,  and  says,  "  Tom,  how'd 
you  like  this? — Education  of  a  superior  kind,  Bin^hwood  Briars. 
No  extras,  no  holidays."  Or,  "  Tom,  here's  a  chance  for  you — To 
Laundresses.  A  schoolmaster  wishes  to  receive  into  his  establish- 
ment the  Son  of  a  respectable  Laundress,  on  reciprocal  terms. 
Address,"  &c.  "  My  dear,"  Pa  says  to  dear  Ma,  "  what  a  pity  you 
wasn't  a  washerwoman,  and  we  could  get  this  stupid  boy  educated 
for  nothing."  I'm  sure  I've  been  mangled  enough  by  that  bully 
Bob  Cuff,  if  I  haven't  been  ironed  and  hung  up  to  dry  !  Or,  "  To 
Booksellers,  Grocers,  Butchers,  and  Bakers. — In  a  well-appreciated 
seminary,  within  five  miles  of  London,  the  children  of  the  above 
tradesmen  will  be  received.  The  wdiole  of  the  school  account  will 
be  taken  in  goods."  And  Pa  wonders  if  he  were  to  send  back  our 
calf  with  me  in  our  cart,  and  one  of  om*  sheep,  whether  the  Doctor 
would  take  them  in  payment  of  the  quarter's  account?  And  then 
he  says  that  one  calf  ought  to  pay  for  another,  and  laughs  and 
makes  me  miserable  for  the  whole  day. 

And  next  week  my  pleasures,  I  know,  will  be  dampt  by  reading 
the  Christmas  Vacation  of  the  Chipping-Rodbury  Grammar  Scliool 
will  conclude  on  the  24th  inst.,  when  the  boys  are  expected  to  re- 
assemble ;  the  young  gentlemen  of  Dr.  Bloxam's  Academy  will  meet 
on  the  25th ;  or  Mr.  Broomback's  young  friends  will  reassemble 
after  the  Christmas  recess ;  or  so  and  so.  Why  are  these  horrid 
thoughts  always  to  be  brought  before  us?  I'm  sure,  at  Christmas 
time,  managers  of  newspapers  might  be  hind  and  keep  these  horrid 


A    STRANGE    DISCOVERY    IN    GERMANY     193 

advertisements  out  of  sight.  And  if  our  uncles,  and  peojjle  who 
come  to  our  house,  when  we're  at  home  for  the  holidays,  would  but 
be  so  obliging  as  never  to  mention  school,  or  make  jokes  about 
tlotriring,  or  going  back,  or  what  we  have  for  dinner,  or  that,  I'm 
sure  we  should  be  very  much  the  hai)pier,  and  you  won't  have  heard 
in  vain  from  your  wretched  reader,  Under  Petty. 


STRANGE  MAN  JUST  DISCOVERED  IN 
GERMANY 

IT  has  been  mentioned  in  the  German  journals  that  a  foreigner, 
from  some  unknown  country,  and  speaking  a  jargon  scarcely 
intelligible  by  the  most  profound  German  philologists,  has  lately 
made  his  appearance  at  Frankfort-on-the-Oder,  where  of  course  he 
was  handed  over  to  the  care  of  the  police. 

"This  individual  was  brought  before  us,  Johann  Humpften- 
stnimpffen,  Burgomaster  of  Frankfort,  on  Tuesday,  the  8th  of 
April,  and  examined  in  our  presence  and  that  of  our  Clerk  and 
Town  Council. 

"  The  raiment  and  appearance  of  this  individual,  landed,  no  one 
knows  how,  in  a  remote  and  extremely  quiet  German  city,  are 
described  by  all  persons  as  most  singular.  In  height  he  is  about 
five  feet  six  inches,  his  hair  is  white,  his  face  sallow,  his  beard  red 
— that  on  his  upper  lip  not  so  much  grown  as  that  on  his  cheeks  ; 
his  hands  are  lai-ge  and  dirty,  his  teeth  useful,  his  appetite  great, 
and  his  thirst  constant. 

"  His  dress  is  most  extraordinary  and  barbarous.  On  his  head 
he  wears  a  covering  of  a  snuff-brown  colour,  in  shape  something  like 
a  wash-basin — which  it  would  be  very  advisable  that  he  should  use 
for  his  face  and  hands.  Round  his  neck,  which  is  exceedingly  ugly 
and  bare,  he  wears  a  strip  of  a  shining  stuff,  spim  out  6f  worms,  he 
says,  in  his  own  country,  and  called  an  Alberti :  it  is  puffed  in  two 
bows  round  his  cheeks,  and  gives  him  a  highly  absurd  appearance. 

"  His  outer  garment  was  a  loose  shaggy  vest,  made  out  of  the 
skin  of  bears,  most  likely,  and  tainted  strongly  with  a  stale  and 
exceedingly  rancorous  odour  of  what  lie  calls  'backy-backy.'  This 
outer  dress — when  asked  its  name,  by  Burgermeister  von  Humi)ffen- 
strumpffcn — the  nondescript  called  a  '  Minorimosy ' ;  and  holding 
up  his  outstretched  liand  three  times,  cried  out  the  syllable  'Bob,' 


IfH         MISCELLANEOUS    CONTRIBUTIONS 

and  wa.iirgtMl  his  head  ;  from  which  the  Burgomaster  conehided  that 
'  l)ob  '  is  the  name  of  a  coin  of  tlie  country. 

"  His  next  garment,  one  without  sleeves,  was  decorated  with 
buttons  of  glass  ;  and  in  the  pockets  were  found  bits  of  ])ai)er, 
which  the  nondescript  tried  to  explain — by  the  words  '  ungle,' 
'tickor,'  'si)owt,'  &c. — and  showed  by  his  gestures  that  the  papers 
were  to  him  of  considerable  value.  They  are  greasy,  and,  to  all 
appearances,  worthless,  coarsely  printed,  and  marked  with  ru<le 
manuscript  numerals.  It  is  conjectured  that  they  may  form  part 
of  the  paper-money  of  his  country. 

"  Beyond  these  tokens,  no  coin  of  any  kind  was  found  on  the 
nondescript's  person. 

"Under  the  glass-buttoned  garment,  from  which  he  struggled 
violently  not  to  be  divested,  the  stranger  had  on  two  other  very 
singular  articles  of  costume.  One  was  very  ragged,  and  evidently 
ohC  and  covered  with  jirinted  figures  in  pink,  representing  bayaderes 
dancing.  Over  this  was  a  small  piece  of  stuft"  worked  with  the 
needle,  and  once  white — the  name  of  which,  after  repeatecl  and 
severe  interrogatories,  he  said  was  '  Dicki.'  It  has  been  carried  to 
the  Museum,  and  placed  lietween  the  breastplate  of  a  Turkish  vizier 
and  the  corselet  of  a  knight  of  tlie  middle  ages. 

"His  lower  dress  Avas  of  a  broad  check  pattern,  something 
resembling  the  stuff  which  is  worn  by  the  Scottisli  Highlanders, 
who,  however,  it  is  known,  do  not  use  braccce,  whence  it  is  evident 
that  the  stranger  cannot  be  one  of  these.  When  the  Burgomaster 
pointed  to  these,  the  nondescript  wagged  his  head,  i)leased  seem- 
ingly, and  said  the  word  "  Stunnin,'  which  the  clerk  took  down. 

'"  On  his  feet  were  a  sort  of  short  boot  with  large  iron  heels,  in 
which  he  began  to  execute  a  queer  dance  before  the  Court,  clinking 
the  heels  together,  and  turning  the  toes  fantastically  in  and  out. 
Pointing  to  this  boot  with  the  cane  which  he  carries  in  his  mouth, 
he  winked  to  the  clerk,  and  said  '  Hylo  ! '  but  then  presently  look- 
ing round  the  room,  and  seeing  a  portrait  of  the  late  Feldmarschall 
Prince  of  Wallstadt,  he  ran  up  to  it  and  said,  '  Blooker  !  Blooker  ! ' 
and  danced  once  more. 

"  What  relation  can  there  be  between  the  nondescript's  boot  and 
the  late  gallant  and  venerated  Marshal  Forwards,  who  destroyed 
Bonaparte,  after  the  latter  had  defeated  and  taken  the  Herzog  v. 
WeUington  prisoner  at  the  battle  of  Mount  Saint  John  1 

"  At  this  stage  of  the  examination,  and  having  been  allowed  to 
resume  all  his  clothes,  the  stranger  pointed  to  his  mouth,  and  laid 
his  hand  on  his  stomach,  crying  out  the  monosyllable  '  Grub,'  which 
Doctor  Blinkhorn  thanks  must  mean  food  in  his  language.  Accord- 
ingly, a  sausage,  sonic  liroad,  and  a  can  of  beer  were  brought,  of  the 


WHAT    I    REMARKED    AT    THE    EXHIBITION     195 

first  of  which  he  partook  ^ijreedily,  devouring  tlie  whole  bread  and 
sausage.  It  was  observed  that  he  ate  with  his  fork,  not  with  his 
knife,  as  we  Germans  do. 

"  Having  tasted  the  drink,  he,  however,  k^id  it  down,  making 
very  wry  faces,  and  calling  out  the  word  '  Swipey,  Swipey,'  twice, 
which  was  taken  down.  And  tlieu,  by  more  faces  and  contortions, 
he  made  us  to  understand  as  if  the  beer  had  <lisagreed  with  him, 
upon  which  the  excellent  Burgenneister,  having  a  bottle  of  Rhum 
in  the  cupboard,  gave  the  savage  a  glass,  who  smacked  it  off  at 
once,  crying  out  the  word  '  Jollybyjingo.' 

"  '  Jollybijiiigo,  was  ist  denn  Jollybijingo  1 '  asked  his  worship, 
conjecturing,  with  his  usual  ac'uteness,  that  this  was  the  savage's 
phrase  for  Rhum  of  Jamaica.  '  Wilt  thou  have  yet  a  glass  JoUibi- 
jingo  1 '  And  his  Honour  poured  out  a  second  glass,  which  the 
nondescript  seized,  and  tossed  oft"  this  time,  exclaiming — 

"  '  Aybaleaveyermibawawawy  ! ' 

"  Which  expression  being  accurately  taken  down,  his  worship  the 
Burgermeister  considered  the  examination  sutticient,  and  sent  oft'  the 
Foreigner  under  the  guard  of  Gendarmes  Blitz  and  Wetter  to  Berlin. 

"  A  true  copy. 

''  (Signed)  Humpffenstrumpffen,  Bu7'(/oniaster. 
BLiNKHOPtN,  Clerk  of  the  Court" 


From  the  Berlin^"  Taghlatt." 

"  The  named  Snooks,  Bartholonueus  Student,  out  of  Smith- 
field,  London,  was  brouglit  hither  in  custody,  from  Frankfort-on- 
the-Oder  ;  where,  being  tii)sy,  he  had  lost  himself,  allowing  the 
train  to  go  away  without  him.  Snooks  was  handed  over  to  the 
British  Minister  here,  and  will  return  to  London  as  soon  as 
any  one  will  lend  or  give  him  funds  for  that  purpose." 


WHAT  I  REMARKED  AT  THE  EXHIBITION 

(REMARKED  that  the  scene  I  witnessed  was  the  grandest  and 
most  cheerful,  tlie  brightest  and  most  splendid  show  that  eyes 
liad  ever  looked  on  since  the  creation  of  the  world  ; —  but  as  every- 
body remarked  the  same  thing,  tliis  remark  is  not  of  much  value. 
I  remarked,  and  with  a  feeling  of  shame,  that  I  had  long 
15 


196  MISCELLANEOUS    CONTRIBUTIONS 

hesitatoil  about  paying  three  guineas — pooh-poohed — said  I  had 
seen  the  Queen  and  Prince  before,  and  so  forth,  and  felt  now  that 
to  beliold  this  spectacle,  three  guineas,  or  five  guineas,  or  any  sum 
of  money  (for  I  am  a  man  of  enormous  wealth)  would  have  been 
cheap ;  and  I  remarked  how  few  of  us  know  really  what  is  good 
for  us — have  the  courage  of  our  situations,  and  what  a  number  of 
chances  in  life  we  throw  away.  I  would  not  part  with  the  mere 
recollection  of  this  scene  for  a  small  annuity ;  and  calculate  that, 
after  paying  my  three  guineas,  I  have  the  Exhibition  before  me, 
besides  being  largely  and  actually  in  pocket. 

I  remarked  that  a  heavy  packet  of  sandwiches  which  Jones 
begged  me  to  carry,  and  which  I  pocketed  in  rather  a  su])ercilious 
and  grumbling  manner,  became  most  pleasant  friends  and  useful 
com])anions  after  we  had  been  in  our  places  two  or  three  hours  ; 
and  I  thought  to  myself,  that  were  I  a  lyric  poet  with  a  moral 
turn,  I  would  remark  how  often  in  the  hour  of  our  need  our 
humlile  friends  are  welcome  and  useful  to  ns,  like  those  dear 
sandwiches,  which  we  pooh-poohed  when  we  did  not  need  them. 

I  remarked  that  when  the  Queen  bowed  and  curtseyed,  all  the 
women  about  began  to  cry. 

I  remarked  how  eagerly  the  young  Prince  talked  with  his 
sister — how  charmed  everybody  was  to  see  those  pretty  young 
persons  walking  hand  in  hand  with  their  fatlier  and  mother,  and 
how,  in  the  midst  of  any  magnificence  you  will,  what  touches  us 
most  is  nature  and  human  kindness,  and  what  we  love  to  witness 
most  is  love. 

I  remarked  three  Roman  Catholic  clergymen  in  the  midst  of 
the  crowd,  amusing  themselves  with  an  opera-glass. 

I  remarked  to  myself  that  it  was  remarkable  that  a  priest 
should  have  an  opera-glass. 

I  remarked  that  when  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  was  saying 
his  prayer,  the  Roman  Catholic  clergymen  seemed  no  more  to  care 
than  I  should  if  Mr.  Longears  was  speaking  in  the  House  of 
Commons — and  that  they  looked,  stared,  peered  over  people's 
shoulders,  and  used  the  opera-glass  during  the  prayer. 

I  remarked  that  it  would  have  been  more  decorous  if,  during 
that  part  of  the  day's  proceedings,  the  reverend  gentlemen  had  not 
used  the  oi:)era-glass. 

I  remarked  that  I  couldn't  be  i)aying  much  attention  myself, 
else  how  should  I  have  seen  the  reverend  gentlemen  1 

I  remarked  my  Lord  Ivorystick  and  my  Lord  Ebonystick 
backing  all  the  way  round  the  immense  building  before  the  Queen  ; 
and  I  wondered  to  myself  liow  long  is  that  sort  of  business  going 
to  last  ?  how  long  will  freeborn  men  forsake  the  natural  manner  of 


ACCOUNT    OF    THE    EXHIBITION  19? 

walkin.c;,  with  wliicli  God  endowed  them,  and  continue  to  execute 
this  strange  and  barbarous  j»)as  ?  I  remarked  that  a  Royal  Cliambcr- 
lain  was  no  more  made  to  walk  backwards,  than  a  Royal  coachman 
to  sit  on  the  box  and  drive  backwards.  And  having  just  been 
laughing  at  the  kotoos  of  honest  Lord  Chopstick  (the  Chinese 
Ambassador  with  the  pantomime  face),  most  of  us  in  our  gallery 
remarked  that  the  performance  of  Lord  Ivorystick  and  Lord  Ebony- 
stick  was  not  more  reasonable  than  that  of  his  Excellency  Chopstick, 
and  wished  that  part  of  the  ceremony  had  been  left  out. 

I  remarked  in  the  gold  cage,  to  which  the  ladies  would  go  the 
first  thing,  and  in  which  the  Koh-i-noor  reposes,  a  shining  thing 
like  a  lambent  oyster,  which  I  admired  greatly,  and  took  to  be  the 
famous  jewel.  But  on  a  second  visit  I  was  told  that  that  was  not 
the  jewel — that  was  only  the  case,  and  the  real  stone  was  that 
above,  which  I  had  taken  to  be  an  imitation  in  crystal. 

I  remarked  on  this,  that  there  are  many  sham  diamonds  in  this 
life  which  pass  for  real,  and,  vice  versd,  many  real  diamonds  which 
go  unvalued.  This  accounts  for  the  non-success  of  those  real 
mountains  of  light,  my  "Sonnets  on  Various  Occasions." 

I  remarked  that,  if  I  were  Queen  of  England,  I  would  have 
a  piece  of  this  crystal  set  into  my  crown,  and  wear  it  as  the  most 
spendid  jewel  of  the  whole  diadem — that  I  would. 

And  in  fact  I  remarked  altogether — God  save  the  Queen  ! 


M.    GOBEMOUGHE'S   AUTHENTIC  ACCOUNT   OF 
THE   GRAND   EXHIBITION 

IN  the  good  town  of  London,  in  tlie  Squars,  in  the  Coftees,  in 
the  Parks,  in  the  society  at  the  billiards,  there  is  but  one  con- 
versation— it  is  of  the  Palace  of  Industry ;  it  is  of  the  Queen 
and  Prince  Albert ;  it  is  of  the  union  of  all  nations.  "  Have  you 
been  there,  my  friend  1 "  every  one  says  to  every  one. 

Yes,  I  have  been  there.  *Yes,  I  am  one  of  the  myriads  who 
visited  the  Palace  of  Industry  on  tlie  first  of  May,  and  witnessed 
the  triumph  of  France. 

Early  in  the  day,  following  in  the  track  of  the  myriads  who 
were  rushing  towards  the  romantic  village  of  Kinsington,  and 
tlirough  the  Bridge  of  Chevaliers,  I  engaged  a  cabriolet  of  place, 
and  bidding  the  driver  conduct  me  to  tlie  Palace  of  all  nations  at 
Kinsington,  sate  in  profound  reverie  smoking  my  cigar  anti  thinking 


lOS         MISCELLANEOUS    CONTRIBUTIONS 

of  Fnuu'o,  until  my  driver  paused,  and  the  agglomeration  of  the 
nudtitude,  and  the  appearance  of  th(!  inevitable  Poliseman  of  London, 
sutlieiently  infoi-med  us  that  we  were  at  tlie  entranee  of  the  Industrial 
Palace. 

Polisemeu  flank  the  left  pillar  of  the  gate  surmounted  by  a 
vase,  emblem  of  i»lenty  ;  i)olisemen  flank  the  right  pillar  decorated 
by  a  lion  (this  eternal  Britannic  lion,  how  his  roars  fiitigue  me ; 
his  tail  does  not  frighten  me ;  his  eternal  fanfaronnades  regarding 
his  courage  makes  me  puff  of  to  laugh  !) — and  as  nothing  is  to  be 
seen  in  England  without  undoing  purse,  a  man  at  a  wicket  stops 
the  influx  of  the  curious,  and  the  tide  cannot  pass  the  barrier  except 
through  the  filter  of  a  schilling. 

0  cursed  schilling  !  He  haunts  me,  that  schilling.  He  pursues 
me  everywhere.  If  a  Frenchman  has  to  produce  'his  passport, 
there  is  no  moment  of  the  day  when  an  Englisiiman  must  not 
l)roduce  his  schilling.  I  paid  that  sum,  and  was  with  others 
admitted  into  the  barrier,  and  to  pass  the  outer  wall  of  the  Great 
Exhibition. 

When  one  enters,  the  sight  that  at  first  presents  itself  has 
nothing  of  remarkable — a  court,  two  pavilions  on  either  side,  a 
chateau,  to  the  door  of  which  you  approach  by  steps  of  no  particular 
height  or  grandeur :  these  were  the  simple  arrangements  which  it 
appears  that  the  Britannic  genius  has  invented  for  the  reception  of 
all  people  of  the  globe. 

1  knock  in  the  English  fashion— tlie  simple  baronnet  gives  but 
one  knock,  the  postman,  officer  of  the  Government,  many  and  rapid 
strokes,  the  Lord  Mayor  knocks  and  rings.  I  am  but  the  simple 
baronnet,  and  Sir  GoBemouche  wishes  to  be  thought  no  more  singular 
than  Sir  Brown  or  Sir  Smith. 

Two  pages — blond  children  of  Albion — their  little  coats,  it  being 
spring-time,  covered  with  a  mnltiiilirity  of  buds— fling  open  the  two 
beatings  of  the  door,  and  I  enter  tlie  little  ante-hall. 

I  look  up — above  me  is  an  azure  dome  like  the  vault  ethereal, 
silver  stars  twinkle  in  its  abysses,  a  left-hand  lancing  thunderbolt  is 
above  us — I  read  above,  in  characters  resembling  the  lightning — 
"  Fille  de  rorar/e  "  in  our  own  language,  and  "  Symbolium  of  all 
Nations  "  in  English. 

Is  the  daughter  of  the  tempest  then  the  symbol  of  all  nations  ? 
Is  the  day's  quiet  the  lidl  after  yesterday's  storm?  Profound 
moralist,  yes — it  is  so — we  enter  into  repose  through  the  initiation 
of  the  hurricane — we  pass  over  the  breakers  and  are  in  the  haven  ! 

This  pretty  moral  conveyed  in  the  French  language,  the  world's 
language,  as  a  prelude  to  the  entertainment— tliis  solemn  ante- 
chamber to  the  Palace  of  the  World,  struck  me  as  appropriate  as 


ACCOUNT    OF    THE    EXHIBITION  199 

sublime.  With  a  heating  heart  I  ascend  further  steps — I  am  in 
the  world's  vestibule. 

What  do  I  see  around  me  ?  Another  magnificent  allegory. 
The  cities  of  the  world  are  giving  each  other  the  hand — the  Tower 
of  Pisa  nods  friendly  to  the  Wall^  of  China — the  Pont  Neuf  and  the 
Bridge  of  Sighs  meet  and  mingle  arches — Saint  Paul  of  London  is 
of  accord  with  his  brother  Saint  Peter  of  Rome — and  the  Parthenon 
is  united  with  the  Luqsor  Obelisk,  joining  its  civilisation  to  the 
Egyptian  mysteries,  as  the  Greek  j)iiilosophers  travelled  to  Egy])t 
of  old  ; — a  great  idea  this — greatly  worked  out,  in  an  art  purposely 
naive,  in  a  design  expressly  confused. 

From  this  vestibule  I  see  a  staii'case  ascending,  emblazoned  with 
the  magic  hieroglyphics,  and  strange  allegoric  images.  In  everything 
that  the  Briton  does  lurks  a  deep  meaning — the  vices  of  his  nobility, 
the  quarrels  of  his  priests,  the  peculiarities  of  his  authors,  are  here 
dramatised  : — a  Pope,  a  Cardinal  ap]iear  among  fantastic  devils — 
the  romancers  of  the  day  figure  with  their  attributes — the  states- 
men of  the  three  kingdoms  with  their  various  systems — fiends, 
dragons,  monsters,  curl  and  writhe  through  the  nuiltitudinous  hiero- 
glyphic, and  typify  the  fate  that  perhaps  menaces  the  venomous 
enemies  that  empoison  the  country. 

The  chambers  of  this  marvellous  Palace  are  decorated  in  various 
styles,  each  dedicateil  to  a  nation.  One  room  flames  in  crimson  and 
yellow,  surmounted  by  a  vast  golden  sun,  which  you  see,  in  regard- 
ing it,  must  be  the  chamber  of  the  East.  Another,  decorated  with 
stalactites  and  piled  with  looking-glass  and  eternal  snow,  at  once 
suggests  Kamschatka  or  the  North  Pole.  In  a  third  apartment,  the 
Chinese  dragons  and  lanterns  display  their  fantastic  blazons ;  while 
in  a  fourth,  under  a  canopy  of  midnight  stars,  surrounded  by 
waving  j)alin-trees,  we  feel  ourselves  at  once  to  be  in  a  primeval 
forest  of  Brazil,  or  else  in  a  scene  of  fairy — I  know  not  which  ; — 
the  eye  is  dazzled,  the  brain  is  feverous,  in  beholding  so  much  of 
wonders. 

Faithful  to  their  national  economy,  of  what,  think  you,  are  the 
decorations  of  the  Palace  1 — Of  calico  ! — Calico  in  the  emblematic 
lialls.  Calico  in  the  Pompadour  boudoirs,  Calico  in  the  Chamber  of 
the  Sun — Calico  everywhere.  Indeed,  whither  have  not  the  English 
pushed  tlieir  cottons?  their  commerce?  Calico  has  been  the  baleful 
cause  of  their  foreign  wars,  their  interior  commotions.  Calico  has 
been  the  source  of  their  wealth,  of  their  present  triumphal  con- 
dition, perhaps  of  their  future  downfall  !  Well  and  deeply  the 
decorators  of  the  Palace  meditated  when  they  decorated  its  walls 
with  this  British  manufacture. 

Descending,  as  from  a  vessel's  deck,  we  approach  a  fairy  park, 


200         MISCELLANEOlTg    CONTRIBUTIONS 

in  which  tlio  works  of  art  bud  and  bloom  beside  the  lovely  trees  of 
Sprini;.  What  green  pelouses  are  here !  what  waving  poplars ! 
what  alleys  sliaded  by  the  buds  and  blossoms  of  Spring  !  Here  arc 
parterres  blooming  with  polyantluises  and  coloured  lamjjs ;  a 
fountain  there  where  Numa  might  have  wooed  Egoria.  Statues 
rise  gleannng  from  the  meadow ;  Apollo  bends  his  bow  ;  Dorothea 
waslies  her  fair  feet ;  Esmeralda  sports  with  her  kid.  What  know 
1 1  How  select  a  beauty  wliere  all  are  beautiful  1  how  S])ecify  a 
wonder  where  all  is  miracle  1 

In  yon  long  and  unadorned  arbour,  it  has  been  arranged  by  the 
Englisli  (who  never  do  anything  without  rosbif  and  half-anddialf) 
that  tlie  nations  of  the  world  are  to  feast.  And  that  vast  l)uilding 
situated  on  the  eastern  side  of  tlie  pelciuse,  with  battlementetl  walls 
and  transi)arent  roof,  is  the  much-vaunted  Palace  of  Crystal !  Yes  ; 
the  roof  is  of  crystal,  the  dimensions  are  vast, — only  the  articles  to 
be  exhibited  have  not  been  unpacked  yet ;  the  walls  of  the  Palace 
of  Crystal  are  bare. 

"That  is  the  Baronial  Hall  of  all  Nations,"  says  a  gentleman 
to  me — a  gentleman  in  a  flowing  robe  and  a  singular  cap  whom 
I  had  mistaken  for  a  Chinese  or  an  enchanter.  "The  hall  is 
not  open  yet,  but  it  will  be  inaugurated  by  the  grand  Sanitary 
dinner.  There  will  be  half-crown  dinners  for  the  commonalty, 
five-shilling  dinners  for  those  of  mediocre  fortune,  ten-shilling 
dinners  for  gentlemen  of  fashion  like  Monsieur.  Monsieur,  I  have 
the  honour  to  salute  you." — And  he  passes  on  to  greet  another 
group. 

I  muse,  I  pause,  I  meditate.  Where  have  I  seen  that  face? 
Where  noted  that  mien,  that  cap  1  All,  I  have  it !  In  tlie  books 
devoted  to  gastronomic  regeneration,  on  the  flasks  of  sauce  called 
Relish.  This  is  not  the  Crystal  Palace  that  I  see, — this  is  the 
ris'al  wonder — yes,  this  is  the  Symposium  of  all  Nations,  and  yonder 
man  is  Alexis  Soyer !  '  Gobemouche. 


THE    CHARLES    THE   SECOND    BALL 

SINCE  the  announcement  of  the  Costume  Ball  a  good  deal  of 
excitement  has  been  prevalent  about  the  Court  regarding  it. 
It  is  known  that  Charles  the  Second  used  to  feed  ducks  in 
Saint  James's  Park,  and  it  is  thought  that  this  amusement  of  the 
Merry  Monarch  is  harmless,  and  may  be  repeated  on  the  present 
festive  occasion.     Rewards  have  been  offered  at  the  Lord  Chamber- 


THE    CHARLES    THE    SECOND    BALL         201 

Iain's   Office  for  a  means  of  keeping  the  dueks  awake  till  twelve 
o'clock  at  night. 

We  hear  that  some  Duchesses  decline  altogether  to  assume  the 
characters  of  their  namesakes  in  the  time  of  Charles  the  Second  ; 
and  that  the  Dukes,  their  husbands,  perfectly  agree  in  this  spirited 
decision. 

For  the  same  reason  as  their  Graces',  the  jiarts  of  Maids  of 
Honour  are  not  in  much  request.  But  for  the  character  of  Catherine 
Hyde,  who  married  the  heir  to  the  throne,  there  are  numberless 
])ro])Osals  among  the  young  ladies  of  the  polite  world. 

For  the  character  of  the  Duke  of  Buckingham  (of  Charles  the 
Second's  time),  who  kicked  down  a  grand  fortune  without  being 
able  to  account  for  it,  we  hear  a  great  number  of  noblemen  named ; 
among  others.  Lord  Addlestone,  Lord  Muddlehead,  and  the  Lord 
Viscount  Wildgoose. 

The  young  gentlemen  about  Downing  Street  are  reading  the 
"  Biographic  Universelle,"  and  acquiring  a  surprising  fund  of  histori- 
cal knowledge.  Young  Tapely,  old  Tapely's  son,  who  is  eighteen, 
and  has  just  entered  the  Foreign  Office,  proposes  to  appear  as 
Colbert :  whom  Guttleton  admires,  not  as  a  Minister,  but  as 
inventor  of  Colbert  soles.  Vander  Souchey,  of  the  Dutch  Legation, 
announced  at  the  Club  that  he  would  go  as  the  Pensionary  de  Witt. 
"Behold  de  miracle  instead  of  de  witt,"  said  Flicflac  ;  and  added, 
that  Count  Narcissi  (the  envoy  from  Pumi)ernickel)  had  best 
assume  this  character,  because  the  women  are  always  tearing  him 
to  pieces. 

General  the  Earl  of  Slowgo  (who  does  his  best  to  be  an  F.  M.) 
has  just  been  credibly  informed  that  a  Avork  exists — a  remarkable 
work — although  a  light  work  he  may  almost  say  a  biographical 
work — relative  to  the  tiuies  of  Charles  the  Second,  called  "  Pepys' 
Diary,"  and  i)urporting  to  be  edited  by  a  men)ber  of  their  Lordships' 
House,  the  Lord  Viscount  Braybrooke. 

General  SUjwgo  has,  therefore,  presented  his  compliments  to 
Lord  Viscount  Braybrooke,  and  requests  to  know  if  the  Viscount  has 
edited  the  w-ork  in  (question  1  Should  his  Lordship's  reply  be  in  the 
affirmative,  General  Lord  Slowgo  will  write  to  the  Librarian  of  the 
British  Museum,  to  know  :  1st.  Whether  the  work  entitled  "  Pepys' 
Memoirs  "  be  in  the  Library  of  the  British  Museum  1  2nd.  Whether 
that  work  contains  an  authentic  account  of  the  reign  of  his  late 
Majesty  King  Charles  the  Second  ?  3rd.  Whether  the  Librarian  of 
the  British  Museum  can  bring  the  volume,  if  a  rare  one,  to  Slowgo 
House  ?  and,  4th.  If  not,  whether,  and  at  what  time.  General  the 
Earl  of  Slowgo  can  consult  the  work  in  question  at  the  British 
Museum  ? 


202  MISCELLANEOUS    CONTIU  IUTTTONS 

The  two  little  Miss  Budds  (who  ^'o  about  with  Lady  Crabb) 
liave  had  another  contemporary  work  lent  to  them  by  their  cousin 
Rowley,  and  are  busy  reading  Grammont's  "  Memoirs."  When 
Lady  Crabb  heard  that .  lier  wards  were  reading  history,  she 
was  highly  pleased,  and  observed  that  she  has  no  doubt  the 
volume  is  instructive,  as  the  family  of  Grammont  is  one  of  the 
higiiest  in  France.  The  Miss  Budds  say  the  book  is — very 
instructive. 

Miss  Grigg,  wlio  is  exceedingly  cin-ious  in  books  and  anti- 
quarianism,  has  come  upon  some  surjjrising  illustrative  passages  in 
her  f)apa's  library,  in  the  works  of  Wycherley  and  Sir  C.  Sedley, 
and  in  Suckling's  j)oems. 

Colonel  Sir  Nigel  M'Asser,  who  has  the  largest  and  blackest 
whiskers  not  only  in  the  Horse  Guards  Green,  but  (with  the  excep- 
tion of  one  sapper,  now  at  the  Cajie  of  Good  Hope)  in  the  British 
Army,  when  he  heard  that  whiskers  were  not  worn  in  the  time  of 
Charles  the  Second,  and  that  gentlemen  would  be  expected  to  shave, 
instantly  applied  for  leave  of  absence ;  and,  if  that  is  refused,  he 
will  send  in  his  papers. 

Lady  Rosa  Twentystone  and  her  daughters  have  been  to 
Hampton  Court,  and  taken  careful  note  of  the  Lelys  there.  But 
when  they  came  down  to  dinner  in  the  dresses  which  they  had  pre- 
pared, and  rehearsed  the  jiart  before  Mr.  Twentystone,  he  ordered 
the  whole  family  up  to  their  rooms,  and  the  dinner  to  be  covered, 
until  they  were. 

"  Lady  Rosa  is  so  delightful,"  Varges  says,  that  he  thinks  one 
"  can't  see  too  mucli  of  her." 

Lord  Viscount  Methuselah  has  put  himself  into  the  hands  of 
new  artists,  and  will  apjiear  with  the  cheeks,  hair,  and  teeth  of 
twenty.  He  has  selected  the  character  of  Lord  Rochester,  and  has 
sent  a  request  to  tlie  Lord  Chamberlain  that  he  may  be  allowed  to 
make  his  entree  into  the  ball  through  a  window  and  up  a  rope- 
ladder. 

Lord  Hulkington  hopes  to  he  able  to  get  into  a  page's  dress 
which  he  wore  once  in  private  theatricals  at  the  Princess  of  Wales's 
Court  at  Naples  in  1814;  and  the  ladies  of  his  flimily  are  busy 
(for  his  Lordship,  since  he  came  into  his  fortune,  is  become  very 
economical)  in  trying  to  enlarge  it. 

Lady  Howlbury  expects  to  make  a  great  sensation,  and  not  at  a 
large  expense  ;  having  attired  herself  and  daughters  each  in  a  curtain 
of  the  State  bed  at  Ivybush,  under  which  Charles  the  Second  passed 
three  days  after  tlie  battle  of  Worcester. 

If  the  Lord  Mayor  is  invited  with  his  suite,  the  City  Marshal, 
of  course,  will  go  as  Marshal  Tureen. 


THE    CHARLES    THE    SECOND    BALL         203 

Lord  Tom  Xoddin.^ton  was  much  surprised  when  he  heard  that 
Charles  the  Second  had  been  up  a  tree,  and  always  thought  that  he 
ran  for  the  Oaks.  His  opinion  was  that  Charles  the  Second  had 
had  his  head  cut  off,  just  before  his  son,  James  the  First,  came  into 
this  country,  from  Scotland — where  Lord  Tom  goes  shooting  every 
year.  Mr.  Bland  Varges,  who  is  the  most  notorious  wag  at  Spratt's, 
said  that  as  Tom  Noddington  had  no  head  himself,  he  had  better  go 
as  the  Marquis  of  Montrose — after  his  deca])itation.  Tom  Nodding- 
ton said  he  would  be  hanged  if  he  went  as  Montrose,  which  Varges 
said  was  more  and  more  in  character.  Lord  Tom  said  he  didn't 
know.  He  knew  that  he  had  shot  the  Duke's  country,  and  hoped 
to  shoot  there  again ;  and  he  thought  "  it  was  devilish  dangerous, 
begad,  in  those  confounded  levelling  times,  by  Jove,  for  fellas  to  go 
about  saying  that  other  fellas  had  their  heads  cut  off ;  aTid  that  sort 
of  thing,  begad,  might  put  bad  ideas  into  other  fellas'  heads,  and 
radical  fellas,  and  dam  republican  fellas."  Mr.  Varges  said  that 
Lord  Tom  needn't  be  afraid  about  his  head,  and  that  if  he  lost  it 
he  wouldn't  miss  it ;  on  which  Tom  Noddy  said  that  Varges  Avas 
always  chaffing  him. 

Lord  Addlestone  —  when  his  librarian  informed  him  he  had 
heard  that  Louis  tlie  Fourteenth  as  a  young  man  wore  a  periwig 
powdered  with  gold-dust — has  liit  upon  a  brilliant  thought  of  his 
own,  and  ordered  that  his  wig  shall  not  only  be  powdered  with  gold, 
but  that  he  will  have  a  iKipiUote  of  bank-notes. 

If  these  are  scarce,  as  his  steward  informs  him,  his  Lordship's 
man  is  directed  to  use  promissory  notes  bearing  his  Lordship's 
valuable  signature. 

The  young  officers  of  the  Eclectic  Regiments,  horse  and  foot, 
Cornets  and  Lieutenant-Captains  with  ten  shillings  per  diem  of  pay, 
are  greatly  gratified  at  the  idea  of  having  to  pay  forty  pounds  a 
piece  for  their  wigs  at  the  Ball. 

It  is  said  that  a  venerable  Prelate  of  a  Western  Diocese  is  going 
to  represent  all  the  seven  recusant  Bishops  of  James's  time  at  once ; 
and  Cardinal  de  Retz,  who  had  a  genius  for  conspiracies,  fights,  rows, 
and  hot  water  in  general,  has  a  representative  in  Golden  Square, 
with  a  hat  and  costume  ready  bought  and  paid  for. 

Ensign  and  Lieutenant  Tipton,  of  the  Coolstreams,  says  that  he 
intends  to  take  Marlborough's  part  as  a  young  man,  for  he  is  very 
good-looking,  is  as  poor  as  a  rat,  and  ready  to  borrow  motiey  of  any 
woman  who  will  lend  it. 


PANORAMA    OF    THE    INGLE EZ 

(From  the  "  Bef/rout  Banner,"  "  Joppa  Intelligencer"  and 
"  Jerusalem  Journal  ") 

THE  renowned  and  learned  sage  and  doctor  of  Beyrout,  the 
excellent  Hadjee  Aboo  Bosli,  has  just  returned  to  his  beloved 
country  from  his  wonderful  travels  in  distant  lands,  having 
visited  most  of  the  cities  and  people  of  Franghistan.  He  is  familiar 
with  all  languages,  and  has  deeply  studied  the  customs  and  manners 
of  the  Infidels.  He  has  caused  skilful  limners  among.st  them,  at 
the  expense  of  many  millions  of  piastres,  to  paint  pictures  represent- 
ing the  chief  towns  of  the  Franks  ;  which  works  are  so  wonderful, 
lifelike,  and  resembling  nature,  that  true  Believers,  without  leaving 
tlie  cushion  of  repose,  or  the  pipe  of  meditation,  may  behold  the 
towns  of  Europe  jH-esented  before  them,  and  have  the  mountains  to 
come  to  tliem  which  would  not  advance  in  former  ages,  no,  not  even 
to  meet  tlie  Prophet 

The  famous  and  skilful  Hadjee  has  arranged,  near  the  Bazaar, 
by  the  Rope-makers'  quarter,  in  the  large  vacant  hall  forniei-ly 
occupied  by  the  baths  of  El  Thawer,  a  vast  chandler,  in  which  he 
exhibits  the  wonders  which  he  has  brought  from  foreign  countries. 
Having  paid  money  to  a  negro  at  the  door,  you  are  introduced 
through  obscure  passages  into  a  chamber  as  dark  as  Gehenna,  and 
into  a  place  which  they  call  a  pit,  where  you  sit  in  expectant  terror, 
before  an  awfid  curtain,  lighted  but  by  a  few  faint  lamps. 

Many  of  the  stoutest  Agas  and  Eftendis  in  Beyrout  entered  this 
gloomy  apartment,  not  without  awe.  The  women  of  the  hareem  of 
Papoosh  Pasha  were  placed  in  a  box,  guarded  by  a  gilt  cage ;  as 
were  the  ladies  of  the  establishment  of  Bluebeard  Bey,  and  the 
three  wives  of  the  Grand  Mollah.  Women's  curiosity,  indeed,  will 
go  anywhere.     As  the  poet  has  sung — 

"  There  is  no  secret  so  dark,  but  the  eye  of  Zutulbe  will  penetrate  it. 
There  is  no  tangled  skein,  but  the  finger  of  Leila  will  unravel  it. 
There  is  no  lock  so  cunning,  but  the  crooked  nose  of  the  old  hag  Fatima  will 
pick  it." 

— Indeed  a  vast  audience  of  the  officers,  lords,  and  topping 
merchants  of  Beyrout  were  present  to  behold  the  Aboo  Bosh's 
wonderful  pictures. 

Before  the  ciu-tain  drew  aside,  and  our  eyes  were  dazzled,  our 


PANORAMA    OF    THE    INGLEEZ  205 

ears  were  diverted  by  a  dexterous  slave,  who  executes  the  barbarous 
music  of  Europe,  and  the  favourite  songs  of  the  unbelievers,  by 
merely  turning  the  handle  of  a  small  chest,  called  a  Hurridee 
Gurridee.  The  handle  operates  upon  a  number  of  bulbuls  who 
are  confined  within  the  box,  each  of  whom  at  his  signal  comes 
forward  and  pipes  in  his  turn.  One  sings  the  hymn  of  the  French 
Feringhees ;  he  is  called  the  Parees  Yenn  :  when  he  is  tired, 
another  warbles  the  war-song  of  the  Ingleez ;  he  is  called  the 
Roolbretawnia :  this  over,  a  third  nightingale  begins  to  pipe  the 
delicious  love-song  of  the  Yangkees,  who  are  a  kind  of  Ingleez,  and 
tlie  name  of  this  song-bird  is  Yankeedoodool.  The  sweetest  of  all 
the  songs  is  this,  and  fills  the  heart  with  deliglit. 

"When  the  birds  are  tired,  he  who  turns-  tlie  handle  of  the  box 
stops  turning,  and  the  music  ceases  with  a  melancholy  wail.  And 
then,  as  in  a  blaze  of  splendour,  the  pictures  begin  to  pass  before 
the  astonished  beholders. 

The  City  represented  yesterday  was  the  City  of  Lundoon,  which 
lies  upon  a  river  called  the  Taraeez  :  over  which  are  twenty  thou- 
sand bridges,  each  twenty  hundred  parasangs  in  length,  and  to 
which  there  come  daily  a  hundred  thousand  ships. 

In  one  quarter  of  Lundoon,  during  the  winter  months,  it  is 
always  night.  It  is  illuminated,  however,  with  fire,  which  gushes 
out  of  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  and  affords  a  preternatural  brilliancy. 
This  quarter  is  called  Stee ;  twenty  thousand  carriages  rush  thither 
every  minute,  each  carriage  holding  forty  persons  :  the  drivers  and 
grooms  crying  out  "  Stee,  Stee  !  "  In  this  quarter  the  shrofts  and 
principal  merchants  reside.  The  palace  of  the  Lord  Cadi  is  here, 
and  each  ward  of  the  City  has  an  Elderman  :  who  becomes  Cadi  in 
his  turn.  They  are  all  fat  in  this  district,  drinking  much  of  an 
intoxicating  liquor  made  of  citrons  and  rakee,  called  Panj  or  Poonj, 
and  eating  of  a  stew  of  tortoises,  of  which  they  take  many  platefuls. 
Aboo  Bosh  owned  to  having  tasted  and  liked  the  stew,  but  about 
the  liquor  he  was  silent. 

After  seeing  the  Merchants'  quarter  the  view  changed,  and 
exhibited  to  us  the  great  Mosque  of  Paul,  whereof  the  dome  is 
almost  as  high  as  Mount  Lebanon.  The  faithful  pay  two  paras  to 
enter  this  Mosque ;  which  sum  goes  to  tlie  support  of  the  dervishes. 
Within,  it  is  surrounded  by  white  images  of  captains,  colonels,  and 
effendis ;  whose  figures  show  that  the  Ingleez  were  but  an  ill- 
favoured  people.  In  the  court  is  an  image  of  a  beloved  Queen  : 
the  people  say,  "  Queen  Ann  is  dead,"  and  tear  their  beards  to  this 
day,  so  much  do  they  love  her  memory. 

The  next  view  was  that  of  the  building  in  which  tlie  Councillors 
and  men  of  law  of  the  kingdom  meet  for  their  affairs.     In  all 


206         MISCELLANEOUS    CONTRIBUTIONS 

8tainl)ool  tliore  is  not  such  a  palaco.  It  is  carved  without,  and 
<;ilt  within.  The  Chainl)ers  of  Council  are  endless ;  the  chair  of  the 
Queen  is  a  treasure  of  splendour ;  and  Aboo  Bosh,  says,  that  when 
slie  comes  in  state,  and  surrounded  by  her  vizeers,  this  intre])id 
Sovereign  of  an  island  race,  that  governs  provinces  more  vast  and 
distant  than  Serendil)  and  Hind,  always  carries  in  her  arms  three 
lions. ,  But  the  Hadjec  did  not  see  the  Queen  of  the  Ingleez,  and  I 
doubt  of  this  story. 

Besides  the  Mosque  of  Paul,  there  is  the  Mosque  of  Peter, 
whereof  we  likewise  saw  a  view.  All  religions  are  free  in  this 
country,  but  only  one  is  paid.  Some  dervishes  shave  the  top  of 
their  heads,  some  tighten  a  piece  of  white  cloth  round  their  necks, 
all  are  dressed  in  black — we  saw  pictures  of  these,  as  also  of  the 
common  people,  the  carriages,  the  Queen's  janissaries  in  scarlet,  with 
silver  caps  on  their  heads,  and  cuirasses  made  of  a  single  diamond. 
These  giants  are  all  ten  feet  high  :  their  otMcers  fifteen  :  it  is  said 
that  each  consumes  a  sheep  and  drinks  a  barrel  of  wine  in  the  day. 

Aboo  then  showed  us  the  triumphal  arch,  near  to  the  house 
of  Wellingtoon  Pasha,  who  has  but  to  look  from  his  window  and 
see  his  own  image  on  horseback.  Ten  thousand  images  of  Welling- 
toon are  placed  about  the  town,  besides  :  the  English  being  so  proud 
of  him  because  he  conquered  the  French  Jeneral  Boonapoort.  But 
lovers  of  poetry  know  the  opinion  of  the  bard  : — - 

"  The  victory  is  not  always  with  the  bravest :  nor  the  robe  of  honour  given  to 
him  who  deserves  most. 
An  eagle  is  shot  down,  and  a  leopard  runs  away  with  the  spoil." 

Near  this  is  the  Maidaun,  where  the  young  Lords  and  Agas 
ride,  with  nymphs  as  beautiful  as  those  of  Paradise,  arrayed  in 
tight-fitting  robes,  and  smiling  from  prancing  chargers. 

And  now  came  a  buzz  of  wonder  in  the  crowd,  and  outcries  of 
delight  from  the  women's  boxes,  which  made  the  eunuchs  move  about 
briskly  with  their  rattans,  when  the  wonderful  picture  dawned  upon 
us,  representing  the  prodigious  Castle  of  Crystal  and  pavilion  of  light. 

It  is  many  miles  long,  and  in  height  several  furlongs.  It  is 
built  of  rock  crystal  and  steel,  without  putty,  wood,  bricks,  or  nails. 
On  the  walls  are  flags,  in  number  one  hundred  and  seventy-eight  thou- 
sand. We  said  "Praise  to  Allah !"  when  we  saw  the  scarlet  standard, 
with  the  crescent  and  star  of  our  august  master,  Abdul  Medjid. 

This  palace  was  built  in  a  single  night  by  an  enchanter  named 
Paxtoon.  This  wonderful  man  possesses  all  the  secrets  of  nature ; 
he  can  make  a  melon  in  ten  minutes  grow  as  big  as  a  camel,  a  rose 
spread  out  before  your  eyes  to  the  size  of  an  umbrella.  Lately,  in 
a  convent  of  dervishes,  he  caused  in  one  evening  a  cabbage  to  grow 


AN    INGLEEZ    FAMILY  207 

so  big,  that  after  hearing  a  sermon  from  one  of  tlieir  Mollahs,  who 
got  up  into  the  boughs,  axes  were  brought,  the  plant  was  felled, 
and  the  whole  community  dined  off  it ;  several  bursting  with 
repletion,  so  delicious  was  the  food.  This  was  told  Aboo  Bosh  by 
a  Mollah  of  Birmingham,  a  twisting  dervish,  who  had  seen  many 
wonders. 

Having  seen  the  exterior  of  this  Hall  of  Light,  Aboo  Bosh  now 
showed  to  us  the  wondrous  interior.  "  All  the  treasures  of  the 
world  are  there,  surely.  Ten  hundred  and  ten  thousand  persons 
come  thither  daily,  and  they  all  go  first  to  see  the  saddles  and 
embroidery  from  Beyrout.  What  arcades  of  splendour !  what 
fountains !  what  images !  The  tallest  trees  grow  in  this  palace 
The  birds  cannot  fly  to  the  roof :  it  is  so  high.  At  one  end  is  a 
l)lace  where  travellers  are  served  with  cakes  and  sherbet  by  ravish- 
ing houris,  with  moon  faces.  0  Aboo  !  0  Hadjee  !  I  suspect  that 
Fatima,  your  one-eyed  wife,  has  not  heard  the  end  of  those  tales  ! 
What  says  the  poet  1 — 

"  The  best  part  of  the  tale  is  often  that  which  is  not  told. 
A   woman's   truth  is   like   the   cloth  the    Armenian    sells   you   in   the 
bazaar  :  he  always  cribs  a  portion  of  it." 

■  And  now,  having  spent  several  hours  in  examining  this  picture, 
the  bulbul-box  was  again  set  in  motion,  and  the  greatest  curiosity  of 
all  was  represented  to  us.  This  is  an  Ligleez  family  of  distinction, 
whom  Aboo  Bosh  has  brought  with  him,  and  who  will  be  exhibited 
e\-ery  day  at  tliree  hours  before,  and  three  hours  after  sunset.  But 
the  account  of  their  strange  behaviour  shall  be  reserved  for  the  next 
Intelligence. 


AN   INGLEEZ   FAMILY 

ALL  along,  the   Exhibition  was  explained    to  us  by  a    Frank 
Interpreter,  wlio  understands  perfectly  our  language. 
^  Among  the  Ingleez,  he  said,  men  are  allowed  but  one 

wife  :  a  hard  case,  0  Agas  !  for  these  poor  women ;  for,  as  the  bard 
has  remarked — 

"When  I  am  in  a  queer  temper,  in  my  hareem,  I  may  beat 
Zuleika  with  my  slipper,  but  I  smile  upon  Leila  and  Zutulbe. 

"When  Leila's  fatness  becomes  disagreeable,  then  Zutulbe's 
leanness  commences  to  be  jjleasing. 

"When  both  annoy  me,  then  little  Zuleika  resumes  her  reign ;  for 


208         MISCELLANEOUS    CONTRIBUTIONS 

strawberries  ripen  at  one  season  of  the  year,  at  another  time  figs,  at 
ivnotlior  time  water-melons.  But  always  strawberries  would  be 
wearisome :  as  to  hear  bulbuls  all  day  would  cause  one  to  yawn. 

"  ]M.-.:i  takes  delight  in  variety,  as  the  bee  sips  of  a  thousand 
riowers." 

So,  for  any  poor  creature  to  be  subject  always  to  the  caprices  of 
one  man,  is  cruel  on  her ;  as  to  compel  one  man  to  have  but  one 
wife,  as  amongst  the  Ingleez,  is  a  tyranny  unheard  of  amongst 
civilised  nations  like  our  own ;  and  we  may  thank  our  stars  that  we 
do  not  live  in  Lundoon,  but  Beyrout. 

If  all  the  old  women  among  the  Ingleez  are  no  better-looking 
than  the  one  whom  Aboo  Bosh  showed  to  us,  I  do  not  envy  the 
elderly  gentlemen  of  that  nation,  and  can  quite  understand  their 
habitual  ill-humour. 

In  tlie  first  part  of  the  play  appeared  this  old  woman,  the 
Khanum  of  the  house,  or  "  Misseez,"  as  the  Interpreter  says  she  is 
called  ;  her  two  daughters,  Lola  and  Lota  ;  lier  son,  the  young  Aga  ; 
and  the  fether  of  the  family,  called  Brown  Etiendi. 

Brown  Eftendi  is  fifty-five  or  -six  years  old ;  he  is  tall  and  of  a 
portly  shape,  and,  like  all  the  elderly  Ingleez,  is  bald  :  nor  has  he 
the  decency  to  cover  his  baldness  with  a  couple  of  caps,  as  we  do, 
but  appears  with  his  shining  pate  without  any  shame. 

His  wife  is  two  or  three  years  younger ;  they  must  have  been 
married  these  thirty  years  :  no  wonder  that  they  quarrel  together, 
and  that  the  Eftendi  is  tired  of  such  an  old  hag  ! 

The  Interpreter  explains  that  it  is  the  beginning  of  the  day. 
A  table  is  set  out,  covered  with  a  snowy  damask  cloth,  with  urns 
and  vases  of  silver  for  tea,  cups  of  porcelain,  one  for  each  of  the 
fomily,  bits  of  roasted  bread,  hot  cakes,  meat,  honey,  and  butter. 
Tills  meal  the  Ingleez  of  distinction  take  in  common.  An  Effendi 
often  does  not  beliold  his  family  (always  excepting  the  old  hag  of  a 
wife)  except  at  that  hour. 

"  Before  the  girls  come  down,  and  you  go  away  to  the  Stee,  Mr. 
Brown,"  says  the  Misseez,  "  will  you  have  the  goodness  to  give  me 
some  money  1     Look  at  these  bills." 

"  Jehannum  take  the  bills  ! "  roars  out  Brown,  rising  up  and 
stamping.      "  Can't  you  let  a  man  read  his  newspaper  in  quiet  1 " 

0  Allah  !  read  his  newspaper  in  quiet !  It  is  an  immense  sheet, 
as  big  as  the  Capitan  Pasha's  mainsail.  I  should  think  it  has  as 
many  letters  and  lines  as  the  Koran  itself.  The  Interpreter  says, 
every  Ingleez  reads  a  paper  every  morning — it  is  called  in  their 
language  El  Tiim — from  beginning  to  end,  every  day,  before  going 
out.     Praise  be  to  Heaven  that  we  live  in  Beyrout ! 


AN    INGLEEZ    FAMILY  209 

"  Well,  don't  swear  at  a  woman,  Mr.  B.,"  she  says.  "  Don't 
swear  when  the  children  and  servants  are  coming  in.  How  can  I 
help  it,  if  the  house  is  expensive  ?  I  lived  in  a  better  before  I  came 
to  yours.     My  mamma "  , 

"Confound  your  mamma!  .How  much  is  it?"  says  Brown 
Effendi ;  and  drawing  a  paj)er  from  his  pocket-book,  he  twites  an 
order  to  his  shroff  to  pay  so  much  money. 

The  daughtei-s  now  come  in — there  was  a  great  sensation  among 
us,  especially  in  that  rogue  who  sat  by  me,  Poof  AUee,  who  is 
always  on  the  look-out  for  almond  eyes.  These  virgins  were  young 
and  fair,  of  fine  shapes  seemingly,  wearing  a  sort  of  loose  gowns 
buttoned  up  to  the  neck,  with  little  collars  and  little  caps,  with 
little  ribands;  their  cheeks  pale,  their  eyes  heavy — nevertheless, 
comely  damsels,  that  would  fetch  a  round  siun  of  piastres  in  the 
market. 

"Why  don't  you  come  sooner  1"  growls  the  father. 

"  Thev  were  at  Lady  Polk's,  at  Mrs.  Walls's,  and  were  not  home 
till  four :  the  girls  must  have  sleep,  Mr.  B." 

"Why  do  they  go  to  those  confounded  balls?"  asks  Brown 
Effendi.  The  Interpreter  explains  that  a  ball  is  a  dance  where 
many  hundred  women  assemble. 

"  They  ought  to  be  in  bed  at  ten,"  gi-owls  the  housefather. 

"  We  do  go  to  bed  at  ten  when  there  is  nothing  at  night,  papa," 
says  the  eldest.  "  We  couldn't  live  if  we  didn't  go  to  sleep  on  the 
off  nights." 

"You  don't  wish  tliem  not  to  go  in  the  world,  I  suppose,  Mr.  B.l 
You  don't  wish  them  not  to  get  establisliments?.  You  don't  suppose 
it  is  for  mt/  pleasure  that  I  go  about  night  after  night  with  these 
poor  things,  whilst  you  are  drinking  with  your  male  fiiends,  or  at 
your  clubs  !  "  (The  Interpreter  explains  that  a  Club  is  the  Coffee- 
house of  the  Ingleez :  they  sit  there  smoking  until  late  hours.) 
"You  don't  supjjose  that  /go  to  dance?" 

Brown  Effendi  burst  into  a  laugh.  "  Yoit  dance,  Polly  ! "  says 
lie.     "Do  I  suppose  the  cow  jumped  over  the  moon?" 

"  I  wish  papa  wouldn't  use  those  expressions,"  says  Miss  Lola 
to  Miss  Lota. 

Papa  now  sits  with  his  face  buried  in  El  Tinu,  and  when  he 
has  read  it  (only  in  this  Exhibition,  or  play,  of  course,  the  actor 
did  not  read  the  whole  of  the  immense  sheet,  or.  we  should  have 
sat  till  night) — this  labour  over,  and  his  breakfast  done,  he  goes 
away  to  Stee. 

"That  is  the  commencement  of  tlie  day  with  thousands  of 
English  Effendis  in  Lundoon,"  the  Interjireter  ex])lains.  "  He 
rises  at   eight.     He  shaves.     He  meets   his   family  :  kisses  them, 


210         MISCELLANEOnS    CONTRIBUTIONS 

hut  rarely  speaks,  except  to  swear  a  little,  and  find  fault.  He 
i-eads  through  El  7'rms.  He  gives  money  to  the  Khanuni.  He 
goes  to  the  Stee  :  where  his  counting-house  or  office  of  business 
is,  and  which  is  often  a  long  way  from  his  house.  He  goes  on 
foot,  while  his  wife  has  a  chariot." 

"That  I  can  understand,"  says  Poof  Allee.  "A  man  will  not 
allow  his  womankind  to  go  out  except  in  an  aroba,  guarded  l)y 
the  slaves.     Even  an  unbeliever  is  not  such  a  fool  as  that." 

"You  are  in  error,  0  Efi'endi,"  said  the  Interpreter.  "The 
women  are  free  to  go  whithersoever  they  please.  They  wear  no 
veils.  They  go  about  the  City  unprotected,  save  by  a  male 
servant,  and  even  he  is  not  necessary.  They  frequent  the  shops, 
and  bazaars,  and  public  gardens.  I  have  seen  ten  thousand  in 
tlie  Spring-time  basking  in  the  gardens  of  Kensington." 

"  0  my  eyes  !  I  will  go  there,"  said  Poof  Allee,  stroking  his 
beard,  that  sly  rogue. 

"They  are  to  be  seen  everywhere,"  continues  the  Interpreter, 
"  and  at  home,  too,  receive  men  into  their  houses." 

"This,  I  suppose,  is  one,"  remarked  a  looker-on.  "He  is 
splendid ;  he  is  tall ;  he  has  richly-carved  buttons  on  his  coat. 
He  takes  up  the  silver  urn.     Is  this  an  officer  of  the  Sultaun  1 " 

"Thaf?  That  is  a  servant,"  said  the  Dragoman.  "He  is 
bringing  breakfost  for  the  young  Efi'endi,  who  comes  down  later 
than  the  rest  of  the  family." 

"  That,"  cried  Poof  Allee,  "  a  servant  1  Why,  he  is  a  pearl 
of  beauty.  He  is  a  Roostum.  He  is  strong,  tall,  young,  and 
lovely.  Does  an.  old  Ingleez  allow  such  an  Antar  as  that  to 
walk  about  in  his  hareem  1  Psha  !  friend  Interpreter,  you  are 
joking." 

"  It  is  even  so,  sir,"  said  the  Dragoman.  "  So  strange  is  the 
pride  of  certain  classes  of  the  Ingleez,  and  so  barbarous — blas- 
phemous, I  had  almost  said — their  notions  with  regard  to  rank, 
that  the  aristocracy  among  the  Ingleez  take  no  more  account  of 
the  persons  below  them,  than  your  Honour  does  of  the  black  slave- 
boy  who  fills  your  pipe.  And  of  late,  one  of  the  lootees — or 
bufibons  among  the  Ingleez— acquired  no  small  share  of  popularity, 
and  received  from  his  bookseller  ten  thousand  pieces  of  gold,  for  a 
book  of  jests,  in  which  a  servant  was  made  the  principal  hero,  and 
brought  to  live  among  Lords  and  Agas— the  point  of  the  jest  being, 
that  the  servant  was  made  to  feel  like  a  man." 

Here  came  in  the  young  actor,  who,  the  Interpreter  said, 
represented  the  son  of  the  house.  He  drawled  into  the  apartment, 
nodded  languidly  to  his  sisters,  kissed  his  mother's  forehead,  and 
sank  into  the  vacant  chair  by  his  sisters. 


AN    INGLEEZ    FAMILY  211 

He  called  to  the  servant.      "  John  !  "  he  said,  "  pale  ale  !  " 

"  My  love  !  "  said  the  mamma. 

"  Tell  the  cook  to  devil  some  dam  thing,"  continued  the  youth. 

"  My  darling  !  "  said  the  old  lady. 

"  Hot  coppers,  ma'am  ! "  said  the  young  man,  pulling  a  little 
tuft  of  hair  on  his  chin.  "  Keep  sad  hours — know  I  do.  Out  on 
the  crawl  till  five  o'clock  this  morning.  Last  thing  I  weckolect, 
shandy-gaff." 

"You'll  kill  yourself,  child,"  cried  mamma. 

"  So  nuich  the  better  for  brother  Dick.  Youth  is  the  season 
of  enjoyment.  0  dam  !  what  a  headache  I've  got !  '  Gather  ye 
roses  while  ye  may.'     Youth  is  the  season  of  pleasure." 

"  What  sort  of  pleasure  1 "  asked  one  of  the  sisters. 

"Well — I  think  it  was  with  two  cabmen  off  the  stand,  at 
Bob  Cwoft's,"  said  the  young  man.  "  It's  not  very  good  fun, 
but  it's  better  than  those  dam  balls  that  you  go  to  every  night. 
Here  comes  the  breakfast." 

And  the  curtain-bell  ringing,  the  first  part  of  the  entertainment 
was  over. 

During  the  interval,  the  Interpreter  continued  to  explain  to  us 
the  manners  and  customs  of  this  queer  people  :  and  the  curtain 
again  rising,  showed  us  a  view  of  the  Queen's  Palace  (before  which 
there  is  a  figure  of  a  Lion  and  Unicorn,  which  makes  one  die  of 
laughing)  ;  the  Courts  of  Justice,  the  Castle  of  Windsor,  which 
seems,  indeed,  a  pavilion  of  splendour  in  a  rose-garden  of  delight  ; 
and  an  immense  hole  bored  under  the  sea,  the  dark  appearance  of 
which  made  poor  Poof  Allee  shudder.  And  now,  having  seen  the 
Ingleez  in  the  morning,  and  heard  how  the  men  pass  the  day  in 
their  offices  and  counting-houses,  the  women  in  the  shops  buying, 
in  their  carriages,  in  the  gardens,  visiting  one  another,  and  receiving 
company  at  home, — the  Dragoman  said,  "  We  shall  show  them  as 
they  are  dressed  of  an  evening,  expecting  visitors  for  the  evening." 

The  curtain  drew  up.  Brown  Effendi  was  now  dressed  with  a 
white  band  round  his  neck,  that  made  his  eyeballs  start  out  of  his 
lieail,  and  his  red  face  blaze  like  the  standard  of  the  Sultan.  Mrs. 
Brown  appeared  so  changed  since  the  morning,  that  you  would  not 
know  her,  and  Poof  Allee  (that  rogue)  said,  "  0  my  eyes  !  the  old 
woman  to-night  looks  quite  young,  and  I  always  liked  a  stout 
wniiian."  They  stood  one  on  each  side  of  the  fireplace — the 
Interpreter  said,  in  the  attitude  of  receiving  dinner  company. 

Schaun,  the  servant,  came  in  with  a  note  on  a  silver  salver. 

"It's   from   Wagg,"   said   Brown    Effendi.       "D— n    him!    he 
says  he's  ill ;  but  he's  asked  by  a  lord,  and  has  thrown  us  over. 
Take  away  one  cover,  John." 
16 


212         MISCELLANEOUS    CONTRIBUTIONS 

How  splendidly  attired  now  is  this  Schaun  !  His  costume  of 
tlie  niorniuLC  is  nothing  to  that  whi(!h  he  now  wears.  A  white  coat 
baiTed  with  gold  laee ;  a  waistcoat  of  red  and  gold  ;  shulwars  of 
Itlush,  the  colour  of  buttercups — and  has  he  grown  grey  since  tlie 
morning'?  No,  he  has  ])ut  ])owder  into  his  hair.  He  is  beautiful  to 
behold  ;  a  peacock  is  not  finer. 

And  now,  who  enter?  Who  are  these  two  houris?  Who  are 
these,  moon-fiiced  ones,  with  the  lustrous  ringlets,  the  roviiid  arms, 
the  shining  shoulders?  The  heart  beats  to  behold  them.  Poof 
Alice's  eyes  brighten  with  rapture.  They  are  the  damsels  of  the 
morning,  Lola  and  Lota. 

"  This  is  the  habit  of  Ingleez  damsels,"  says  the  Interpreter, 
with  rather  a  sly  look.  "  All  day  tiiey  cover  tliemselves  up,  but 
at  niglit,  because  it  is  cold,  they  go  with  very  little  clothes.  They 
are  now  going  to  dinner ;  they  will  then  go  to  a  concert ;  they 
will  then  drive  to  a  ball  or  dance." 

"  But  a  ball,  of  course,  only  amongst  women  1 "  said  his  Excel- 
lency Pajioosh  Pasha,  Governor  of  Beyrout,  who  was  smoking  his 
kaboon  in  a  box  near  the  stage. 

"  Among  women,  excellent  sir  !  There  are  men,  too.  If  there 
were  no  men,  the  women  would  stay  at  home.  This  is  the  way 
that  the  Ingleez " 

"  Silence,  shameless  !  "  I'oared  out  his  Excellency.  "  Kislar 
Beg !  Carry  my  women  home  this  moment.  Stop  the  Exhibition. 
All  the  principles  of  morality  are  violated.  Women  in  that  di"ess 
show  themselves  to  men  1  Never !  or  if  they  do,  it  can  only  be 
among  barbarians,  and  such  a  fact  must  not  be  known  in  a  civilised 
country.  Hadjee  Aboo  Bosh  !  this  part  of  the  Exhil^ition  must  be 
no  more  represented  under  pain  of  the  bastinado."  And  his  Excel- 
lency flung  out  of  the  room  in  a  passion,  and  the  Exhibition  ended 
abruptly. 

As  for  Poof  AUee — that  rogue — he  has  gone  ofl"  to  England  by 
the  last  Peninsular  and  Oriental  steamer. 


POOR    FUGGY 

THOSE  who  know  Topham  Sawyer,  the  accomplished  young 
Earl  of  Swellmore,  are  aware  that  under  a  masTc  of  languor 
and  levity  he  liides  considerable  powers  of  acuteness  and  ob- 
servation. His  letters  are  much  ])rized,  not  only  amongst  the  friends 
of  his  own  rank,  but  by  his  Bohemian  acquaintances  in  tlie  coulisses. 


POOR    PUGGY  213 

Of  a  sarcastic  turn,  he  is  yet  not  without  a  natural  benevolence  : 
has  cultivated  his  talents  and  liis  good  qualities  in  secret,  and  as 
if  he  was  asliaraed  of  them ;  and  not  blameless,  alas  !  in  his  life, 
he  is  correct,  even  to  fastidiousness,  in  his  spelling — in  this  affording 
an  example  to  many  of  tlie  younger  nobility  ;  and  may  be  pardoned 
some  of  liis  ])itterness,  which  may*  be  set  to  the  account  of  his  well- 
known  disappointment,  two  years  since  (wlien  he  was,  as  yet,  but 
the  penniless  and  Honourable  Topham  Sawyer),  when  the  lovely 
Lady  Barbara  Peudragou,  daughter,  we  need  scarcely  state,  of  the 
Marquis  of  INI-ngel-w-rzelshire,  threw  him  over,  and  married  the 
Roman  Prince  Corpodibacco,  nephew  of  the  Cardinal  of  that 
name.  Trifles  from  the  pens  of  the  great  are  always  acceptable 
in  certain  circles;  and  the  following  extract  of  a  letter  from 
Lord  Swellmore  to  his  intimate  and  noble  friend  the  Maniuis 
of  Macassar,  though  on  a  trifling  subject,  will  be  read  not  without 
interest  l)y  those  who  admire  our  country's  institutions.  The 
n(>ble  Earl",  whilst  waiting  at  his  Club  to  see  Messrs.  Aminadab 
and  Nebuchadnezzar  on  pecuniary  business,  having  promised  to 
write  to  the  Marciuis  of  Macassar  at  Paris  (indeed,  concerning 
bills  of  exchange,  on  which  both  the  noble  Lords  are  liable), 
dashed  ofl"  a  letter,  partly  oil  private  aftairs,  and  concluding  with 
the  following  lively  passages  : — 

I  sit  here,  my  dear  Macass,  and  see  the  people  go  by  to  the 
Exhibition.  It's  better  than  going  there.  Suave  mari  magno : 
you  see  the  ocean  devilish  well  from  the  shore.  You're  only  sick 
if  you  go  to  sea.  I  wish  they'd  give  us  a  smoking-room  fronting 
Piccadilly.  Why  don't  the  new  men  who  have  been  building,  have 
smoking-rooms  to  the  street  1  I  like  those  fellows  at  Brighton  who 
sit  on  the  clift',  in  a  ground-floor  room,  smoking — after  dinner — 
liaving  nuts  and  port  wine  at  three  o'clock  on  Sundays.  I  saw  a 
fellow  tliere  lately — his  stout  old  wife  went  out  to  church — and 
there  he  sate,  with  his  legs  on  the  second  chair,  unbuttoned,  and 
looking  out  of  window  with  a  jolly  red  face.  I  felt  inclined  to  put 
my  hand  in  and  take  a  glass  and  say,  "  Your  health,  old  boy  ! " 
His  cigars  smelt  oftensively,  but  I  envied  him  rather — not  that  I 
envy  anybody  much,  or  pity  anybody,  or  despise  anybody,  or  admire 
anybody.  I've  nothing  what  you  call  to  live  for — now  you  have, 
Macass.  You're  very  fond  of  your  whiskers,  and  anxious  about 
overcoming  your  waist.  You  have  an  aim,  my  boy,  and  a  purpose 
in  your  existence ;  coax  your  whiskers,  and  struggle  manfully  with 
your  corporation,  my  poor  old  Macass,  and  tliank  your  stars  that 
you  liave  these  to  interest  you. 

Here's  a  fellow  who  has  had  an  olijcct  in  life,  too,  it  ai)pcars. 


214  MISCELLANEOUS    CONTRIBUTIONS 

I  cut   his   advcrtisonu'iit  out  of  the   Tuhck.      It's   a  devilish  deal 
better  than  the  leaxling  article. 

DUTCH  PUG  FOR  SALE — a  very  fine  specimen  of  this  almost  extinct  breed. 
Ho  is  one  year  and  a  half  old,  and  very  gay  and  lively,  and  is  the  hondjide 
jirojterty  of  a  gentleman,  who,  from  continued  ill-health,  is  unaV)lo  to  k  op  him. 
Lowest  price  30  guineas.  No  dealer  need  apply,  either  directly  or  indirectly. 
May  be  seen  at  Mr.  Harridge's  Forge,  Pitt  Street  Mews,  Park  Lane. 

Now,  I  say,  here's  something  to  excite  your  sympathy.  An 
announcement  more  affecting  than  this  can't  well  be  imagined — a 
dog  of  an  almost  extinct  breed,  and  the  owner  of  that  rare  animal 
obliged,  from  continued  ill-health,  to  j)art  with  him.  Think,  my 
dear  Macass,  of  a  tender  and  benevolent-minded  man,  his  fine 
faculties  overclouded  by  disease,  fondly  attached  to  his  darling  pug, 
yet  seeing  that  between  him  and  that  lieloved  being  a  separation 
must  come  !  The  last  interviews  are  now  taking  place  between 
them  :  the  last  breakfasts  :  the  last  fricassee  of  chicken  :  the  last 
saucers  of  cream ;  the  little  darling  is  now  lapping  them  up,  and 
licking  the  hand  which  shall  soon  pat  its  black  nose  no  more.  He 
is  "  gay  and  lively  "  now,  the  poor  little  beggar — quite  unconscious 
of  his  coming  fate — but  eighteen  months  old — it's  heartrending. 
Ain't  it  ? 

What  degree  of  ill-health  is  it,  or  what  species  of  malady  can  it 
be,  which  obliges  a  gentleman  to  part  from  such  a  bond  fide  darling  1 
This  invalid's  ill-health  is  "  continuous,"  the  advertisement  says. 
Do  the  caresses  of  the  pug  increase  his  master's  complaint  1  Does 
continued  anxiety  for  the  pretty  favourite  prevent  the  owner's 
return  to  strength,  and  must  he  Avean  himself  from  the  little  black- 
nosed,  cock-tailed,  cream-coloured  innocent,  as  delicate  mammas  do 
from  their  babies  1  What  a  separation,  mon  Dieu  !  Poor  Puggy  ! 
Poor  poor  Master  ! 

Of  course,  he  won't  part  with  him  to  a  dealer,  directly  or  in- 
directly ;  no,  no.  Fancy  a  man's  feelings,  the  sej^aration  over,  at 
seeing  Puggy  some  day  in  the  Quadrant,  in  the  red-waistcoat  pocket 
of  a  dirty-looking  blackguard,  with  six  other  dogs,  and  a  wideawake 
hat !  An  inv^alid,  as  this  gentleman  is,  couldn't  stand  such  a  sudden 
shock.  He  would  be  carried  off  to  a  chemist's  ;  and  we  should  hear 
of  an  incpiest  on  a  gentleman  at  the  "  White  Bear."  Puggy  in  the 
Quadrant — Puggy  in  the  company  of  all  sorts  of  low  dogs,  brought 
up  in  the  worst  habits,  and  barking  in  the  vulgarest  manner ! 
Puggy,  the  once  beautiful  and  innocent,  in  the  Quadrant ! — Oh 
don't — I  can't  bear  the  'orrid  thought ! 

But  must  a  man  be  in  high  health  to  keep  a  Dutch  pugl  Does 
the  care  and  anxiety  incident  on  Dutch  pug-keeping  make  a  man  of 


PORTRAITS    FROM    THE    LATE    EXHIBITION    215 

naturally  robust  habit  ill  and  delicate  1  If  so,  it's  most  generous 
of  the  owner  of  the  little  Dutchman  to  warn  the  public.  You  ]tay 
thirty  guineas — the  very  lowest  price — you  incur  responsibility, 
infinite  care,  unrest,  disease.  You  lose  your  peace  of  mind,  and 
break  your  heart  in  cherishing  this  darling ;  and  then  you  part  with 
him.  You  recollect  what  happened  to  the  heroes  in  Homer,  how 
tliey  were  made  to  dogs  a  prey.  Here  is  a  modern  torn  in  pieces 
by  a  little  pug. 

A  little  Dutch  pug,  with  a  little  turned-up  black  nose.  And 
is  there  no  other  pretty  possessor  of  a  nez  retrousse,  which  man 
coaxes  and  dandles,  and  feeds  with  cream  and  chicken,  and  which 
he  parts  with  after  a  struggle  ?  Ah,  my  good  fellow  !  Ah,  my 
dear  Macassar !  We  are  sad  dogs  !  we  are  cynical !  You  take 
my  allusion,  and  your  knowledge  of  the  world  will  enable  you  to 
understand  the  allegory  of  your  affectionate  Swellmore. 

The  Marquis  of  Macassar. 


PORTRAITS  FROM  THE  LATE  EXHIBITION 

AS  a  popular  contemporary  has  given  a  number  of  higldy 
interesting  portraits  and  biographies  of  gentlemen  connected 
^  with  the  Exhibition,  whose  families  and  friends  will  naturally 
provide  themselves  with  copies  of  their  relatives'  lives  and  counte- 
nances, Mr.  Punch,  ever  anxious  to  benefit  self  and  public,  has  it 
in  contemplation  to  ornament  his  journal  with 

LIVES  AND  PORTRAITS  OF  THE  EXHIBITORS 

Who  have  not  gained  prizes  at  the  ExjMsition  of  1851. 

And  to  this  highly  interesting  class  he  strongly  recommends  his 
jiulilication,  of  whicli,  if  but  six  copies  weekly  be  taken  by  every 
Exhibitor,  a  decent  remuneration  cannot  fail  to  attend  the  labours 
of  ]\Ir.  P. 

As  sj)ecimens  taken  at  hazard  merely,  Mr.  Punch  offers  for  the 
present  week  the  following  biographies  and  portraits. 

Mr.  Podgers  is  the  eldest  son,  though  the  thiy-d  child,  of  Major 
Podgers,  of  the  Horse  Marines,  which  he  commanded,  on  the  death 
of  their  Colonel,  in  the  flotilla  action  in  the  Bay  of  Fundy.  The 
Major  married  Bella,  seventh  daughter  of  Sir  Muffton  Wroggles,  of 
Wrogglesby,    Northamptonshire,   in   which   county   the   old    Saxon 


21(1 


MISCELLANEOUS    CONTRIBUTIONS 


family  of  Wroj^'sles,  or  Woro.ijlcs,  has  been  located  ^ince  the  days 
of  Alfred.  The  Podgers  faiinly,  though  ancient,  is  not  of  such 
anticiuity.  Mr.  Podgcrs  received  his  elementary  education  under 
the  ciu-e  of  the  Reverend  Doctor  Grig,  at  Northa,mi)ton,  whence  he 
was  ]-emoved  to  Harrow-(tn-the-Hill,  where  he  would  have  been  a 
contemporary  of  Doctor  Parr,  Sir  William  Jones,  Lord  Byron,  and 
Sir  Robert  Peel,  had  he  been  placed  at  this  famous  school  while 

those  eminent  individuals 
were  studying  there.  It 
does  not  appear  that 
Master  Podgers  took  any 
prizes  at  Harrow,  any 
more  than  at  the  Exhibi- 
tion of  1851 ;  his  genius, 
though  useful,  not  beiiig 
brilliant,  and  his  powers 
of  ai)})lication  behig  only 
trifling. 

Mr.  Podgers  was  re- 
moved from  Harrow  to 
Cop])ernose  College,  Ox- 
ford, in  the  year  18 — , 
and  here,  though  not  dis- 
tinguished for  classical 
attainments,  he  was  very 
near  gaining  the  prize  of 
valom-  in  a  single  combat 
with  a  gigantic  bargeman 
at  Mey  Lock ;  but  the 
mariner  proved  the  better 
man,  and  an  injury  to 
Mr.  Podgers's  nose  was 
the  oidy  permanent  con- 
sequence of  the  rencontre. 
It  was  not  till  1823 
that  he  inherited,  by  the 
demise  of  the  gallant 
I\Iajor,  his  father,  his  estate  of  Hodgers-Podgers,  Hants,  where  he 
now  resides,  occupying  himself  with  agricultural  pursuits,  and  with 
hunting,  although  increasing  years  and  weight  have  rather  wearied 
him  of  that  occupation.  Mr.  Podgcrs  is  a  magistrate  and  a  married 
man;  the  father  (liy  Emily,  daughter  of  the  Reverend  Felix  Rabbits) 
of  thirteen  children. 

His  spud  was  invented  towards  the  close  of  the  year  1850,  and 


SAMUEL  rODGERS,  ESQUIRE,  EXHIBITOR  IN  THE 
AGRICULTURAL  DEPARTMENT:  AN  IMPROVED  SPUD, 
NOT  IN  THE  LEAST  NOTICED  BY  THE  COMMITTEE. 


Portraits  from  the  late  exhibition  tin 

it  is  unnecessary  to  particulurise  this  invention,  wliieli  lias  not  been 
found  to  answer  better  tlian,  or  indeed  to  differ  greatly  from,  iinple- 
meuts  of  a  like  simple  nature. 

Mr.  Podgers's  opinions  as  a  politician  are  well  known.  Not  noisy, 
he  is  consistent ;  and  has  often  been  heard  to  say,  that  if  all  England 
were  like  him,  we  should  get  Protection  back  again.  England  being 
of  the  contrary  opinion,  no  such  result  is  expected.  He  is  threescore 
years  old,  and  weighs,  we  should  think,  a  good  fourteen  stone  ten. 
» 

Mrs.  Glinders  retained,  by  marrying  her  cousin,  her  own  maiden 
and  respectable  name.  Mr. 
Glinders,  her  father,  has  long 
been  known  as  a  distinguished 
medical  practitioner  at  Bath. 
Mr.  Fitzroy  Glinders,  her 
husband,  is  a  solicitor  in  that 
city. 

In  Bath,  or  its  charming 
neighbourhood,  the  chief  part 
of  the  existence  of  Mrs.  Glin- 
ders has  been  passed.  It  was 
here  that  she  contracted,  in 
the  year  1836,  that  matri- 
monial engagement  with  the 
Reverend  Mr.  Fiddlebury, 
which  was  so  scandalously 
broken  off  by  the  Reverend 
Gentleman,  who  married  Miss 
Bluff.  The  jury  of  an  offended 
country  awarded  Miss  Glin- 
ders £500  for  the  damage 
thus  done  to  her  affections, 
which    sum   she    brought  ■  as 

dowry  to  her  cousin  the  (then)  young  Fitzroy  Glinders,  who  con- 
ducted her  case.  Their  union  has  been  blessed  with  a  considerable 
family,  and  indeed  Mr.  Glinders's  quiver  is  so  full  of  them,  that 
he  has  been  obliged  to  take  another  pew  at  church. 

The  washerwoman  of  Bath  has  ever  had  a  constant  friend  in 
Mrs.  Glinders.  The  thoughtless  chimney-sweep,  the  ignorant  dog's- 
meat  man  of  her  own  city,  have  always  been  plentifully  supplied  by 
her  with  means  for  bettering  their  spiritual  (;ondition.  The  CJaffres 
and  Mandingoes  have  found  her  eager  in  their  behalf 

The  covuiterpane,  sent  for  ju-evious  exhibition  to  the  national 
Exposition,  is  intended  finally  as  a  present  for  the  King  of  Quacco. 


FREDERICA   GLINDERS,    ADTHOR   OF 
A   COUNTERPANE. 


^IS 


mis('I':llaneous  contributions 


It  is  woollen,  striped  blue  and  pink,  with  a  I'ieh  tViuge  of  yellow  and 
pea-green.  It  oet-upied  Mns.  Olinders  two  hundred  and  seventy-four 
evenings,  and  the  prime  cost  of  the  wool  was  £17,  14s.  6d.  For  a 
web  which  was  to  pass  under  the  eyes  of  her  own  Sovereign,  over  the 
feet  of  another,  thougii  a  benighted  monarch,  Mrs.  (Hinders  thought 
justly  that  expense  was  not  to  be  regarded.  She  had  fits  on  not 
finding  her  name  in  the  prize  list,  and  had  even  entertained  an  idea 
that  Mr.  (Hinders  would  receive  a,  public  honour.  But  time  and  her 
own  strong  spirit  will  console  Mrs.  Glinders  under  these  disa'^point- 

ments  :  and  for  the  sake  of 
her  family  and  friends,  it  is 
to  be  hoped  that  she  will  be, 
in  the  words  (slightly  altered) 
of  our  immortal  bard,  "  her- 
self again." 

Horatio  Nelson  Slamcoe 
was  born  in  the  New  Cut, 
Lambeth,  in  the  year  when 
England  lost  her  greatest 
naval  hero.  His  mother, 
having  witnessed  the  funeral 
procession  of  Trafalgar's  con- 
queror, determined  to  bestow 
on  her  child,  if  a  son,  the 
gloriousnames  of  the  departed; 
hence,  in  due  time,  the  two 
Christian  names  of  the  sub- 
ject of  this  memoir.  The 
parents  of  Mr.  Slamcoe  were 
in  humble  life  ;  and  for  the 
eminence  which  he  has  sub- 
sequently acquired,  he  has  to 
thank  his  genius  rather  than 
his  education,  which  was  neglected  for  the  labours  necessary  to 
one  whose  own  hands  must  work  his  own  livelihood. 

Well  and  skilfully,  through  five-and-thirty  years,  have  the  hands 
of  Horatio  Slamcoe  toiled.  Early  taken  under  the  roof  of  a  tonsorial 
practitioner  in  the  Waterloo  Road,  Mr.  Slamcoe  learned. the  rudi- 
ments of  a  trade  which  by  him  has  been  elevated  to  an  art ;  for  if 
to  imitate  beautiful  Nature  be  Art,  what  man  deserves  the  proud 
name  of  artist  better  than  the  elegant  perruquier?  At  twenty-one 
years  of  age,  Mr.  Slamcoe  had  the  honour  of  attending  at  L-mb-th 
Palace,  with  a  wig,  made  by  his  young  hands,  and  off'ered  to  a 


PROFESSOR  SLAMCOE  :— "  A  KALONATUR^," 
OR  "SLAMCOE'S  GENT'S  OWN  HEAD  OP 
HAIR. 


PORTRAITS    FROM    THE    LATE    EXHIBITION     219 

late  reverend  Prelate  of  our  Ciiurch.  Professor  S.  augured  ill  for 
Episcopacy  when  those  ornaments  of  our  dignified  divines  fell  into 
desuetude. 

As  Napoleon  crowned  himself  King  and  Emperor,  so  it  was,  we 
believe,  that  Horatio  Slamcoe  rUd^bed  himself  Professor.  His  in- 
ventions are  known  to  the  world,  and  tlieir  beneficent  influence  is 
exemplified  in  his  own  person.  Before  he  ever  attempted  Con- 
tinental travel,  his  "  Balsam  of  Bohemia  "  was  discovered ;  just  as 
America  was  discovered  by  Columbus  before  that  philosophic  Genoese 
put  foot  on  shipboard.  His  Tuscan  Dentifrice  ;  his  Carthaginian 
Hair-dye ;  his  Fountain  of  Hebe,  are  world-celebrated  cosmetics, 
without  which  (he  says)  no  toilet  is  complete.  They  are  to  be  pro- 
cured at  his  establishment,  "  The  College  of  Beauty,"  with  the  usual 
liberal  allowance  to  the  trade,  who  should  beware  of  imprincipled 
imitators,  only  too  eager  to  adopt  the  discoveries  of  the  Professor. 

That  the  Kalonaturte,  or  Gent's  Own  Head  of  Hair,  should  have 
been  unrewarded  by  a  Medal,  is  one  of  those  instances  which  cries 
shame  on  the  awards  of  the  Committee.  Let  us  hope  it  was  not 
a  conspiracy  on  the  part  of  rival  wig-mahers  (enemies  of  Mr. 
Slamcoe  through  life)  which  defeated  the  object  of  his  ambition. 
But  if  there  be  any  individuals  blighted  like  himself,  whose  hair 
turned  white  in  a  single  niglit,  as  som>-  men's  has  through  dis- 
appointment, the  Professor  recommends  to  such  his  Carthaginian 
dye,  which  will  prevent  the  world,  at  least,  from  guessing  what 
ravages  grief  has  caused,  and  manly  pride  would  hide ;  though  it 
will  scarcely  be  credited,  the  Professor's  oion  hair  is  indebted  for 
its  rich  jelly  colour  solely  to  the  Carthaginian  discovery. 


YEPvSES 


VERSES 


THE   FLYING    DUKE 


'S 


AY,  whose  can  yonder  chariot  be, 
That  thunders  on  so  fast  1 

And  who  was  he  that  sat  within  ? 
I  marked  him  as  he  past." 


"  'Twas  Arthur,  Duke  of  Wellington, 

Who  in  that  chariot  sat, 
All  in  his  martial  cloak,  and  in 

His  proudly -plumed  cocked-hat." 

"  Not  Arthur,  Duke  of  Wellington, 

That  poster  fierce  could  be, 
Nor  yet  a  living  nobleman  : 

Some  Demon  Duke  is  he." 

"  'Twas  he — to  Folkestone  he  is  bound, 

To  town  by  rail  to  wend ; 
Wherefrom  to  Windsor  he  must  hie, 

A  Council  to  attend." 

With  whizz  and  whistle,  snort  and  puff. 

The  Duke  is  borne  to  town. 
Nor  stops  until  near  London  Bridge 

The  train  hath  set  him  down. 

There  waits  a  Brougham  on  Wellington : 

To  Apsley  House  he  tiles, 
Whereat  at  a  messenger  in  red 

Doth  meet  his  Grace's  eyes. 


224  VERSES 

"  How  now,  thou  scarlet  messenger  ! 

Thy  tidings  brietiy  tell." 
The  Queen  invites  your  Grace  to  dine 

To-morrow." 

"  Very  well." 

To  Paddington  by  cal),  to  Slough 

By  steam — away,  away  ! 
To  Windsor,  thence,  he  goes  by  fly ; 

But  there  he  must  not  stay — 

For  that  his  Grace  at  Walmer  hath 

A  tryst  this  night  to  keep  ; 
And  he  hath  warned  his  serving-men 

He  shall  be  back  to  sleep. 

The  Council's  o'er ;  back  posts  his  Grace, 

As  fast  as  fast  might  be. 
Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  well  speeds  the  Duke — 

He'll  be  in  time  for  tea.    . 

The  morrow  conies  ;  again  away 

The  noble  Duke  is  gone 
To  Folkestone,  and  to  London  Bridge, 

And  thence  to  Paddington. 

"  Away,  away  to  Paddington, 

As  fast  as  you  can  drive  ; 
'Twixt  eight  and  nine  the  Queen  doth  dine : 

Be  there  by  half-past  five." 

Fast  have  they  fled,  right  fleetly  sped. 

And  Paddington  is  won. 
"  How,  oftice-swain,  about  the  train  ? " 

"  'Tis  just  this  instant  gone." 

"Your  Grace,  we  just  have  missed  the  train, 

It  grieveth  me  to  say." 
"  To  Apsley  House  ! "  then  cried  the  Duke, 

"  As  quickly  as  you  may." 

The  loud  halloo  of  "  Go  it,  you  !  " 
Beneath  the  gas-light's  glare, 

O'er  wood  and  stone  they  rattle  on, 
As  fast  as  they  can  tear. 


THE    FLYING    DUKE  225 

On,  on  they  went,  with  hue  and  cry, 

Until  the  Duke  got  home, 
The  axle-trees  on  fire  well  nigh, 

The  horses  in  a  foam. 

Out  stepp'd  the  Duke,  serene  and  cool, 

And  calmly  went  upstairs, 
And  donn'd  the  dress,  the  which,  at  Court, 

He  generally  wears. 

"  Windsor  I  may  not  reach  in  time 

To  make  my  toilet  there  ; 
So  thus  the  hour  I  will  employ, 

Which  I,  perforce,  must  spare. 

"  What  is't  o'clock  ? "     "  Your  Grace,  near  seven." 

"  Then  bear  me  hence  again  ; 
And  mark  me — this  time  take  good  care 

You  do  not  miss  the  train." 

Off,  off  again,  the  coachman  drives, 

With  fiiry  fierce  and  fell, 
'Mid  whoop  and  shout  from  rabble  rout. 

And  oath,  and  scream,  and  yell. 

To  right  and  left  a  way  they  cleft 

Amid  the  bustling  throng ; 
While,  meteor-like,  the  carriage-lamps 

Flash'd  as  they  flew  along. 

Hurrah  !  Hurrah  !  the  station's  nigh. 

"  What  ho,  there  !  shout  amain  ! 
Here  comes  the  Duke,  he's  going  down ; 

Give  word  to  stop  the  train." 

The  engineer  and  stoker  hear ; 

Duke  Arthur  takes  his  place ; 
Behold  him  now,  on  way  to  Slough, 

Borne  at  a  whirlwind's  pace. 

"  At  Slough  who  stops  1 "     His  Grace  out  pops, 

His  ticket  is  resigned. 
"  To  Windsor  haste,  like  felon  chased, 

Or  I  shall  be  behind." 


226  VERSES 

Ort'  l)ouuds  the  hack,  while,  far  aback, 
The  night-hawk  plies  his  wdng ; 

The  race  is  run,  the  Castle's  won, 
"  Come,  this  is  just  the  thing." 

At  half-past  eight,  for  Queens  don't  wait, 

The  noble  guests  appear 
In  banquet-hall ;  and  of  them  all 

The  Duke  brings  up  the  rear. 


MORAL. 

"  'Tis  money,"  as  the  proverb  says, 
"  That  makes  the  mare  to  go." 

The  Duke  has  cash  to  cut  a  dash ; 
Would  we  could  all  do  so  ! 


MR.   SMITH   AND    MOSES 

A  VETERAN  GENT,  just  stepped  out  of  a  boat, 
In  a  tattered  old  hat  and  a  ragged  pea-coat, 
Api)eared  at  a  shop  whither  many  folks  run, 
And  that  was  the  Palace  of  Moses  and  Son. 

A  respectable  dame  with  the  mariner  went. 
Most  likely  the  wife  of  this  veteran  gent. 
And  the  eyes  of  the  pair  were  excited  with  won- 
der on  seeing  the  mansion  of  Moses  and  Son. 

*'  I've  looked  upon  many  a  palace  before. 
But  splendour  like  this,  love,  I  never  yet  sor  !  " 
This  party  exclaimed.      "  What  a  great  sum  of  mon- 
ey it  sure  must  have  cost  Messrs.  Moses  and  Son  ! " 

In  the  language  of  France  his  good  lady  replied, 

*'  This  house  is  well  known  through  the  luiiverse  wide ; 

And  you,  my  dear  Philip,  to  seed  having  run, 

Had  better  refit  with  E.  Moses  and  Son." 


MR.    SMITH    AND    MOSES  227 

E.  Moses  stepped  forth  with  a  bow  full  of  grace, 
Inviting  the  couple  to  enter  his  place  : 
He  thought  they  were  jjoor — but  the  poor  are  not  done, 
And  the  rich  are  not  fleeced  by  E.  Moses  and  Son. 

"What  clothes  can  I  serve  you  to-day,  my  good  man?" 
E.  Moses  exclaimed  :   "  You  shall  pay  what  you  can ; 
The  peer  or  the  peasant,  we  suit  every  one ; 
Republicans  true  are  E.  Moses  and  Son." 

The  pea-coated  gent  at  that  word  made  a  start, 
And  looked  nervously  roiuul  at  the  goods  of  our  mart : 
"  A  vest,  coat,  and  trousers,  as  soon  as  they're  done, 
I  want,  sHl  vmis  2)lait,  Messieurs  Moses  and  Son. 

"  I  once  was  a  king,  like  the  monarch  of  Room, 

But  was  forced  from  my  throne  and  came  off"  in  a  Br m ; 

And  in  such  a  great  hurry,  from  P-r-s  I  run, 
I  forgot  my  portmanteau,  dear  Moses  and  Son." 

"  Dear  sir,"  w-e  exclaimed,  "  what  a  lucky  escape  !  " 
So  one  brought  the  patterns,  another  the  tape ; 
And  while  witli  our  patterns  his  "  peepers  "  we  stun, 
The  gent  is  quick  measured  by  Moses  and  Son. 

The  clothes  when  complete  we  direct  in  a  hurry — 

"  —  Smith,  Esquire,  at  Prince  Leopold's,  Clare mont,  in  Surrey." 

The  cloth  was  first-rate,  and  the  fit  such  a  one 

As  only  is  furnished  by  Moses  and  Son. 

As  he  jjaces  the  valley  or  roams  in  the  grove. 
All  cry,  "  What  a  very  respectable  cove  !  " 
How  changed  in  appearance  from  him  who  late  run 
From  Paris  to  refuge  with  Moses  and  Son  ! 

Now  who  was  this  "  veteran  gent,"  sirs,  E.  Moses, 
Although  he  may  "  guess,"  yet  lie  never  discloses. 
Do  you  wnsh  to  know  more,  gents  ?  if  you  do,  why  then  run 
To  Jbldgate  and  ask  of  E.  Moses  and  Son. 


228  VERSES 


THE   FRODDYLENT   BUTLER 

Mr.  Punch,  Sir, — The  abuv  is  the  below  ritten  Pome,  on  a 
subjec  of  grate  delicasy,  wich  as  a  butler,  I  feel  it  a  disgrase  to 
the  cloth  that  any  man  calling  hisself  a  butler,  should  go  for  to  git 
wind  on  false  pretences,  and  such  wind  (as  reported  in  the  papers 
of  Tuesday  last),  from  Richmond  ;  and  in  justice  to  self  and  feller 
servants  have  expressed  my  feelins  in  potry,  wich  as  you  ave 
prevously  admitted  to  your  entertainin  columns  pomes  by  a  futman 
(and  also  a  pleaceman),  I  think  you  ave  a  right  to  find  a  plaice  for 
a  pome  by  a  butler,  wich  I  beg  to  subscribe  myself  your  constant 
reder,  John  Corks. 

14  LusHiNGTON  Place  Wkst,  Belgravy. 

IT'S  all  of  one  John  George  Montresor, 
And  Briggs,  Esquire,  his  master  kind  ; 
This  retch,  all  for  his  privat  plesure, 
Did  froddylently  order  wind. 

To  Mister  Ellis,  Richmond,  Surrey, 

Were  Briggs,  Esquire,  he  did  reside 
This  wicked  John  druv  in  a  urry. 

On  June  the  fust  and  tenth  beside. 

And  then,  this  mene  and  shabby  feller 

To  Mister  Ellis  did  remark, 
Briggs  ad  gone  out  and  took  the  cellar 

Kee  away  across  the  Park ; 

And  cumpny  comeng  on  a  suddent. 

Ad  stayed  to  dine  with  Missis  B. 
Whereby  in  course  the  l:)utler  cooden't 

Get  out  the  wind  without  the  kee. 

So  Missis  B.  she  would  be  werry  ^ 

Much  obliged  if  e'd  send  in 
Arf-a-dozen  best  brown  sherry. 

And  single  bottel  'ollans  gin. 


THE    FRODDYLENT    BUTLER  229 

But  this  was  nothink  but  a  story  as 

This  wicked  butler  went  and  told, 
Whereby  for  nothink  to  get  glorious, 

Wich  so  he  did,  and  grew  more  bold. 

Until,  at  last  grown  more  audashus. 

He  goes  and  orders,  wat  d'y  think  1 
He  goes  and  orders,  goodness  grashus, 

Marsaly,  wind  no  gent  can  drink. 

It  wasn't  for  his  private  drinkin — 

For  that  he'd  Briggses  wine  enuff — 
But,  wen  the  sherry  bins  was  sinkin 

He  filled  'em  with  this  nasty  stough. 

And  Briggs,  Esquire,  at  is  own  tabel 

(To  rite  such  things  my  art  offends) 
Might  av.e  to  drink,  if  he  was  abul, 

Marsaly  wind,  hisself  and  frends  ! 

But  praps  John  ne'er  to  tabel  brort  it. 

And  used  it  in  the  negiis  line ; 
Or  praps  the  raskal,  when  he  bort  it,  ^ 

Knew  Briggs  was  not  a  judge  of  wind. 

At  all  ewents,  all  thro'  the  seson 

This  villin  plaid  these  orrid  games. 
For  butlers  to  commit  such  treson, 

I'm  sure  it  is  the  wust  of  shames. 

But  masters,  tho  soft,  has  there  senses, 
And  roges,  tho  sharp,  are  cotcht  at  last ; 

So  Briggs,  Esquire,  at  last  commenses 
To  find  his  wind  goes  werry  fast. 

Once,  when  the  famly  gev  a  party, 

Shampain,  in  course,  the  })ankwet  crown'd ; 

And  Briggs,  Esquire,  so  kind  and  arty, 
He  ordered  John  to  and  it  round. 

No  wind  in  general's  drunk  more  quicker, 
But  now  his  glass  no  gent  would  drane ; 

When  Briggs,  on  tastin,  found  the  li(;ker 
Was  British  arf-a-crown  shampain  ! 


230  VERSES 

That  they'd  not  drink  it  was  no  wunder, 
A  dredful  look  did  Briggs  assoom, 

And  ordered,  with  a  voice  of  tluinder, 
Tlie  retched  butler  from  the  room. 

Tlien,  rushin  edlong  to  the  cellar, 
Regardless  if  he  broke  is  shins. 

He  found  wot  tricks  the  wicked  feller 
Had  been  a  playin  with  the  binns. 

Of  all  his  prime  old  sherry,  raelly 
There  wasent  none  to  speke  of  there, 

And  Mr.  Ellis's  marsaly 

Was  in  the  place  the  sherry  were. 

Soon  after  that  the  wicked  feller's 

Crimes  was  diskivered  clear  and  clene. 

By  the  small  akoimt  of  Mr.  Ellis, 
For  lickers,  twenty  pound  fifteen. 

And,  not  content  with  thus  embezzlin 
His  master's  wind,  the  skoundrel  had 

The  Richmond  tradesmen  all  been  chizzlin, 
An'  a  doin'  every  think  that's  bad. 

Whereby  on  Toosday,  Janwry  thirty, 
As  is  reported  in  the  Times, 

He  wor  ad  up  for  his  conduc  dirty, 
And  dooly  punished  for  his  crimes. 

So  masters,  who  from  such  base  fellers 
Would  keep  your  wind  upon  your  shelves, 

This  int  accept — If  you  ave  cellars, 
Always  to  mind  the  kee  yourselves. 


THE    HISTORY 


OP     THE 


NEXT    FRENCH    REVOLUTION 


THE    HISTORY 

OP     THE 

NEXT   FRENCH   REVOLUTION 

\_From  a  forthcoming  History  of  Ettrope.'\ 

CHAPTER   I 

IT  is  seldom  that  the  historian  has  to  record  events  more  singular 
than  those  which  occurred  during  this  year,  when  the  Crown  of 
France  was  battled  for  by  no  less  than  four  j^retenders,  with 
equal  claims,  merits,  bravery,  and  popularity.  First  in  the  list  we 
place — His  Royal  Highness  Louis  Anthony  Frederick  Samuel  Anna- 
Maria,  Duke  of  Brittany,  and  son  of  Louis  XVI.  The  unhappy 
Prince,  when  a  prisoner  with  his  unfortunate  parents  in  the  Temple, 
was  enabled  to  escape  from  that  place  of  confinement,  hidden  (for 
the  treatment  of  the  ruitians  who  guarded  him  had  caused  the 
young  Prince  to  dwindle  down  astonishingly)  in  the  cocked-hat 
of  the  Representative,  Roederer.  It  is  well  known  that,  in 
the  troublous  revolutionary  times,  cocked-hats  were  worn  of  a 
considerable  size. 

He  passed  a  considerable  part  of  his  life  in  Germany ;  was  con- 
fined there  for  thirty  years  in  the  dungeons  of  Spielberg;  and, 
escaping  thence  to  England,  was,  under  pretence  of  debt,  but  in 
reality  from  political  liatred,  imprisoned  there  also  in  the  Tower  of 
London.  He  must  not  be  confounded  with  any  other  of  the  persons 
who  laid  claim  to  be  children  of  the  unfortunate  victim  of  the  first 
Revolution. 

The  next  claimant,  Henri  of  Bordeaux,  is  better  known.  In  the 
year  1843  he  iield  his  little  fugitive  Court  in  furnished  lodgings,  in 
a  forgotten  district  of  London,  called  Belgrave  Square.  Many  of 
the  nobles  of  France  flocked  thither  to  him,  despising  the  persecu- 


23i  THE    HISTORY    OF    THE 

tions  of  the  occuj)aiit  of  the  throne ;  and  some  of  the  chiefs  of  the 
British  N()l)ility — among  whom  may  be  reckoned  the  celebrated  and 
chivalrous  Duke  of  Jenkins — aided  the  adventurous  young  prince 
with  their  counsels,  their  wealth,  and  their  valour. 

The  third  candidate  was  His  Imperial  Highness  Prince  John 
Thomas  Napoleon — a  fourteenth  cousin  of  the  late  Emperor :  and 
said  by  some  to  be  a  Prince  of  tlie  House  of  Gomersal.  He  argued 
justly  that,  as  the  innnediate  relatives  of  the  celebrated  Corsican 
had  declined  to  compete  for  the  crown  which  was  their  right,  he, 
Prince  John  Thomas,  being  next  in  succession,  was,  undoubtedly, 
heir  to  the  vacant  imi)erial  throne.  And  in  support  of  his  claim, 
he  appealed  to  the  fidelity  of  Frenchmen  and  the  strength  of  his 
good  sword. 

His  Majesty  Louis  Philippe  was,  it  need  not  be  said,  the  illus- 
trious wielder  of  the  sceptre  which  the  three  above-named  princes 
desired  to  wrest  from  him.  It  does  not  ajipear  that  the  sagacious 
monarch  was  esteemed  by  his  subjects,  as  such  a  prince  should  have 
been  esteemed.  The  light-minded  people,  on  the  contrary,  were 
rather  weary  than  otherwise  of  liis  sway.  They  were  not  in  the 
least  attached  to  his  amiable  family,  for  whom  his  Majesty  with 
cliaracteristic  thrift  had  endeavoured  to  procure  satisfactory  allow- 
ances. And  the  leading  statesmen  of  the  country,  whom  his  Majesty 
had  disgusted,  were  suspected  of  entertaining  any  but  feelings  of 
loyalty  towards  his  house  and  jjerson. 

It  was  against  the  above-named  pretenders  that  Louis  Philippe 
(now  nearly  a  liundred  years  old),  a  prince  amongst  sovereigns,  was 
called  upon  to  defend  his  crown. 

The  city  of  Paris  was  guarded,  as  we  all  know,  by  a  hundred 
and  twenty-four  forts,  of  a  thousand  guns  each — provisioned  for  a 
considerable  time,  and  all  so  constructed  as  to  fire,  if  need  were, 
upon  the  Palace  of  the  Tuileries.  Thus,  should  the  mob  attack  it, 
as  in  August  1792,  and  July  1830,  the  building  could  be  razed  to 
the  ground  in  an  hour ;  thus,  too,  the  capital  was  quite  secure  from 
foreign  invasion.  Another  defence  against  the  foreigners  was  the 
state  of  the  roads.  Since  •  the  English  companies  had  retired,  half 
a  mile  only  of  railroad  had  been  completed  in  France,  and  thus  any 
army  accustomed,  as  those  of  Europe  now  are,  to  move  at  sixty 
miles  an  hour,  would  have  been  ennuye^d  to  death  before  they  could 
have  marched  from  the  Rhenish,  the  Maritime,  the  Alpine,  or  the 
Pyreuean  frontier  upon  the  capital  of  France.  The  French  people, 
however,  were  indignant  at  this  defect  of  communication  in  their 
territory,  and  said,  without  the  least  show  of  reason,  that  they 
would  have  preferred  that  the  five  hundred  and  seventy-five  thousand 
billions  of  francs  which  had  been  expended  upon  the  fortifications 


NEXT    FRENCH    REVOLUTION  235 

should  have  been  laid  out  in  a  more  peaceful  manner.  However, 
behind  his  forts,  the  King  lay  secure. 

As  it  is  our  aim  to  depict  in  as  vivid  a  manner  as  possible  the 
strange  events  of  the  period,  the  actions,  the  i:)assions  of  individuals 
and  parties  engaged,  we  cannot  better  describe  them  than  by 
referring  to  contemporary  documents,  of  which  tliere  is  no  lack.  It 
is  amusing  at  the  present  day  to  read  in  the  pages  of  the  Moniteur 
and  the  J<ynrnal  des  Debats  the  accoiuits  of  the  strange  scenes 
which  took  place. 

The  year  1884  had  opened  very  tranquilly.  The  Court  of  the 
Tuileries  had  been  extremely  gay.  The  three-and-twenty  youngest 
Princes  of  England,  sons  of  her  Majesty  Victoria,  had  enlivened  the 
balls  by  their  presence ;  the  Emperor  of  Russia  and  family  had  paid 
their  accustomed  visit ;  and  the  King  of  the  Belgians  had,  as  usual, 
made  his  visit  to  his  Royal  father-in-law,  imder  pretence  of  duty 
and  lileasure,  but  really  to  demand  payment  of  the  Queen  of  the 
Belgians'  dowry,  which  Louis  Philippe  of  Orleans  still  resolutely 
declined  to  pay.  Who  would  have  thought  that  in  the  midst  of 
such  festivity  danger  was  lurkifig  rife ;  in  the  midst  of  such  quiet, 
rebellion  ? 

Charenton  was  the  great  lunatic  asylum  of  Paris,  and  it  was  to 
this  repository  that  the  scornful  journalist  consigned  the  pretender 
to  the  throne  of  Louis  XVI. 

But  on  the  next  day,  viz.,  Saturday,  the  29th  February,  the 
same  journal  contained  a  paragraph  of  a  much  more  startling  and 
serious  import ;  in  which,  although  under  a  mask  of  carelessness, 
it  was  easy  to  see  the  Government  alarm. 

On  Friday,  the  28tli  February,  the  Journal  des  Debats  con- 
tained a  paragraph,  which  did  not  occasion  much  sensation  at  the 
Bourse,  so  absurd  did  its  contents  seem.     It  ran  as  follows : — 

"  Encore  un  Louis  XVII.  !  A  letter  from  Calais  tells  us  that 
a  strange  personage  lately  landed  from  England  (from  Bedlam  we 
believe)  has  been  giving  himself  out  to  be  the  son  of  the  unfortunate 
Louis  XVI.  This  is  the  twenty-fourth  pretender  of  the  species  who 
has  asserted  that  his  fatlier  was  the  august  victim  of  the  Temple. 
Beyond  his  pretensions,  the  poor  creature  is  said  to  be  pretty  harm- 
less ;  he  is  accompanied  by  one  or  two  old  women,  who  declare  they 
recognise  in  him  the  Dauphin ;  he  does  not  make  any  attempt  to 
seize  upon  his  throne  by  force  of  arms,  but  waits  until  Heaven  shall 
conduct  him  to  it. 

"  If  his  Majesty  comes  to  Paris,  we  presume  he  will  take  up 
quarters  in  the  palace  of  Charenton. 

"  We  have  not  before  alluded  to  certain  rumours  which  have 


236  THE    HISTORY    OF    THE 

been  afloat  (among  the  lowest  canaille  and  the  vilest  estaminets  of 
the  metropolis),  that  a  notorious  personage-^why  should  we  hesitate 
to  mention  the  name  of  tlie  Prince  John  Thomas  Napoleon  1 — has 
entered  France  with  culi)able  intentions,  and  revolutionary  views. 
The  Moniteur  of  this  morning,  however,  confirms  the  disgraceful  fact. 
A  pretender  is  on  our  sliores ;  an  armed  assassin  is  threatening  our 
peaceful  liberties  ;  a  wandering  homeless  cut-throat  is  robbing  on  our 
highways  ;  and  the  punishment  of  his  crime  awaits  him.  Let  no  con- 
siderations of  the  past  defer  that  just  punishment ;  it  is  the  duty  of 
the  legislator  to  provide  for  the  future.  Let  the  full  powers  of  the 
law  be  brought  against  him,  aided  by  the  stern  justice  of  the  public 
force.  Let  him  be  tracked,  like  a  wild  beast,  to  his  lair,  and  meet 
the  fate  of  one.  But  the  sentence  has,  ere  this,  been  certainly 
executed.  The  brigand,  we  hear,  has  been  distributing  (without 
any  efiect)  pamphlets  among  the  low  ale-houses  and  peasantry  of 
the  department  of  the  Upper  Rhine  (in  which  he  lurks) ;  and  the 
Police  have  an  easy  means  of  tracking  his  footsteps. 

"Corporal  Crane,  of  the  Gendarmerie,  is  on  the  track  of  the 
unfortunate  young  man.  His  attempt  will  only  serve  to  show  the 
folly  of  the  pretenders,  and  the  love,  respect,  regard,  fidelity,  ad- 
miration, reverence,  and  passionate  personal  attachment  in  which 
we  hold  our  beloved  sovereign." 

"  Second  Edition  ! — Capture  of  the  Prince. 

"A  courier  has  just  arrived  at  the  Tuileries  with  a  report  that 
after  a  scuffle  between  Corporal  CrS,ne  and  the  '  Imperial  Army,' 
in  a  water-barrel,  whither  the  latter  had  retreated,  victory  has 
remained  with  the  former.  A  desperate  combat  ensued  in  the  first 
place,  in  a  hay-loft,  whence  the  ijretender  was  ejected  with  immense 
loss.  He  is  now  a  prisoner — and  we  dread  to  tliink  what  his  fate 
may  be  !  It  will  warn  future  asijirants,  and  give  Europe  a  lesson 
which  it  is  not  likely  to  forget.  Above  all,  it  will  set  beyond  a 
doubt  the  regard,  respect,  admiration,  reverence,  and  adoration 
which  we  all  feel  for  our  sovereign." 

"Third  Edition. 

"  A  second  courier  has  arrived.  The  infatuated  Crane  has 
made  common  cause  with  the  Prince,  and  for  ever  forfeited  the 
respect  of  Frenchmen.  A  detachment  of  the  520th  Leger  has 
marched  in  pursuit  of  the  pretender  and  his  dupes.  Go,  French- 
men, go  and  conquer  !  Remember  that  it  is  our  rights  you  guard, 
our  homes  which  you  march  to  defend;  our  laws  which  are  con- 


NEXT    FRENCH    REVOLUTION  237 

fided  to  tlie  points  of  your  unsullied  bayonets ; — above  all,  our  dear 
dear  sovereign,  around  whose  throne  you  rally  ! 

"  Our  feelings  overpower  us.     Men  of  the  520th,  remember  your 
watchword  is  Gemappes, — your  countersign,  Valmy." 


"  The  Emperor  of  Russia  and  his  distinguished  family  quitted 
the  Tuileries  this  day.  His  Imperial  Majesty  embraced  his 
Majesty  the  King  of  the  French  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  and  con- 
ferred upon  their  RR.  HH.  the  Princes  of  Nemours  and  Joinville, 
the  Grand  Cross  of  the  Order  of  the  Blue  Eagle." 


"  His  Majesty  passed  a  review  of  the  Police  force.  The  venerable 
monarch  was  received  with  deafening  cheers  by  this  admirable  and 
disinterested  body  of  men.  Those  cheers  were  echoed  in  all  French 
hearts.  Long,  long  may  our  beloved  Prince  be  among  us  to  receive 
them ! " 


CHAPTER   II 

HENRY  V.  AND  NAPOLEON  III. 


W 


Sunday  :  February  30lh. 

E    resume  our  quotations  from   the   Debats,  which  thus 
.  introduces  a  third  pretender  to  the  throne  : — 


"  Is  this  distracted  country  never  to  have  peace  1  While  on 
Friday  we  recorded  the  pretensions  of  a  maniac  to  the  great  throne 
of  France ;  while  on  Saturday  we  were  compelled  to  register  the 
culpable  attempts  of  one  whom  we  regard  as  a  ruffian,  murderer, 
swindler,  forger,  burglar,  and  common  pickpocket,  to  gain  over  the 
allegiance  of  Frenchmen — it  is  to-day  our  painful  duty  to  announce 
a  third  invasion — yes,  a  third  invasion.  The  wretched,  supersti- 
tious, fanatic  Duke  of  Bordeaux  has  landed  at  Nantz,  and  has 
summoned  the  Vcnd(jans  and  the  Bretons  to  mount  the  white 
cockade. 

"  Grand  Dieu  !  are  we  not  happy  imder  the  tricolour  1  Do  we 
not  repose  under  the  majestic  shadow  of  the  best  of  kings'?  Is 
there  any  name  prouder  than  that  of  Frenchmen ;  any  subject 
more   hajjpy   than   that   of   our  sovereign  ?      Does   not   the  whole 


238  THE    HISTORY    OF    THE 

Frencli  family  admc  their  fatlier?  Yes.  Our  lives,  our  hearts, 
our  blootl,  our  fortiuie,  are  at  his  disposal :  it  was  not  in  vain 
that  we  raised,  it  is  not  the  first  time  we  have  rallied  round, 
the  august  throne  of  July.  The  unhapjiy  Duke  is  most  likely  a 
prisoner  by  this  time ;  and  the  martial  court  wiiich  shall  be  called 
npoii  to  judge  one  infamous  t];aitor  and  pretender,  may  at  the  same 
moment  judge  another.  Away  with  both  !  let  the  ditch  of  Viu- 
cennes  (which  has  been  already  fatal  to  his  race)  receive  his  body, 
too,  and  with  it  the  corpse  of  the  other  pretender.  Thus  will  a 
great  crime  be  wiped  out  of  history,  and  the  manes  of  a  slaughtered 
martyr  avenged  ! 

"  One  word  more.     We  hear  that  the  Duke  of  Jenkins  accom- 
panies the  descendant  of  Caroline  of  Naples.     An  English  Buke, ' 
entendez-vous  !     An  English  Duke,  great  Heaven  !  and  the  Princes 
of  England  still  dancing  in'  our  Royal  halls  !     Where,  where  will 
the  perfidy  of  Albion  end  ? " 


"  The  King  reviewed  the  third  and  fourth  battalions  of  Police 
The  usual  heart-rending  cheers  accompanied  the  monarch,  who 
looked  younger  than  ever  we  saw  him — ay,  as  young  as  when  he 
faced  the  Austrian  cannon  at  Valmy  and  scattered  their  squadrons 
at  Gemappes. 

"  Rations  of  liquor,  and  crosses  of  the  Legion  of  Honour,  were 
distributed  to  all  the  men. 

The  English  Princes  quitted  the  Tuileries  in  twenty-three 
coaches-and-four.  They  were  not  rewarded  with  crosses  of  the 
Legion  of  Honour.     This  is  significant." 


"  The  Dukes  of  Joinville  and  Nemours  left  the  palace  for  the 
departments  of  the  Loire  and  Upper  Rhine,  where  they  will  take 
the  command  of  the  troops.  The  Joinville  regiment — Cavalerie  de 
la  Marine— is  one  of  the  finest  in  the  service." 


"  Orders  have  been  given  to  arrest  the  fanatic  who  calls  him- 
self Duke  of  Brittany,  and  who  has  been  making  some  disturbances 
in  the  Pas  de  Calais." 


NEXT    FRENCH    REVOLUTION  239 

"Anecdote  of  His  Majesty. — At  the  review  of  troops 
(Police)  yesterday,  his  Majesty,  going  up  to  one  old  grognard  and 
pulling  him  by  the  ear,  said,  '  Wilt  tliou  have  a  cross  or  another 
ration  of  wine  1  The  old  hero,  smiling  archly,  answered  '  Sire,  a 
brave  man  can  gain  a  cross  any  day  of  battle,  but  it  is  hard  for 
him  sometimes  to  get  a  drink  of  wine.'  Wfe  need  not  say  that  he 
had  his  drink,  and  the  generous  sovereign  sent  him  the  cross  and 
riband  too." 


On  the  next  day  the  Government  journals  began  to  write  in 
rather  a  despondent  tone  regarding  the  progress  of  the  pretenders  to 
the  throne.  In  spite  of  their  big  talking,  anxiety  is  clearly  mani- 
fested, as  appears  from  the  folio-wing  remarks  of  the  Dehats  : — 

"  The  courier  from  the  Rhine  department,"  says  the  Debats, 
"  brings  us  the  following  astounding  Proclamation  : — 

"  'Strasburg,  xxii.  Nivose  :  Decadi.  92nd  year  of  the 
Eepublic,  one  and  indivisible. 

*  'We,  John  Thomas  Napoleon,  by  the  constitutions  of  the 
Empii-e,  Emperor  of  the  French  Republic,  to  our  marshals, 
generals,  officers,  and  soldiers,  greeting  : 

'  Soldiers  J 

"  '  From  the  summit  of  the  Pyramids  forty  centuries  look  down 
upon  you.  The  sun  of  Austerlitz  has  risen  once  more.  The  Guard 
dies,  Ixit  never  surrenders.  My  eagles,  flying  from  steeple  to  steeple, 
never  shall  droop  till  they  perch  on  the  towers  of  Notre  Dame. 

"  '  Soldiers  !  the  child  of  your  Father  has  remained  long  in 
exile.  I  have  seen  tlie  fields  of  Europe  where  your  laurels  are  now 
withering,  and  I  have  communed  with  the  dead  who  repose  beneath 
them.  They  ask  wliere  are  our  children  ?  Where  is  France  ? 
Europe  no  longer  glitters  with  the  shine  of  its  triumphant  bayonets 
— echoes  no  more  with  the  shouts  of  its  victorious"  cannon.  Who 
could  reply  to  such  a  question  save  with  a  blush  1 — And  does  a 
blush  become  the  cheeks  of  Frenchmen  ? 

"  '  No.  Let  us  wipe  from  our  faces  that  degrading  mark  of 
shame.  Come,  as  of  old,  and  rally  round  my  eagles  !  You  have 
been  subject  to  fiddling  prudence  long  enough.  Come,  worship 
now  at  the  shrine  of  Glory  !  You  have  l)een  promised  liberty,  but 
you  have  had  none.  I  will  endow  you  with  the  true,  the  real 
freedom.  When  your  ancestors  burst  over  the  Alps,  were  they 
not  free  ?     Yes ;  free  to  conquer.     Let  us  imitate  tlie  example  of 


!24()  THE    HISTORY    OF    THE 

those  indomitable  myriads ;  and,  flinging  a  defiance  to  Europe,  once 
more  trample  over  her ;  march  in  triumpli  into  her  ]irostrate 
cai)ita]s,  and  bring  her  kings  with  her  treasures  at  our  feet.  This 
is  the  liberty  worthy  of  Frenchmen. 

"  '  Frenchmen  !  I  promise  you  that  the  Rhine  shall  be  restored 
to  you  ;  and  that  England  shall  rank  no  more  amimg  the  nations. 
I  will  liave  a  marine  that  shall  drive  her  ships  from  the  seas  ;  a  few 
of  my  brave  regiments  will  do  the  rest.  Henceforth,  the  traveller 
in  that  desert  island  shall  ask,  "  Was  it  this  wretched  corner  of  the 
world  that  for  a  thousand  years  defied  Frenchmen  ? " 

"  '  Frenchmen,  up  and  rally  ! — I  have  flung  my  banner  to  the 
breezes  ;  'tis  surrounded  by  the  faithful  and  the  brave.  Up,  and  let 
our  motto  be.  Liberty,  Equality,  War  all  over  the  World  ! 

" '  Napoleon  III. 
"  '  The  Marshal  of  the  Empire,  Haricot.' 

"  Such  is  the  Proclamation !  such  the  hopes  that  a  brutal- 
minded  and  bloody  adventurer  holds  out  to  our  country.  'War  all  over 
the  world  '  is  the  cry  of  the  savage  demon  ;  and  the  fiends  who  have 
rallied  round  him  echo  it  in  concert.  We  were  not,  it  appears,  correct 
in  stating  that  a  corporal's  guard  had  been  suflicient  to  seize  upon  the 
marauder,  when  the  first  fire  would  have  served  to  conclude  his  miser- 
able life.  But,  like  a  hideous  disease,  the  contagion  has  spread  ;  the 
remedy  must  be  dreadful.     Woe  to  those  on  whom  it  will  fall ! 

"  His  Royal  Highness  the  Prince  of  Joinville,  Admiral  of  France, 
has  hastened,  as  we  before  stated,  to  the  disturbed  districts,  and 
takes  with  him  his  Cavalerie  de  la  Marine.  It  is  hard  ta  think 
that  the  blades  of  those  chivalrous  heroes  must  be  buried  in  the 
bosoms  of  Frenchmen  :  but  so  be  it :  it  is  those  monsters  who  have 
asked  for  blood,  not  we.  It  is  those  ruftians  who  have  begun  the 
quarrel,  not  we.  We  remain  calm  and  hopeful,  reposing  under  the 
protection  of  the  dearest  and  best  of  sovereigns. 

"  The  wretched  pretender,  who  called  himself  Duke  of  Brittany, 
has  been  seized,  according  to  our  projiliecy:  he  was  brought  before  the 
Prefect  of  Police  yesterday,  and  his  insanity  being  proved  beyond  a 
doubt,  he  has  been  consigned  to  a  strait-waistcoat  at  Charenton.  So 
may  all  incendiary  enemies  of  our  Government  be  overcome  ! 

"  His  Royal  Highness  the  Duke  of  Nemours  is  gone  into  the 
department  of  the  Loire,  where  he  will  speedily  pjut  an  end  to  the 
troubles  in  the  disturbed  districts  of  the  Bocage  and  La  Vendue. 
The  foolish  young  Prince,  who  has  there  raised  his  standard,  is 
followed,  we  hear,  by  a  small  number  of  wretched  persons,  of  whose 
massacre  we  expect  every  moment  to  receive  the  news.     He  too 


NEXT    FRENCH    REVOLUTION  241 

has  issued   his    Prochiniation,   and   our    readers  will   smile  at  its 
contents  : — 

"  '  We,  Henry,  Fifth  of  the  Name,  King  of  France  and  Navarre, 
to  all  whom  it  may  concern,  greeting  : 

"  '  After  years  of  exile  we  have  once  more  unfurled  in  France  the 
banner  of  the  lilies.  Once  more  the  white  plume  of  Henri  IV. 
floats  in  the  crest  of  his  little  son  {'petit-fils) !  Gallant  nobles  ! 
worthy  burgesses  !  honest  commons  of  my  realm,  I  call  upon  you 
to  rally  round  the  oriflamme  of  France,  and  summon  the  ban  et 
arriere-han  of  my  kingdoms.  To  my  faithful  Bretons  I  need  not 
appeal.  The  country  of  Dugueselin  has  loyalty  for  an  heirloom  ! 
To  the  rest  of  my  subjects,  my  atheist  misguided  subjects,  their 
father  makes  one  last  appeal.  Come  to  me,  my  children  !  your 
errors  shall  be  forgiven.  Our  Holy  Father,  the  Pope,  shall  inter- 
cede for  you.  He  promised  it  when,  before  my  departure  on  this 
expedition,  I  kissed  his  inviolable  toe  ! 

"  '  Our  afflicted  country  cries  aloud  for  reforms.  The  infamous 
Universities  shall  be  abolished.  Education  shall  no  longer  be  per- 
mitted. A  sacred  and  wholesome  inquisition  shall  be  established. 
My  faithful  nobles  shall  pay  no  more  taxes.  All  the  venerable  insti- 
tutions of  our  country  shall  be  restored  as  they  existed  before  1788. 
Convents  and  monasteries  again  shall  ornament  our  country, — the  calm 
nurseries  of  saints  and  holy  women  !  Heresy  shall  be  extirpated 
with  paternal  severity,  and  our  country  shall  be  free  once  more. 

"  '  His  Majesty  tlie  King  of  Ireland,  my  august  ally,  has  sent, 
under  the  command  of  his  Royal  Highness  Prince  Daniel,  his 
Majesty's  youngest  son,  an  irresistible  Irish  Brigade,  to  co-operate 
in  the  good  work.  His  Grace  the  Lion  of  Judali,  the  canonised 
patriarch  of  Tuam,  blessed  their  green  banner  before  they  set  forth. 
Henceforth  may  the  lilies  and  the  harp  be  ever  twined  together. 
Together  we  will  make  a  crusade  against  the  infidels  of  Albion, 
and  raze  their  heretic  domes  to  the  ground.  Let  our  cry  be,  Vive 
la  France  !  down  with  England  !     Montjoie  St.  Denis  ! 

"  '  By  the  King. 
"'The   Secretary    of   State 

and  Grand  Inquisitor...     La  Roue. 
The  Marslial  of  France...     Pompadour  de  l'Aile  de  Pigeon 
The  General  Commander- 
in-Chief  of  the  Irish  Bri- 
gade in  the  service  of  His 

Most  Christian  Majesty .     Daniel,  Prince  of  Ballybunion 

" '  Henri. 


242  THE    HISTORY    OF    THE 

"  His  Majesty  reviewed  the  admirable  Police  force,  and  held  a 
council  of  Ministers  in  the  afternoon.  Measures  were  concerted  for 
the  instant  putting  down  of  the  disturbances  in  the  departments  of 
the  Rliine  and  Loire,  and  it  is  arranged  that  on  the  capture  of  the 
l)re tenders,  they  shall  be  lodged  in  separate  cells  in  the  prison  of 
the  Luxembourg :  the  apartments  are  already  prepared,  and  the 
officers  at  their  posts. 

"  The  grand  ban(iuet  that  was  to  be  given  at  the  palace  to-day 
to  the  diplomatic  body,  has  l)een  put  off ;  all  the  ambassadors  being 
attackeil  with  illness,  which  compels  them  to  stay  at  home." 


"The  ambassadors  despatched  couriers  to  their  various  Govern- 
ments." 


"  His  Majesty  the  King  of  the  Belgians  left  the  palace  of  the 
Tuileries." 


CHAPTER   III 

THE  ADVANCE  OF  THE  PRETENDERS— HISTORICAL  REVIEIF 

WE    will    now   resume    the    narrative,    and    endeavour    to 
compress,  in  a  few  comprehensive  pages,  the  facts  which 
are   more    diffusely   described   in   tlie   print  from   which 
we  have  quoted. 

It  was  manifest,  then,  that  the  troubles  in  the  departments  were 
of  a  serious  nature,  and  that  the  forces  gathered  round  the  two  pre- 
tenders to  the  crown  were  considerable.  They  had  their  supporters 
too  in  Paris, — as  what  party  indeed  has  not? — and  the  venerable 
occupant  of  the  throne  was  in  a  state  of  considerable  anxiety,  and 
found  his  declining  years  by  no  means  so  comfortable  as  his  virtues 
and  great  age  might  have  warranted. 

'  His  paternal  heart  was  the  more  grieved  when  he  thought  of  the 
fate  reserved  to  his  children,  grandchildren,  and  great-grandchildren, 
now  sprung  up  around  him  in  vast  numbers.  The  King's  grandson, 
the  Prince  Royal,  married  to  a  princess  of  the  house  of  Schlippen- 
Schloppen,  was  the  father  of  fourteen  children,  all  handsomely 
endowed  with  pensions  by  the  State.  His  brother,  the  Count  D'Eu, 
was  similarly  blessed  with  a  multitudinous  offspring.  The  Duke  of 
Nemours  had  no  children ;  but  the  Princes  of  Joinville,  Aumale, 


NEXT  FRENCH  REVOLUTION       243 

and  Montpensier  (married  to  the  Princesses  Januaria  and  Februaria, 
of  Brazil,  and  the  Princess  of  the  United  States  of  America,  erected 
into  a  monarchy,  -itli  July  1856,  under  the  Emperor  Duff  Green  I.) 
were  the  happy  fathers  of  immense  families — all  liberally  appor- 
tioned by  the  Chambers,  which  had  long  been  entirely  subservient 
to  his  Majesty  Louis  Philippe. 

The  Duke  of  Aumale  was  King  of  Algeria,  having  married  (in 
the  first  instance)  the  Princess  Badroulboudour,  a  daugliter  of  his 
Highness  Abd-el-Kader.  The  Prince  of  Joinville  was  adored  by 
the  nation,  on  account  of  his  famous  victory  over  the  English  fleet 
under  the  command  of  Admiral  the  Prince  of  Wales,  whose  ship, 
the  Richard  Cohden,  of  120  guns,  was  taken  by  the  Belh-Poule 
frigate  of  36  :  on  which  occasion  forty-five  other  ships  of  war  and 
seventy-nine  steam-frigates  struck  their  colours  to  about  one-fourth 
the  number  of  the  heroic  French  navy.  The  victory  was  mainly 
owing  to  the  gallantry  of  the  celebrated  French  horse-marines,  who 
executed  several  brilliant  charges  under  the  orders  of  the  intrepid 
Joinville :  and  though  the  Irish  Brigade,  with  their  ordinary  modesty, 
claimed  the  honours  of  the  day,  yet,  as  only  three  of  that  nation 
were  present  in  the  action,  impartial  history  must  award  the  palm 
to  the  intrepid  sons  of  Gaul. 

With  so  numerous  a  family  quartered  on  the  nation,  the  sohci- 
tude  of  the  admirable  King  may  be  conceived,  lest  a  revolution 
should  ensue,  and  fling  them  on  the  world  once  more.  How  could 
he  support  so  numerous  a  family?  Considerable  as  his  wealth 
was  (for  he  was  known  to  have  amassed  about  a  hundred  and  thirteen 
billions,  which  were  lying  in  the  caves  of  the  Tuileries),  yet  such 
a  sum  was  quite  insignificant  when  divided  among  his  progeny; 
and,  besides,  he  naturally  preferred  getting  from  the  nation  as  much 
as  his  faithful  people  could  possibly  afford. 

Seeing  the  imminency  of  the  danger,  and  that  money,  well 
applied,  is  often  more  efBcacious  than  the  conqueror's  sword,  the 
King's  Ministers  were  anxious  that  he  should  devote  a  part  of  his 
savings  to  the  carrying  on  of  the  war.  But,  with  the  cautiousness 
of  age,  the  monarch  declined  this  offer;  he  preferred,  he  said, 
throwing  himself  upon  his  faithful  people,  who,  he  was  sure,  would 
meet,  as  became  them,  the  coming  exigency.  The  Chambers  met 
his  appeal  with  their  usual  devotion.  At  a  solemn  convocation  of 
those  legislative  bodies,  the  King,  surrounded  by  his  family,  ex- 
plained the  circumstances  and  the  danger.  His  Majesty,  his  family, 
his  Ministers,  and  the  two  Chambers,  then  burst  into  tears,  accord- 
ing to  immemorial  usage,  and  raising  their  hands  to  the  ceiling, 
swore  eternal  fidelity  to  tlie  dynasty  and  to  France,  and  embraced 
each  other  affectinglv  all  round. 
18 


244  THE    HISTORY    OF    THE 

It  need  not  be  said  that  in  the  course  of  that  evening  two 
hundred  Deputies  of  the  Left  left  Paris,  and  joined  the  Prince  John 
Tlioinas  Napoleon,  who  was  now  advanced  as  far  as  Dijon  :  two 
hundred  and  fifty-three  (of  the  Riglit,  the  Centre,  and  Round  the 
Corner)  similarly  quitted  the  capital  to  pay  their  homage  to  the 
Duke  of  Bordeaux.  They  were  followed,  according  to  their  several 
political  predilections,  by  the  various-  Ministers  and  dignitaries  of 
State.  The  only  Minister  who  remained  in  Paris  was  Marshal 
Thiers,  Prince  of  Waterloo  (he  had  defeated  the  English  in  the  very 
field  where  they  had  ol)tained  formerly  a  success,  though  the  victory 
was  as  usual  claimed  by  the  Irish  Brigade)  ;  but  age  had  ruined 
the  health  and  diminished  the  immense  strength  of  that  gigantic 
leader,  and  it  is  said  his  only  reason  for  remaining  in  Paris  was 
because  a  fit  of  the  gout  kept  him  in  bed. 

The  capital  was  entirely  tranquil.  The  theatres  and  caf^s  were 
open  as  usual,  and  the  masked  balls  attended  with  great  enthusiasm  : 
confiding  in  their  hundred  and  twenty-four  forts,  the  light-minded 
people  had  nothing  to  fear. 

Except  in  the  way  of  money,  the  King  left  nothing  undone  to 
conciliate  his  people.  He  even  went  among  them  with  his  umbrella  ; 
but  they  were  little  touched  with  tliat  mark  of  confidence.  He 
shook  hands  with  everybody ;  he  distributed  crosses  of  the  Legion 
of  Honour  in  such  multitudes,  that  red  riband  rose  two  hundred 
per  cent,  in  the  market  (by  which  his  Majesty,  who  speculated  in 
the  article,  cleared  a  tolerable  sum  of  money).  But  these  blandish- 
ments and  honours  liad  little  effect  upon  an  apathetic  people ;  and 
the  enemy  of  the  Orleans  dynasty,  the  fashionable  young  nobles  of 
the  Henriquinquiste  party,  wore  gloves  perpetually,  for  fear  (they 
said)  that  they  should  be  obliged  to  shake  hands  with  the  best  of 
kings ;  while  the  Republicans  adopted  coats  without  button-holes, 
lest  they  should  be  forced  to  hang  red  ribbons  in  them.  The  funds 
did  not  fluctuate  in  the  least. 

The  proclamations  of  the  several  pretenders  had  had  their  effect. 
The  young  men  of  the  schools  and  the  estaminets  (celebrated  jjlaces 
of  public  education),  allured  by  the  noble  words  of  Prince  Napoleon, 
"  Liberty,  equality,  war  all  over  the  world  !  "  flocked  to  his  standard 
in  considerable  numbers  :  while  the  noblesse  naturally  hastened  to 
oflier  their  allegiance  to  the  legitimate  descendant  of  Saint  Louis. 

And  truly,  never  was  there  seen  a  more  brilliant  chivalry  than 
that  collected  round  the  gallant  Prince  Henry  !  There  was  not  a 
man  in  his  army  but  had  lacquered  boots  and  fresh  white  kid-gloves 
at  morning  and  evening  parade.  The  fantastic  and  effeminate  but 
brave  and  faithful  troops  were  numbered  off"  into  different  legions : 
there  was  the  Fleur-d'Orange  regiment ;  the  Eau-de-Rose  battalion  ; 


NEXT    FRENCH    REVOLUTION  245 

the  Violet-Pomatum  volunteers  ;  the  Eau-de-Cologne  cavalry — ac- 
cording to  the  different  scents  whicli  they  affected.  Most  of  the 
warriors  wore  lace  ruffles ;  all  powder  and  pigtails,  as  in  the  real 
days  of  cliivalry.  A  band  of  lieavy  dragoons  under  the  command 
of  Count  Alfred  de  Horsay  made  themselves  conspicuous  for  their 
discipline,  cruelty,  and  the  admirat)le  cut  of  their  coats ;  and  with 
these  celebrated  liorsemen  came  from  England  the  illustrious  Duke 
of  Jenkins  with  his  superb  footmen.  They  were  all  six  feet  high. 
Tliey  all  wore  bouquets  of  the  richest  flowers :  they  wore  bags,  their 
hair  slightly  powdered,  brilliant  slioulder-knots,  and  cocked-hats 
laced  with  gold.  They  wore  the  tight  knee-pantaloon  of  velveteen 
peculiar  to  this  portion  of  the  British  infantry  ;  and  their  legs  were 
so  superb,  that  the  Duke  of  Bordeaux,  embracing  with  tears  their 
admirable  leader  on  parade,  said,  "  Jenkins,  France  never  saw  such 
calves  until  now."  The  weapon  of  this  tremendous  militia  was  an 
immense  club  or  cane,  reaching  from  the  sole  of  the  foot  to  the  nose, 
and  heavily  mounted  with  gold.  Nothing  could  stand  before  this 
terrific  weapon,  and  the  breastplates  and  plumed  morions  of  the 
French  cuirassiers  would  have  been  undoubtedly  crushed  beneath 
them,  had  they  ever  met  in  mortal  combat.  Between  this  part  of 
the  Prince's  forces  and  the  Irish  auxiliaries  there  was  a  deadly 
animosity.  Alas,  there  always  is  such  in  camps  !  The  sons  of 
Albion  had  not  forgotten  the  day  when  the  children  of  Erin  had 
been  subject  to  their  devastating  sway. 

The  uniform  of  the  latter  was  various — the  rich  stuff  called 
corps-du-roy  (worn  by  Cceur  de  Lion  at  Agincourt)  formed  their 
lower  habiliments  for  the  most  part :  the  national  frieze  *  yielded 
them  tail-coats.  The  latter  were  generally  torn  in  a  fantastic 
manner  at  the  elbows,  skirts,  and  collars,  and  fastened  with  every 
variety  of  button,  tape,  and  string.  Their  weapons  were  the 
caubeen,  the  alpeen,  and  the  doodeen  of  the  country — the  latter  a 
short  but  dreadful  weapon  of  offence.  At  the  demise  of  the  vener- 
able Theobald  Mathew,  the  nation  had  laid  aside  its  habit  of 
temperance,  and  universal  intoxication  betokened  their  grief;  it 
became  afterwards  their  constant  habit.  Thus  do  men  ever  return 
to  the  haunts  of  tlieir  cliildhood :  such  a  power  has  fond  memory  over 
us  !  The  leaders  of  tliis  host  seem  to  have  been,  however,  an 
effeminate  race ;  they  are  represented  by  contemporary  historians 
as  being  passionately  fond  of  flyin<j  kites.  Others  say  they  went 
into  battle  armed  with  "  bills,"  no  doubt  rude  weapons ;  for  it  is 
stated  that  foreigners  could  never  be  got  to  accept  them  in  lieu  of 
their  own  arms.     The  Princes  of  Mayo,  Donegal,  and  Connemara, 

*  Were  these  in  any  way  related  to  the  chevaux-de-frise  on  which  the 
French  cavalry  were  mounted  ? 


246  THE    HISTORY    OF    THE 

marched  by  the  side  of  their  young  and  Royal  chieftain,  the  Prince  of 
Ballybunion,  fourth  son  of  Daniel  the  First,  King  of  the  Emerald  Isle. 
Two  hosts  then,  one  under  the  Eagles,  and  surrounded  by  the 
Republican  Imperialists,  the  other  under  the  antiiiue  French  Lilies, 
were  marching  on  the  French  cai)ital.  The  Duke  of  Brittany,  too, 
confined  in  the  lunatic  asylum  of  Charenton,  found  means  to  issue 
a  protest  against  his  captivity,  whicli  caused  only  derision  in  the 
capital.  Such  was  the  state  of  the  empire,  and  such  the  clouds  that 
were  gathering  round  the  Sun  of  Orleans  ! 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  BATTLE   OF  RHEIMS 

IT  was  not  the  first  time  that  the  King  had  had  to  undergo  mis- 
fortunes ;  and  now,  as  then,  he  met  them  like  a  man.  The 
Prince  of  Joinville  was  not  successful  in  his  campaign  against 
the  Imperial  Pretender  :  and  that  bravery  which  had  put  the  British 
fleet  to  flight,  was  found,  as  might  be  expected,  insutiicient  against 
the  irresistible  courage  of  native  Frenchmen.  The  Horse  Marines, 
not  being  on  tlieir  own  element,  could  not  act  with  their  usual  eftect. 
Accustomed  to  the  tumult  of  the  swelling  seas,  they  were  easily  un- 
saddled on  terra  fir  ma  and  in  the  Champagne  country. 

It  was  literally  in  the  Champagne  country  that  the  meeting 
between  the  troops  under  Joinville  and  Prince  Napoleon  took  place ! 
for  both  armies  had  reached  Rheims,  and  a  terrific  battle  was  fought 
underneath  the  walls.  For  some  time  nothing  coidd  dislodge  the 
army  of  Joinville,  entrenched  in  the  cliampagne  cellars  of  Messrs. 
Ruinart,  Moet,  and  others  ;  but  making  too  free  with  the  fascinating 
liquor,  the  army  at  lengtli  became  entirely  drunk :  on  which  the 
Imperialists,  rushing  into  the  cellars,  had  an  easy  victory  over  them  ; 
and,  this  done,  proceeded  to  intoxicate  themselves  likewise. 

Tlie  Prince  of  Joinville,  seeing  the  dero^ite  of  his  troops,  was 
compelled  with  a  few  faithful  followers  to  fly  towards  Paris,  and 
Prince  Napoleon  remained  master  of  the  field  of  battle.  It  is  need- 
less to  recapitulate  the  bulletin  which  he  published  the  day  after 
the  occasion,  so  soon  as  he  and  liis  secretaries  were  in  a  condition  to 
write :  eagles,  pyramids,  rainbows,  the  sun  of  Austerlitz,  &c.,  figured 
in  the  proclamation,  in  close  imitation  of  his  illustrious  uncle.  But 
the  great  benefit  of  the  action  was  this :  on  arousing  from  their 
intoxication,  the  late  soldiers  of  Joinville  kissed  and  embraced  their 
comrades  of  the  Imperial  army,  and  made  common  cause  with  them. 


NEXT    FRENCH    REVOLUTION  247 

"  Soldiers  !  "  said  the  Prince,  on  reviewing  them  the  second  day 
after  the  action,  "the  Cock  is  a  gallant  bird  ;  but  he  makes  way  for 
the  Eagle  !  Your  colours  are  not  changed.  Ours  floated  on  the  walls 
of  Moscow — yours  on  the  ramparts  of  Constantine :  both  are  glorious. 
Soldiers  of  Joinville  !  we  give  you  welcome,  as  we  would  welcome 
your  illustrious  leader,  who  destroyed  the  fleets  of  Albion.  Let  him 
join  us  !     We  will  march  togetlier  against  that  perfidious  enemy. 

"  But,  Soldiers  !  intoxication  dimmed  the  laurels  of  yesterday's 
glorious  day  !  Let  us  drink  no  more  of  tlie  fascinating  liquors  of  our 
native  Champagne.  Let  us  remember  Hannibal  and  Capua  ;  and, 
before  we  phmge  into  dissipation,  that  we  have  Rome  still  to  conquer ! 

"  Soldiers  !  Seltzer-water  is  good  after  too  much  drink.  "Wait 
awhile,  and  your  Emperor  will  lead  you  into  a  Seltzer-water  country. 
Frenchmen  1  it  lies  beyond  the  Rhine  !  " 

Deafening  shouts  of  "  Vive  rEm2iereur .'  "  saluted  this  allusion 
of  the  Prince,  and  the  army  knew  that  their  natural  boundary 
should  be  restored  to  them.  The  compliments  to  the  gallantry  of 
the  Prince  of  Joinville  likewise  won  all  hearts,  and  immensely 
advanced  the  Prince's  cause.  The  Journal  des  Debats  did  not 
know  which  way  to  turn.  In  one  paragraph  it  called  the  Emperor 
"  a  sangiunary  tyrant,  murderer,  and  pickpocket ; "  in  a  second 
it  owned  he  was  "  a  magnanimous  rebel,  and  worthy  of  forgive- 
ness ; "  and,  after  proclaiming  "  the  brilliant  victory  of  the  Prince 
of  Joinville,"  presently  denominated  it  a  '■\funeste  journee." 

The  next  day  the  Emperor,  as  we  may  now  call  him,  was  about  to 
march  on  Paris,  when  Messrs.  Ruinart  and  Moet  were  presented,  and 
requested  to  be  paid  for  three  hundred  thousand  bottles  of  wine.  "Send 
three  hundred  thousand  more  to  tlie  Tuileries,"  said  the  Prince 
sternly  :  "  our  soldiers  will  be  thirsty  when  they  reach  Paris."  And 
taking  Moet  with  him  as  a  hostage,  and  promising  Ruinart  that  he 
would  have  him  shot  unless  he  obeyed,  with  trumpets  playing  and 
eagles  glancing  in  the  sun,  the  gallant  Imperial  army  marched  on  their 
triumphant  way 


CHAPTER   V 

THE  BATTLE  OF  TOURS 

WE  have  now  to  record  the  expedition  of  the  Prince  of 
Nemours  against  his  advancing  cousin,  Henry  V.  His 
Royal  Highness  could  not  march  against  the  enemy  with 
such  a  force  as  he  would  have  desired  to  bring  against  them  ;  for 
his  Royal  father,  wisely  remembering  the  vast  amount  of  property 


248  THE    HISTORY    OF    THE 

he  had  sIowimI  aAvay  under  the  Tuileries,  refused  to  allow  a  single 
soldier  to  (juit  tiie  ibrts  romul  the  capital,  -which  thus  was  defended 
by  one  hundred  and  forty-four  thousand  guns  (ciglity-four-pounders), 
and  four  inuidred  and  thirty-two  thousand  men  : — little  enough, 
when  one  ccMisiders  tliat  tliere  were  but  three  men  to  a  gun.  To 
provision  this  immense  army,  and  a  population  of  double  tlie  amount 
within  the  walls,  his  Majesty  caused  the  country  to  be  scoured  for 
fifty  miles  round,  and  left  neither  ox,  nor  ass,  nor  blade  of  grass. 
When  appealed  to  by  the  inliabitants  of  the  plundered  district,  the 
Royal  Pliilip  replied,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  that  his  heart  bled 
for  tliem — that  they  were  liis  children — that  every  cow  taken  from 
the  meanest  i)easant  was  like  a  liml)  torn  from  his  own  body  ;  but 
that  duty  must  be  done,  that  the  interests  of  the  country  demanded 
the  sacrifice,  and  that  in  fact  they  might  go  to  the  deuce.  This 
the  unfortunate  creatures  certainly  did. 

The  tlieatres  went  on  as  usual  witliin  the  walls.  The  Journal 
des  Debats  stated  every  day  that  tlie  ])retenders  were  taken ;  the 
Chambers  sat— such  as  remained — and  talked  immensely  about 
honour,  dignity,  and  the  glorious  Revolution  of  July ;  and  the 
King,  as  his  ])ower  was  now  pretty  nigh  absolute  over  them, 
thought  tliis  a  good  opportunity  to  bring  in  a  Bill  for  doubling  his 
children's  allowances  all  round. 

Meanwhile  the  Duke  of  Nemours  proceeded  on  his  march  ;  and 
as  there  was  nothing  left  within  fifty  miles  of  Paris  wherewitli  to 
support  his  famished  troops,  it  may  be  imagined  that  he  was  forced 
to  ransack  the  next  fifty  miles  in  order  to  maintain  them.  He  did 
so.  But  the  troops  were  not  such  as  they  shoukl  have  been,  con- 
sidering the  enemy  with  whom  they  had  to  engage. 

The  iact  is,  that  most  of  tlie  Duke's  army  consisted  of  the 
National  Guard ;  who,  in  a  fit  of  enthusiasm,  and  at  the  cry  of 
"  La  patrie  en  danger  "  having  been  induced  to  volunteer,  had 
been  eagerly  accepted  by  his  Majesty,  anxious  to  lessen  as  much 
as  possible  the  number  of  food-consumers  in  liis  beleaguered  capital. 
It  is  said  even  that  he  selected  the  most  gormandising  battalions 
of  the  civic  force  to  send  forth  against  the  enemy :  viz.,  the  grocers, 
the  rich  bankers,  the  lawyers,  &c.  Their' parting  witli  their  families 
was  very  aff"ecting.  They  would  have  been  very  willing  to  recall 
their  offer  of  marching,  but  companies  of  stern  veterans  closing 
round  them,  marched  them  to  the  city  gates,  which  were  closed 
upon  them ;  and  thus  perforce  they  were  compelled  to  move  on. 
As  long  as  he  had  a  bottle  of  brandy  and  a  couple  of  sausages  in 
his  holsters,  the  General  of  the  National  Guard,  Odillon  Bai-rot, 
talked  with  tremendous  courage.  Such  was  the  power  of  his 
eloquence  over  the  troops,  that,  could  he  have  come  up  with  the 


NEXT    FEEXCH    REVOLUTION  249 

enemy  while  his  victuals  lasted,  the  issue  of  the  combat  might  have 
beeu  very  different.  But  in  the  course  of  the  first  day's  march  he 
finished  both  the  sausages  and  the  brandy,  and  became  quite  uneasy, 
silent,  and  crestfallen. 

It  was  on  the  fair  jilains  of  Tom-aine,  by  the  banks  of  silver 
Loire,  that  the  armies  sat  down  before  each  other,  and  the  battle 
was  to  take  place  which  had  such  an  effect  upon  the  fortunes  of 
France.  'Twas  a  brisk  day  of  March  :  the  practised  valour  of 
Nemours  showed  him  at  once  what  use  to  make  of  the  army  under 
his  orders,  and  having  enfiladed  his  National  Guard  battalions, 
and  placed  his  artillery  in  Echelons,  he  formed  his  cavalry  into 
hollow  squares  on  the  right  and  left  of  his  line,  flinging  out  a  cloud 
of  howitzers  to  fall  back  ujion  the  main  column.  His  veteran 
infantry  he  formed  behind  his  National  Guard — politely  hinting  to 
Odillon  Barrot,  who  wished  to  retire  under  pretence  of  being  ex- 
ceedingly unwell,  that  the  regular  troops  would  bayonet  the  National 
Guard  if  they  gave  way  an  inch  :  on  which  their  General,  turning 
very  pale,  demurely  went  back  to  his  post.  His  men  were  dread- 
fully discouraged ;  they  had  slept  on  the  ground  all  night  ;  they 
regretted  their  homes  and  their  comfortable  nightcaps  in  the  Rue 
St.  Houore :  they  had  luckily  fallen  in  with  a  flock  of  sheep  and 
a  drove  of  oxen  at  Tours  the  day  before ;  but  what  were  these, 
conijjared  to  the  delicacies  of  Chevet's  or  three  courses  at  Vefour's  ? 
They  mournfully  cooked  their  steaks  and  cutlets  on  their  ramrods, 
and  passed  a  most  wretched  night. 

The  army  of  Henry  was  encamped  opposite  to  them,  for  the  most 
part  in  better  order.  The  noble  cavalry  regiments  found  a  village 
in  which  they  made  themselves  i)retty  comfortable,  Jenkins's  Foot 
taking  possession  of  the  kitchens  and  garrets  of  tlie  buildings.  The 
Irish  Brigade,  accustomed  to  lie  abroad,  were  quartered  in  some 
potato-fields,  where  they  sang  Moore's  melodies  all  night.  There 
were,  besides  the  troops  regular  and  irregular,  about  three  thousand 
priests  and  abbes  with  the  army,  armed  with  scourging-whips,  and 
chanting  the  most  lugubrious  canticles  :  these  reverend  men  were 
found  to  be  a  hindrance  rather  than  otherwise  to  the  operations  of 
tlie  regular  forces. 

It  was  a  touching  sight,  on  the  morning  before  the  battle,  to 
see  the  alacrity  with  whic-h  Jenkins's  regiment  sprung  up  at  the 
first  reveille  of  the  bell,  and  engaged  (the  honest  fellows  !)  in  offices 
almost  menial  for  tlie  benefit  of  their  French  allies.  The  Duke 
himself  set  tlie  example,  and  blacked  to  a  nicety  the  boots  of  Henri. 
At  half-past  ten,' after  coftee,  the  brilliant  warriors  of  the  cavalry 
were  ready  ;  their  clarions  rung  to  horse,  their  banners  were  given 
to  the  wind,  their  sliirt-collars  were  exquisitely  starched,  and  the 


250  THE    HISTORY    OF    THE 

whole  air  was   scouted  witli   the   odours   of  their  pomatums  and 
pocket-handkerchiefs. 

Jenkins  had  tlie  lionour  of  hokling  tlie  stirrup  for  Henri.  "  My 
faithful  Duke  !  "  said  the  Prince,  pulling  him  by  the  shoulder-knot, 
"thou  art  always  at  thy  Post."  "Here,  as  in  Wellington  Street, 
sire,"  said  the  hero,  blushing.  And  the  Prince  made  an  a])i)ro])riate 
speech  to  his  chivalry,  in  which  allusions  to  the  lilies,  Saint  Louis, 
Bayard,  and  Henri  Quatre,  were,  as  may  be  imagined,  not  spared. 
"  Ho !  standard-bearer ! "  the  Prince  concluded,  "  fling  out  my 
oriflamme.     Noble  gents  of  France,  your  King  is  among  you  to-day ! " 

Then  turning  to  the  Prince  of  Ballybunion,  who  had  been  drink- 
ing whisky-punch  all  night  with  the  Princes  of  Donegal  and 
Connemara,  "  Prince,"  he  said,  "  the  Irish  Brigade  has  won  every 
battle  in  the  French  history — we  will  not  deprive  you  of  the  honour 
of  winning  this.  You  will  please  to  commence  the  attack  with  your 
brigade."  Bending  his  head  until  the  green  plumes  of  his  beaver 
mingled  with  the  mane  of  the  Shetland  pony  which  he"  rode,  the 
Prince  of  Ireland  trotted  oft"  with  his  aides-de-camp  ;  who  rode  the 
same  horses,  powerful  greys,  with  which  a  dealer  at  Nantes  had 
supplied  them  on  their  and  the  Prince's  joint  bill  at  three  months. 

The  gallant  sons  of  Erin  had  wisely  slept  until  the  last  minute 
in  their  potato-trenches,  but  rose  at  once  at  the  summons  of  their 
beloved  Prince.  Their  toilet  was  the  work  of  a  moment — a  single 
shake  and  it  was  done.  Rapidly  forming  into  a  line,  they  advanced 
headed  by  their  Generals — who,  turning  their  steeds  into  a  grass- 
field,  wisely  determined  to  fight  on  foot.  Behind  them  came  the 
line  of  British  foot  under  the  illustrious  Jenkins,  who  marched  in 
advance  perfectly  collected,  and  smoking  a  Manilla  cigar.  The 
cavalry  were  on  the  right  and  left  of  the  infantry,  prepared  to  act 
in  jMiitooii,  in  echelon,  or  in  ricochet,  as  occasion  might  demand. 
The  Prince  rode  behind,  supported  by  his  Staff",  who  were  almost 
all  of  them  bishops,  archdeacons,  or  abb^s ;  and  the  body  of 
ecclesiastics  followed,  singing  to  the  sound,  or  rather  howl,  of 
serpents  and  trombones,  the  Latin  canticles  of  the  Reverend  Fran- 
ciscus  O'Mahony,  lately  canonised  under  the  name  of  Saint  Francis 
of  Cork. 

The  advanced  lines  of  the  two  contending  armies  were  now  in 
presence — the  National  Guard  of  Orleans  and  the  Irish  Brigade. 
The  white  belts  and  fat  paunches  of  the  Guard  presented  a  terrific 
appearance  ;  but  it  might  have  been  remarked  by  the  close  observer, 
that  their  faces  were  as  white  as  their  belts,  and  the  long  line  of 
their  bayonets  might  be  seen  to  quiver.  General  Odillon  Barrot, 
with  a  cockade  as  large  as  a  pancake,  endeavoured  to  make  a  speech  : 
the  words  honneur,  patrie,  Francais,  champ  de  bataille  might  be 


NEXT    FRENCH    REVOLUTION  251 

distinguished;  but  the  General  was  dreadfully  flustered,  and  was 
evidently  more  at  home  in  the  Chamber  of  Deputies  than  in  the 
field  of  war. 

The  Prince  of  Ballybunion,  for  a  wonder,  did  not  make  a  speech. 
"Boys,"  said  he,  "we've  enough  talking  at  the  Corn  Exchange; 
batiiig's  the  word  now."  The  Green-Islanders  replied  with  a 
tremendous  hurroo,  which  sent  terror  into  the  fat  bosoms  of  the 
French. 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  National  Guard,"  said  the  Prince,  taking  off 
his  hat  and  bowing  to  Odillou  Barrot,  "  will  ye  be  "so  igsthramely 
obleeging  as  to  fire  first  ? "  This  he  said  because  it  had  been  said 
at  Fonteuoy,  but  chiefly  because  his  own  men  were  only  armed  with 
shillelaghs,  and  tlierefore  could  not  fire. 

But  this  proposal  was  very  unpalatable  to  the  National  Guards- 
men :  for  though  they  understood  the  musket  exercise  pretty  well, 
firing  was  the  thing  of  all  others  they  detested — the  noise,  and  the 
kick  of  the  gun,  and  the  smell  of  the  'powder  being  very  unpleasant 
to  them.  "We  won't  fire,"  said  Odillon  Barrot,  turning  round  to 
Colonel  Saugrenue  and  his  regiment  of  the  line — which,  it  may  be 
remembered,  was  formed  behind  the  National  Guard. 

"  Then  give  them  the  bayonet,"  said  the  Colonel,  with  a  terrific 
oath.     "  Charge,  corbleu  !  " 

At  this  moment,  and  with  the  most  dreadful  howl  that  ever  was 
heard,  the  National  Guard  was  seen  to  rush  forwards  wildly,  and 
with  immense  velocity,  towards  the  foe.  The  foct  is,  that  the  line 
regiment  behind  them,  each  selecting  his  man,  gave  a  poke  with  his 
bayonet  between  the  coat  tails  of  the  Nationalists,  and  those  troops 
bounded  forwards  with  an  irresistible  swiftness. 

Nothing  could  withstand  the  tremendous  impetus  of  that 
manoeuvre.  The  Irish  Brigade  was  scattered  before  it,  as  chafi" 
before  the  wind.  The  Prince  of  Ballybunion  had  barely  time  to 
run  Odillon  Barrot  through  the  l)ody,  when  he  too  was  borne  away 
in  the  swift  rout.  They  scattered  tumultuously,  and  fled  for  twenty 
miles  without  stopping.  The  Princes  of  Donegal  and  Connemara 
were  taken  prisoners  ;  but  though  they  off'ered  to  give  bills  at  three 
months,  and  for  a  hundred  thousand  pounds,  for  their  ransom,  the 
offer  was  refused,  and  they  were  sent  to  the  rear ;  when  the  Duke 
of  Nemours,  hearing  they  were  Irish  Generals,  and  that  they  had 
been  robl)ed  of  their  ready  money  by  his  troops,  who  had  taken 
them  prisoners,  caused  a  comfortable  breakfast  to  be  supplied  to 
them,  and  lent  them  each  a  sum  of  money.  How  generous  are 
men  in  success  ! — the  Prince  of  Orleans  was  charmed  with  the 
conduct  of  his  National  Guards,  and  thoiight  his  victory  secure. 
He  despatched  a  courier  to  Paris  with  the  brief  words,  "  We  met 


252  THE    HISTORY    OF    THE 

the  enemy  before  Tours.  The  National  Guard  has  done  its  duty. 
The  troops  of  the  Pretender  are  routed.  Vive  le  Roi ! "  The 
note,  you  may  be  sure,  api)oared  in  the  Jourihal  des  Debats,  and 
the  editor,  who  only  that  morning  had  called  Henri  V.  "  a  great 
prince,  an  august  exile,"  denominated  him  instantly  a  murderer, 
slave,  thief,  cut-throat,  pickpocket,  and  burglar. 


CHAPTER   VI 

THE  ENGLISH  UNDER  JENKINS 

BUT  the  Prince  had  not  calculated  that  there  was  a  line  of 
Britisli  intantry  behind  the  routed  Irish  Brigade.  Borne  on 
with  the  hurry  of  the  melee,  flushed  with  triumph,  puffing 
and  blowing  with  running,  and  forgetting,  in  the  Intoxication  of 
victory,  the  trifling  bayonet  pricks  which  had  impelled  them  to 
the  charge,  the  conquering  National  Guardsmen  found  themselves 
suddenly  in  presence  of  Jenkins's  Foot. 

They  halted  all  in  a  huddle,  like  a  flock  of  sheep. 

"  f//),  Foot,  and  at  them  !  "  were  the  memorable  words  of  the 
Duke  Jenkins,  as,  waving  his  baton,  he  pointed  towards  the  enemy, 
ajid  witli  a  tremendous  shout  the  stalwart  sons  of  England  rushed 
on  ! — Down  went  plume  and  cocked-hat,  down  went  corporal  and 
captain,  down  went  grocer  and  tailor,  under  the  long  staves  of  the 
indomitable  English  Footmen.  "A  Jenkins!  a  Jenkins!"  roared 
the  Duke,  planting  a  blow  which  broke  the  aquiline  nose  of  Major 
Arago,  the  celebrated  astronomer.  "  St.  George  for  Mayfair  ! " 
shouted  his  followers,  strewing  the  plain  with  carcasses.  Not  a  man 
of  the  Guard  escaped  ;  they  fell  like  grass  before  the  mower. 

"They  are  gallant  troops,  those  yellow-plushed  Anglais,"  said 
the  Duke  of  Nemours,  surveying  them  with  his  opera-glass.  "  'Tis 
a  pity  they  will  all  be  cut  up  in  half-an-hour.  Concombre  !  take 
your  dragoons  and  do  it !  "  "  Ptemember  Waterloo,  boys  !  "  said 
Colonel  Concombre,  twirling  his  moustache,  and  a  thousand  sabres 
flashed  in  the  sun,  and  the  gallant  hussars  prepared  to  attack  the 
Englislimen. 

Jenkins,  his  gigantic  form  leaning  on  his  staff",  and  siu'veying 
the  havoc  of  the  field,  was  instantly  aware  of  the  enemy's  manteuvre. 
His  people  were  employed  rifling  the  pockets  of  the  National  Guard, 
and  had  made  a  tolerable  booty,  when  the  great  Duke,  taking  a 
bell  out  of  his  pocket  (it  was  used  for  signals  in  his  battalion  iu 
place  of  fife  or  bugle),  speedily  called  his  scattered  warriors  together. 


NEXT    FRENCH    REVOLUTION  253 

"  Take  the  muskets  of  the  Nationals,"  said  he.  They  did  so. 
*'  Form  in  square,  and  prepare  to  receive  cavalry  ! "  By  the  time 
Concombre's  regiment  arrived,  he  found  a  square  of  bristling 
bayonets  with  Britons  behind  them  ! 

The  Colonel  did  not  care  to  attempt  to  break  that  tremendous 
body.     "  Halt !  "  said  he  to  his  mefl. 

"  Fire  !  "  screamed  Jenkins,  Avith  eagle  swiftness ;  but  the  guns 
of  the  National  Guard  not  being  loaded,  did  not  in  consequence  go 
off.  The  hussars  gave  a  jeer  of  derision,  but  nevertheless  did  not 
return  to  the  attack,  and  seeing  some  of  the  Legitimist  cavalry  at 
hand,  prepared  to  charge  upon  them. 

The  fate  of  those  carpet  warriors  w^as  soon  decided.  The 
Millefleur  regiment  broke  before  Concombre's  hussars  instan- 
taneously ;  the  Eau-de-Rose  dragoons  stuck  spurs  into  their  blood 
horses,  and  galloped  far  out  of  reach  of  the  opposing  cavalry  ;  the 
Eau-de-Cologne  lancers  fainted  to  a  man,  and  the  regiment  of 
Concombre,  pursuing  its  course,  had  actually  reached  the  Prince 
and  his  aides-de-camp,  when  the  clergymen  coming  up  formed 
gallantly  round  the  oriflamme,  and  the  bassoons  and  serpents  bray- 
ing again,  set  up  such  a  shout  of  canticles,  and  anatiiemas,  and 
excommunications,  that  the  horses  of  Concombre's  dragoons  in  turn 
took  fright,  and  those  w^arriors  in  their  turn  broke  and  fled.  As 
soon  as  they  turned,  the  Venddan  riflemen  fired  amongst  them  and 
finislied  them  :  the  gallant  Concombre  fell ;  the  intrepid  though 
diminutive  Cornichon,  his  major,  was  cut  down ;  Cardon  wafe 
wounded  a^la  moi'lle,  and  the  wife  of  the  fiery  Navet  was  that  day 
a  widow.  Peace  to  the  souls  of  the  brave  !  In  defeat  or  in  victory, 
where  can  the  soldier  find  a  more  fitting  resting-place  than  the 
glorious  field  of  carnage?  Only  a  few  disorderly  and  dispirited 
riders  of  Concombre's  regiment  reached  Tours  at  night.  They  had 
left  it  but  the  day  before,  a  thousand  disciplined  and  high-spirited 
men  ! 

Knowing  how  irresistible  a  weapon  is  the  bayonet  in  British 
hands,  the  intrepid  Jenkins  determined  to  carry  on  his  advantage, 
and  charged  the  Saugi-enue  light  infantry  (now  before  him)  with 
cold  steel.  The  Frenchmen  delivered  a  volley,  of  which  a  shot  took 
effect  in  Jenkins's  cockade,  but  did  not  abide  the  crossing  of 
the  weapons.  "  A  Frenchman  dies,  but  never  surrenders,"  said 
Saugi-enue.  yielding  up  his  sword,  and  his  whole  regiment  were 
stab})cd,  trampled  down,  or  made  ])risoners.  The  blood  of  the 
Englishmen  rose  in  the  hot  encounter.  Their  curses  were  horrible ; 
their  courage  tremendous.  "On!  on!"  hoarsely  screamed  they; 
and  a  second  regiment  met  them  iuid  was  crushed,  pounded  in  the 
hurtling,  grinding  encounter.      "  A  Jenkins,  a  Jenkins  !  "  still  roared 

T 


254  THE    HISTORY    OF    THE 

the  heroic  Duke;  "St.  George  for  Mayfair  ! "  The  Footmen  of 
England  still  yelled  their  territic  battle-cry,  "  Hurra,  hurra  !  "  On 
they  went ;  regiment  after  regiment  was  ainiiliilated,  until,  scared 
at  the  very  tranii)le  of  the  advancing  warriors,  the  dismayed  troops 
of  France  screaming  fled.  Gathering  his  last  Avarriors  round  about. 
him,  Nemours  determined  to  make  a  last  desperate  eftbrt.  'Twas 
vain :  the  ranks  met ;  the  next  moment  the  truncheon  of  the 
Prince  of  Orleans  was  dashed  from  his  hand  by  the  irresistible  mace 
of  the  Duke  Jenkins  ;  his  horse's  shins  were  broken  by  the  same 
weapon.  Screaming  with  agony  the  animal  fell.  Jenkins's  hand 
was  at  the  Duke's  collar  in  a  moment,  and  had  he  not  gasped  out, 
"  Je  me  rends  !  "  he  would  have  been  throttled  in  that  dreadful  grasp  ! 

Three  hundred  and  forty-two  standards,  seventy-nine  regiments, 
their  baggage,  ammunition,  and  treasure-chests,  fell  into  the  hands 
of  the  victorious  Duke.  He  had  avenged  the  honour  of  Old  Eng- 
land ;  and  himself  presenting  the  sword  of  the  conquered  Nemours 
to  Prince  Henri,  who  now  came  up,  the  Prince,  bursting  into  tears, 
fell  on  his  neck  and  said,  "  Duke,  I  owe  my  crown  to  my  patron 
saint  and  you."  It  was  indeed  a  glorious  victory  :  but  what  will 
not  British  valour  attain  ? 

The  Duke  of  Nemoiu-s,  having  despatched  a  brief  note  to  Paris, 
saying,  "  Sire,  all  is  lost  except  honour ! "  was  sent  off  in  confine- 
ment ;  and  in  spite  of  the  entreaties  of  his  captor,  was  hardly 
treated  with  decent  politeness.  The  priests  and  the  noble  regi- 
ments who  rode  back  wdien  the  affair  was  over,  were  for  having  the 
Prince  shot  at  once,  and  murmured  loudly  against  "cet  Anglais 
brutal  "  who  interposed  in  behalf  of  his  i:)risoner.  Henri  V.  granted 
the  Prince  his  life ;  but,  no  doubt  misguided  by  the  advice  of  his 
noble  and  ecclesiastical  counsellors,  treated  the  illixstrious  English 
Duke  with  marked  coldness,  and  did  not  even  ask  him  to  supper 
that  night. 

"Well !"  said  Jenkins,  "I  and  my  merry  men  can  sup  alone." 
And,  indeed,  having  had  the  pick  of  the  plunder  of  about  28,000 
men,  they  had  wherewithal  to  make  themselves  pretty  comfortable. 
The  prisoners  (25,403)  were  all  without  difliculty  induced  to  assume 
the  white  cockade.  Most  of  them  had  those  marks  of  loyalty  ready 
sewn  in  their  fia'nnel-waistcoats,  where  they  swore  they  had  worn 
them  ever  since  1 830.  This  we  may  believe,  and  we  will ;  but  the 
Prince  Henri  was  too  politic  or  too  good-humoured  in  the  moment 
of  victory  to  doubt  the  sincerity  of  his  new  subjects'  protestations, 
and  received  the  Colonels  and  Generals  affably  at  his  table. 

The  next  morning  a  proclamation  was  issued  to  the  imited 
armies  : — 

"Faithful  soldiers  of  France  and  Navarre,"  said  the  Prince, 


NEXT    FRENCH    REVOLUTION  255 

"  the  saints  have  won  for  us  a  great  victory — the  enemies  of  our 
religion  have  been  overcome — the  lilies  are  restored  to  their  native 
soil.  Yesterday  morning  at  eleven  o'clock  the  army  under  my 
command  engaged  that  which  was  led  by  his  Serene  Highness  the 
Duke  de  Nemours.  Our  forces  werg  but  a  third  in  number  when 
compared  with  those  of  the  enemy.  My  faithful  chivalry  and  nobles 
made  the  strength,  however,  equal. 

"The  regiments  of  Fleur-d'Orange,  Millefleur,  and  Eau-de- 
Cologne  covered  themselves  with  glory :  tliey  sabretl  many  thousands 
of  the  enemy's  troops.  Their  valour  was  ably  seconded  by  tlie 
gallantry  of  my  ecclesiastical  friends :  at  a  moment  of  danger  they 
rallied  round  my  banner,  and  forsaking  the  crosier  for  the  swcwd, 
showed  that  they  were  of  the  church  militant  indeed. 

"  My  faithful  Irish  auxiliaries  conducted  themselves  with  be- 
coming heroism — but  why  particularise  when  all  did  their  duty  % 
How  remember  individual  acts  when  all  were  heroes  1 " 

The  Marshal  of  France,  Sucre  d'Orgeville,  Commander  of  the 
Army  of  H.M.  Christian  Majesty,  recommended  about  three  thou- 
sand persons  for  promotion  ;  and  the  indignation  of  Jenkins  and  his 
brave  companions  may  be  imagined  when  it  is  stated  that  they  were 
not  even  mentioned  in  the  despatch  ! 

As  for  the  Princes  of  Ballybunion,  Donegal,  and  Connemara, 
they  wrote  off  despatches  to  their  Government,  saying,  "  The  Duke 
of  Nemours  is  beaten,  and  a  prisoner  !  The  Irish  Brigade  has  done 
it  all ! "  On  which  his  Majesty,  the  King  of  the  Irish,  convoking 
his  Parliament  at  tlie  Corn  Exchange  Palace,  Dublin,  made  a  speech, 
in  which  he  called  Louis  Philippe  an  "old  miscreant,"  and  paid  the 
highest  compliments  to  his  son  and  his  troops.  The  King  on  this 
occasion  knighted  Sir  Henry  Sheehan,  Sir  Gavan  Duffy  (whose 
journals  had  published  the  news),  and  was  so  delighted  with  the 
valour  of  his  son,  that  he  despatched  him  his  Order  of  the  Pig  and 
Whistle  (1st  class),  and  a  munificent  present  of  five  hundred  thou- 
sand pounds — in  a  bill  at  three  months.  All  Dublin  was  illu- 
minated ;  and  at  a  ball  at  the  Castle  the  Lord  Chancellor  Smith 
(Earl  of  Smithereens)  getting  extremely  intoxicated,  called  out  the 
Lord  Bishop  of  Galway  (the  Dove),  and  they  fought  in  the  Phoenix 
Park.  Having  shot  the  Right  Reverend  Bishop  through  the  body, 
Smithereens  apologised.  He  was  the  same  practitioner  who  had 
rendered  himself  so  celebrated  in  the  memorable  trial  of  the  King — 
before  the  Act  of  Independence. 

Meanwhile,  the  army  of  Prince  Henri  advanced  with  rapid 
strides  towards  Paris,  whither  the  History  likewise  must  hasten; 
for  extraordinary  were  the  events  preparing  in  that  capital. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  LEAGUER  OF  PARIS 

BY  a  singular  coincidence,  on  the  very  same  day  when  the  armiee 
of  Henri  V.  appeared  before  Paris  from  the  Western  Road, 
those  of  the  Emperor  Jolin  Tliomas  Napoleon  arrived  from 
the  North.  Skirmishes  took  place  between  the  advanced  guards  of 
the  two  parties,  and  mucli  slaughter  ensued. 

• "  Bon  ! "  thought  King  Louis  Philippe,  who  examined  them 
from  his  tower ;  "  they  will  kill  each  other.  This  is  by  far  the 
most  economical  way  of  getting  rid  of  them."  The  astute  monarch's 
calculations  were  admirably  exposed  by  a  clever  remark  of  the 
Prince  of  Ballybunion.  "  Faix,  Harry."  says  he  (with  a  familiarity 
which  the  punctilious  son  of  Saint  Louis  resented),  "  you  and  him 
yandther — the  Emperor,  I  mane — are  like  the  Kilkenny  cats,  dear." 

"  Et  que  fout-ils  ces  chats  de  Kilkigny,  Monsieur  le  Prince  de 
Ballybunion  ? "  asked  the  Most  Christian  King  liaughtily. 

Prince  Daniel  replied  by  narrating  the  well-known  apologue  of 
the  animals  "  ating  each  otlier  all  up  but  their  teels ;  and  that's 
what  you  and  Imparial  Pop  yondther  will  do,  blazing  away  as  ye 
are,"  added  the  jocose  and  Royal  boy'. 

"  Je  prie  votre  Altesse  Royale  de  vaguer  h  ses  propres  affaires," 
answered  Prince  Henri  sternly  :  for  he  was  an  enemy  to  anything 
like  a  joke ;  but  there  is  always  wisdom  in  real  wit,  and  it  would 
have  been  well  for  his  Most  Christian  Majesty  had  he  followed  the 
acetious  counsels  of  his  Irish  ally. 

The  fact  is,  the  King,  Henri,  had  an  understanding  with  the 
garrisons  of  some  of  the  forts,  and  expected  all  would  declare  for 
him.  However,  of  the  twenty-four  forts  which  we  have  described, 
eight  only — and  by  the  means  of  Marshal  Soult,  who  had  grown 
extremely  devout  of  late  years — declared  for  Henri,  and  raised  the 
white  Hag :  while  eight  others,  seeing  Prince  John  Thomas  Napoleon 
before  them  in  the  costume  of  his  revered  predecessor,  at  once  flung 
open  their  gates  to  him,  and  mounted  the  tricolour  with  the  eagle. 
The  remaining  eight,  into  which  the  Princes  of  the  blood  of  Orleans 
had  thrown  themselves,  remained  constant  to  Louis  PhiHppe. 
Nothing  could  induce  that  Prince  to  quit  the  Tuileries.  His  money 
was  there,  and  he  swore  he  would  remain  by  it.  In  vain  his  sons 
offered  to  bring  him  into  one  of  the  forts — he  would  not  stir  with- 
out his  treasure.  They  said  they  would  transport  it  thither ;  but 
no,  no :  the  patriarchal  monarch,  jjutting  his  finger  to  his  aged  nose. 


NEXT    FRENCH    REVOLUTION  257 

and  winking  archly,  said  "  he  knew  a  trick  worth  two  of  that,"  and 
resolved  to  abide  by  his  bags. 

The  theatres  and  caf^s  remained  open  as  usual :  the  funds  rose 
tliree  centimes.  The  Journal  des  Dehats  published  three  editions 
of  different  tones  of  politics  :  one,  the  Journal  de  V Empire^  for  the 
Napoleonites ;  the  Jottrnal  de  la  Legitimite  another,  very  compli- 
mentary to  the  Legitimate  monarch ;  and  finally,  the  original 
edition,  bound  heart  and  soul  to  the  dynasty  of  July.  The  poor 
editor,  who  had  to  write  all  three,  complained  not  a  little  that  his 
salary  was  not  raised :  but  tJie  truth  is,  that,  by  altering  the  names, 
one  article  did  indifferently  for  either  paper.  The  Duke  of  Brittany, 
under  tlie  title  of  Louis  XVII. ,  was  always  issuing  manifestoes  from 
Charenton,  but  of  these  the  Parisians  took  little  heed  :  the  Charivari 
jtroclaimed  itself  his  Gazette,  and  was  allowed  to  be  very  witty  at 
the  expense  of  the  three  pretenders. 

As  the  country  had  been  ravaged  for  a  hundred  miles  round,  the 
respective  Princes  of  course  were  for  throwing  themselves  into  the 
forts,  where  there  was  plenty  of  provision ;  and,  when  once  there, 
they  speedily  began  to  turn  out  such  of  the  garrison  as  were  dis- 
agreeable to  them,  or  had  an  inconvenient  appetite,  or  were  of  a  doubt- 
ful fidelity.  These  poor  fellows,  turned  into  the  road,  had  no  choice 
but  starvation ;  as  to  getting  into  Paris,  that  was  impossible :  a 
mouse  could  not  have  got  into  the  place,  so  admirably  were  the  forts 
guarded,  without  having  his  head  taken  off  by  a  cannon-ball.  Thus 
the  three  conflicting  parties  stood,  close  to  each  other,  hating  each 
other,  "  willing  to  wound,  and  yet  afraid  to  strike  " — the  victuals 
in  the  forts,  from  the  prodigious  increase  of  the  garrisons,  getting 
smaller  every  day.  As  for  Louis  Philippe  in  his  palace,  in  the 
centre  of  the  twenty-four  forts,  knowing  that  a  spark  from  one 
might  set  them  all  blazing  away,  and  that  he  and  his  money-bags 
might  be  blown  into  eternity  in  ten  minutes,  you  may  fancy  his 
situation  was  not  very  comfortable. 

But  his  safety  lay  in  his  treasure.  Neither  the  Imperialists  nor 
the  Bourbonites  were  willing  to  relinquish  the  two  hundred  and 
fifty  billions  in  gold ;  nor  would  the  Princes  of  Orleans  dare  to  fire 
upon  that  considerable  sura  of  money,  and  its  possessor,  their  revered 
fatlier.  How  was  this  state  of  things  to  end  1  The  Emperor  sent 
a  note  to  his  Most  Christian  Majesty  (for  they  always  styled  each 
other  in  this  manner  in  their  communications),  proposing  that  tliey 
should  turn  out  and  decide  the  quarrel  sword  in  hand  ;  to  which  pro- 
position Henri  would  have  acceded,  but  tliat  the  priests,  his  ghostly 
counsellors,  threatened  to  excommunicate  him  should  he  do  so. 
Hence  this  simple  way  of  settling  the  dispute  was  impossible. 

The  presence  of  the  holy  fathers  caused  considerable  annoyance 


258  THE    HISTORY    OF    THE 

in  tlie  forts.  Especially  the  poor  English,  us  Protestants,  were 
subject  to  much  petty  persecution,  to  the  no  small  anger  of  Jenkins, 
their  commander.  And  it  must  be  confessed  that  these  intrepid 
Footmen  were  not  so  amenable  to  discipline  as  they  nnght  liave 
been.  Remembering  the  usages  of  merry  England,  they  clubbeil 
together,  and  swore  they  would  have  four  meals  of  meat  a  day, 
wax  caudles  in  the  casemates,  and  their  porter.  These  demands 
were  laughed  at :  the  priests  even  called  upon  them  to  fast 
on  Fridays  ;  on  which  a  general  mutiny  broke  out  in  the  regi- 
ment ;  and  they  would  have  had  a  fourth  standard  raised  before 
Paris — viz.,  that  of  England — but  the  garrison  jjroving  too  strong 
for  them,  they  were  compelled  to  lay  down  their  sticks ;  and  in 
consideration  of  past .  services,  were  permitted  to  leave  the  forts. 
'Twas  well  for  them  !  as  you  shall  hear. 

The  Prince  of  Ballybunion  and  the  Irish  force  were  quartered 
in  the  fort  which,  in  compliment  to  them,  was  called  Fort  Potato, 
and  where  they  made  themselves  as  comfortable,  as  circumstances 
would  admit.  The  Princes  had  as  much  brandy  as  they  liked,  and 
passed  their  time  on  the  ramparts  playing  at  dice,  or  i)itch-and-toss 
(with  the  halfpenny  that  one  of  them  somehow  had)  for  vast  sums 
of  money,  for  which  they  gave  their  notes-of-hand.  The  warriors  of 
their  legion  would  stand  round  delighted  ;  and  it  was,  "  Musha,  Master 
Dan,  but  that's  a  good  throw  ! "  "  Good  luck  to  you,  Misther  Pat, 
and  throw  thirteen  this  time  !  "  and  so  forth.  But  this  sort  of  in- 
action could  not  last  long.  They  had  heard  of  tlie  treasures  amassed 
in  the  palace  of  the  Tuileries  :  they  sighed  when  they  thought  of  the 
lack  of  bullion  in  their  green  and  beautiful  country.  They  panted 
for  war  !     They  formed  their  plan. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  BATTLE  OF   THE  FORTS 

ON  the  morning  of  the  26th  October  1884,  as  his  Majesty 
Louis  Philippe  was  at  breakfast  reading  the  Debats  news- 
paper, and  wishing  that  what  the  journal  said  about 
"  Cholera  Morbus  in  the  Camp  of  the  Pretender  Henri," — "  Chicken- 
pox  raging  in  the  Forts  of  the  Traitor  Bonaparte," — might  be  true, 
what  was  his  surprise  to  hear  the  report  of  a  gun  ;  and  at  the  same 
instant — whizz  !  came  an  eighty-four  pound  ball  through  tlie  window, 
and  took  off  the  head  of  the  faithful  Monsieur  de  Montalivet,  who 
was  coming  in  with  a  plate  of  muffins. 


NEXT    FRENCH    REVOLUTION  259 

"  Three  fraucs  for  the  window,"  said  the  monarch ;  "  and  the 
muffins  of  course  spoiled ! "  and  he  sat  down  to  breakfast  very 
peevislily.  Ah,  King  Louis  Philippe,  that  shot  cost  thee  more 
than  a  window-pane — more  than  a  plate  of  muffins — it  cost  thee 
a  fair  kingdom  and  fifty  millions  of -taxpayers. 

The  shot  had  been  firod  from  Fort  Potato.  "Gracious  heavens!" 
said  the  commander  of  the  place  to  the  Irish  Prince,  in  a  fury, 
"What  has  your  Highness  done?"  "  Faix,"  replied  the  other, 
"  Donegal  and  I  saw  a  sparrow  on  the  Tuileries,  and  we  thought 
we"d  have  a  shot  at  it,  that's  all.'"  "  Hurroo  !  look  out  for  squalls," 
here  cried  the  intrepid  Hibernian  ;  for  at  this  moment  one  of 
Paixhans'  shells  fell  into  the  counterscarp  of  the  demilune  on  which 
they  were  standing,  and  sent  a  ravelin  and  a  couple  of  embrasures 
flying  about  their  ears. 

Fort  Twenty-three,  which  held  out  for  Louis  Philippe,  seeing 
Fort  Twenty-four,  or  Potato,  open  a  fire  on  the  Tuileries,  instantly 
replied  by  its  guns,  with  which  it  blazed  away  at  the  Bourbonite 
fort.  On  seeing  this.  Fort  Twenty-two,  occupied  by  the  Imperialists, 
began  pummelling  Twenty-three  ;  Twenty-one  began  at  Twenty-two  ; 
and  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  whole  of  this  vast  line  of  fortification 
was  in  a  blaze  of  flame,  flashing,  roaring,  cannonading,  rocketing, 
bombing,  in  the  most  tremendous  manner.  The  world  has  never, 
perhaps,  before  or  since,  beard  such  an  uproar.  Fancy  twenty-four 
thousand  guns  thundering  at  each  other.  Fancy  the  sky  red  with 
the  fires  of  hundreds  of  thousands  of  blazing  brazen  meteors  :  the 
air  thick  with  impenetrable  smoke — the  universe  almost  in  a  flame  ! 
for  the  noise  of  the  cannonading  was  heard  on  the  peaks  of  the 
Andes,  and  broke  three  windows  in  the  English  factory  at  Canton. 
Boom,  boom,  boom  !  for  three  days  incessantly  the  gigantic — I  may 
say,  Cyclopean  battle  went  on  :  boom,  boom,  boom,  bong  !  The 
air  was  thick  with  cannon-balls :  they  hurtled,  they  jostled  each 
other  in  the  heavens,  and  fell  whizzing,  whirling,  crashing  back 
into  the  very  forts  from  which  they  came.  Boom,  boom,  boom, 
bong — brrwrrwHT ! 

On  the  second  day  a  band  might  have  been  seen  (had  th.e  smoke 
permitted  it)  assembling  at  the  sally-jjort  of  Fort  Potato,  and  have 
been  heard  (if  the  tremendous  clang  of  the  cannonading  had  allowed 
it)  giving  my.sterious  signs  and  counter-signs.  "Tom,"  was  the 
word  whispered,  "  Steele "  was  the  sibilated  response.  (It  is 
astonishing  how,  in  the  roar  of  elements,  the  human  whisper  hisses 
above  all  !)  It  was  the  Irish  Brigade  assembling.  "  Now  or  never, 
boys  !  "  said  their  leaders  ;  and  sticking  their  doodeens  into  their 
mouths,  they  dropped  stealthily  into  the  trenches,  heedless  of  the 
broken  glass  and  sword-blades ;  rose  from  those  trenches ;  formed 

19 


260  THE    HISTORY    OF    THE 

in   silent  order ;   and   marched   to   Paris.     They  knew  tliey  could 
arrive  there  unobserved — nobody,  indeed,  remarked  their  absen(;e. 

The  frivolous  Parisians  were,  in  the  meanwhile,  amusini?  them- 
selves at  their  theatres  and  cafds  as  usual ;  and  a  new  r>ie(;e,  in 
which  Arnal  performed,  was  the  universal  talk  of  the  foyers  :  while 
a  new  feuilletoii  by  Monsieur  Eufffene  Sue  kept  the  attention  of  the 
reader  so  fascinated  to  the  journal,  that  they  did  not  care  in  the 
least  for  the  vacarme  without  the  walls. 


CHAPTER    IX 

LOUIS  XVII. 

THE  tremendous  cannonading,  however,  had  a  singular  effect 
upon  tlie  inhabitants  of  the  great  public  hospital  of  Charenton, 
in  which  it  may  be  remembered  Louis  XVII.  had  been,  as  in 
mockery,  confined.  His  majesty  of  demeanour,  his  calm  deport- 
ment, the  reasonableness  of  his  pretensions,  had  not  failed  to  strike 
with  awe  and  respect  his  four  thousand  comrades  of  captivity.  The 
Emperor  of  China,  the  Princess  of  the  Moon,  Julius  Caesar,  Saint 
Genevieve,  the  patron  saint  of  Paris,  the  Pope  of  Rome,  the  Cacique 
of  Mexico,  and  several  singular  and  illustrious  personages  who 
happened  to  be  confined  there,  all  held  a  council  with  Louis  XVII.  ; 
and  all  agreed  that  now  or  never  was  the  time  to  support  his  legiti- 
mate pretensions  to  the  Crown  of  France.  As  the  cannons  roared 
around  them,  they  howled  with  furious  delight  in  response.  They 
took  council  together  :  Doctor  Pinel  and  the  infamous  gaolers,  who, 
under  tiie  name  of  keepers,  held  them  in  horrible  captivity,  were 
pounced  upon  and  overcome  in  a  twinkling.  The  strait-waistcoats 
were  taken  ofi"  from  the  wretched  captives  languishing  in  the 
dungeons ;  the  guardians  were  invested  in  these  shameful  garments, 
and  with  triumphant  laughter  plunged  under  the  douches.  The 
gates  of  the  prison  were  flung  open,  and  they  marched  forth  in  the 
blackness  of  the  storm  ! 


On  the  third  day,  the  cannonading  was  observed  to  decrease ; 
onlv  a  gun  went  off"  fitfullv  now  an<l  then. 


On  the  fourth  day,  the  Parisians  said  to  one  another,  "  Tiens ! 
lis  sont  fatigues,  les  canonniers  des  forts  ! " — and  why  1  Because 
there  was  no  more  powder? — Ay,  truly,  there  was  no  more  powder. 


NEXT    FRENCH    REVOLUTION  261 

There  was  no  more  powder,  no  more  guns,  no  more  gunners,  no 
more  forts,  no  more  notliing.  The  forts  had  hloicn  each  other  up. 
The  battle-roar  ceased.  The  battle-clouds  rolled  off.  The  silver  moon, 
the  twinkling  stars,  looked  blandly  down  from  the  serene  azure, — and 
all  was  peace — stillness — the  stillness  of  death.     Holy,  holy  silence  ! 

Yes  ;  the  battle  of  Paris  was  over.  And  where  were  the  com- 
batants ?  All  gone — not  one  left ! — And  where  was  Louis  Philippe  ? 
The  venerable  Prince  was  a  captive  in  the  Tuileries ;  the  Irish 
Brigade  was  encamped  around  it ;  they  had  reached  the  palace  a 
little  too  late ;  it  was  already  occupied  by  the  partisans  of  his 
Majesty  Louis  XVII. 

That  respectable  monarch  and  his  followers  better  knew  the 
way  to  the  Tuileries  than  the  ignorant  sons  of  Erin.  They  burst 
through  the  feeble  barriers  of  the  guards ;  they  rushed  triumphant 
into  the  kingly  halls  of  the  palace ;  they  seated  the  seventeenth 
Louis  on  the  throne  of  his  ancestors ;  and  the  Parisians  read  in  the 
Journal  des  Defxits,  of  the  fifth  of  November,  an  important  article, 
which  proclaimed  that  the  civil  war  was  concluded  : — 

"  The  troubles  which  distracted  the  greatest  empire  in  the  world 
are  at  an  end.  Europe,  which  marked  with  sorrow  the  disturbances 
which  agitated  the  bosom  of  the  Queen  of  Nations,  the  great  leader 
of  Civilisation,  may  now  rest  in  peace.  That  monarch  whom  we 
have  long  been  sighing  for  ;  whose  image  has  lain  hidden,  and  yet 
oh  !  how  passionately  worshii)]ied,  in  every  French  heart,  is  with 
ns  once  more.  Blessings  be  on  him  ;  blessings — a  thousand  blessings 
upon  the  happy  country  which  is  at  length  restored  to  his  beneficent, 
his  legitimate,  his  reasonable  sway  ! 

'•His  Most  Christian  Majesty  Louis  XVII.  yesterday  arrived  at 
his  palace  of  the  Tuileries,  accompanied  by  his  august  allies.  His 
Royal  Highness  the  Duke  of  Orleans  has  resigned  his  post  as 
Lieutenant-General  of  the  kingdom,  and  will  return  speedily  to 
take  up  his  abode  at  the  Palais  Royal.  It  is  a  great  mercy  that 
the  children  of  his  Royal  Highness,  who  happened  to  be  in  the  late 
forts  round  Paris  (before  the  bombardment  which  has  so  happily 
ended  in  tlieir  destruction),  had  returned  to  their  father  before  the 
commencement  of  the  cannonading.  They  will  continue,  as  hereto- 
fore, to  be  the  most  loyal  supporters  of  order  and  the  throne. 

"  None  can  read  without  tears  in  their  eyes  our  august  mon- 
arch's proclamation. 

"  '  Louis,  by,  &c. — 

"  '  My  children  !  After  nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine  years  of 
captivity,  I  am  restored  to  you.     The  cycle  of  events  predicted  by 


262  THE    HISTORY    OF    THE 

the  ancient  Magi,  and  the  i)huu'tary  coiivohitions  mentioned  iu  the 
lost  Sibylline  books,  liave  fulfilled  their  respeetive  idiosyncrasies, 
and  ended  (as  always  in  the  depths  of  my  dungeons  I  confidently 
expected)  in  the  triuni.ph  of  the  good  Angel,  and  the  utter  discom- 
fiture of  the  abominable  Blue  Dragon. 

"  '  Wlien  the  bombarding  began,  and  the  powers  of  darkness 
commenced  their  hellisli  gunpo^A'der  evolutions,  I  was  close  by — in 
my  palace  of  Charenton,  three  hundred  and  thirty-three  thousand 
miles  off,  in  the  ring  of  Saturn — I  witnessed  your  misery.  My 
heart  was  affected  by  it,  and  I  said,  "Is  the  multiplication-table  a 
fiction  1  are  the  signs  of  the  Zodiac  mere  astronomers'  prattle  1 " 

"  '  I  clapped  chains,  shrieking  and  darkness,  on  my  physician,. 
Doctor  Pinel.  The  keepers  I  shall  cause  to  be  roasted  alive.  I 
summoned  my  allies  round  about  me.  The  high  contracting  Powers 
came  to  my  bidding :  monarchs  from  all  parts  of  the  eartli ;  sove- 
reigns from  the  Moon  and  otlier  illumined  orbits ;  the  white  necro- 
mancers, and  the  pale  imprisoned  genii.  I  whispered  the  mystic 
sign,  and  the  doors  Hew  open.  We  entered  Paris  in  triumph,  by 
the  Charenton  bridge.  Our  luggage  was  not  examined  at  the 
Octroi.  Tlie  bottle-green  ones  were  scared  at  our  shouts,  and 
retreated,  howling :  they  knew  us,  and  trembled. 

" '  My  fiiithful  Peers  and  Deputies  will  rally  around  me.  I 
have  a  friend  in  Turkey — the  Grand  Vizier  of  the  Mussulmans : 
he  was  a  Protestant  once — Lord  Brougham  by  name.  I  have  sent 
to  him  to  legislate  for  us :  he  is  wise  in  the  law,  and  astrology,  and 
all  sciences ;  he  shall  aid  my  Ministers  in  their  councils.  I  have 
written  to  him  by  the  post.  There  shall  be  no  more  infamous  mad- 
houses in  France,  where  poor  souls  shiver  in  strait-waistcoats. 

'* '  I  recognised  Louis  Philippe,  my  good  cousin.  He  was  ia 
his  counting-house,  counting  out  his  money,  as  the  old  prophecy- 
warned  me.  He  gave  me  up  the  keys  of  his  gold ;  I  sliall  know 
well  how  to  use  it.  Taught  by  adversity,  I  am  not  a  spendthrift, 
neither  am  I  a  miser.  I  will  endow  the  land  with  noble  institu- 
tions instead  of  diabolical  forts.  I  will  have  no  more  cannon 
founded.  They  are  a  curse,  and  shall  be  melted — the  iron  ones, 
into  railroads  ;  the  bronze  ones  into  statues  of  beautiful  saints,, 
angels,  and  wise  men  ;  the  copper  ones  into  money,  to  be  distributed 
among  my  poor.     I  was  poor  once,  and  I  love  theim 

"  '  There  shall  be  no  more  poverty ;  no  more  wars ;  no  more 
avarice ;  no  more  passports ;  no  more  custom-houses ;  no  more 
lying ;  no  more  physic. 

"  '  My  Chambers  will  put  the  seal  to  these  reforms.  I  will  it. 
I  am  the  King.  (Signed)         "  '  Louis.' " 


NEXT    FRENCH    REVOLUTION  263 

"  Some  alarm  was  created  yesterday  by  the  arrival  of  a  body  of 
the  English  Foot-Guard  under  the  Duke  of  Jenkins ;  they  were  at 
first  about  to  sack  the  city,  but  on  hearing  that  the  banner  of  the 
lilies  was  once  more  raised  in  France,  the  Duke  hastened  to  the 
Tuileries,  and  offered  his  allegiance  to  his  Majesty.  It  was  ac- 
cepted :  and  the  Plush  Guard  has  been  established  in  place  of  the 
Swiss,  who  waited  on  former  sovereigns." 


"  The  Irish  Brigade  quartered  in  the  Tuileries  are  to  enter  our 
service.  Their  commander  states  that  they  took  every  one  of  the 
forts  round  Paris,  and  having  blown  them  up,  were  proceeding  to 
release  Louis  XVII.,  when  they  found  that  august  monarch,  happily, 
free.  News  of  their  glorious  victory  has  been  conveyed  to  Dublin, 
to  his  Majesty  the  King  of  the  Irish.  It  will  be  a  new  laurel  to 
add  to  his  green  crown  !  " 


And  thus  have  we  brought  to  a  conclusion  our  history  of  the 
great  French  Revolution  of  1884.  It  records  the  actions  of  great 
and  various  characters ;  the  deeds  of  various  valour ;  it  narrates 
wonderful  reverses  of  fortune ;  it  affords  the  moralist  scope  for  his 
philosophy ;  perhaps  it  gives  amusement  to  the  merely  idle  reader. 
Nor  must  the  latter  imagine,  because  there  is  not  a  precise  moral 
affixed  to  the  story,  that  its  tendency  is  otherwise  than  good.  He 
is  a  poor  reader,  for  whom  his  author  is  obliged  to  supply  a  moral 
application.  It  is  well  in  spelling-books  and  for  children  ;  it  is 
needless  for  the  reflecting  spirit.  The  drama  of  Punch  himself  is 
not  moral :  but  that  drama  has  had  audiences  all  over  the  world. 
Happy  he,  who  in  our  dark  times  can  cause  a  smile  !  Let  us  laugh 
then,  and  gladden  in  the  sunshine,  though  it  be  but  as  the  ray  upon 
the  pool,  that  flickers  only  over  the  cold  black  depths  below ! 


LITTLE    TRAVELS 

AND 

ROAD-SIDE   SKETCHES 
By   TITMARSH 


LITTLE    TRAVELS 

AXD 

ROAD-SIDE    SKETCHES 


FROM  RICHMOND  IN  SURREY  TO   BRUSSELS 
IN  BELGIUM 


1  QUITTED  the  "  Rose  Cottage  Hotel  '"Mt  Richmond,  one  of  the 
comfortablest,  quietest,  cheapest,  neatest  little  inns  in  England, 
and  a  thousand  times  preferable,  in  my  opinion,  to  the  "  Star 
and  Garter,"  whither,  if  you  go  alone,  a  sneering  waiter,  with  his 
hair  curled,  frightens  you  off  the  premises ;  and  where,  if  you  are 
bold  enough  to  brave  the  sneering  waiter,  you  have  to  pay  ten 
shillings  for  a  bottle  of  claret :  and  whence,  if  you  look  out  of  the 
window,  you  gaze  on  a  view  which  is  so  rich  that  it  seems  to  knock 
you  down  Avith  its  splendour — a  view  that  has  its  hair  curled  like 
the  swaggerhig  waiter  :  I  say,  I  quitted  the  "  Rose  Cottage  Hotel " 
with  deep  regret,  believing  that  I  should  see  nothing  so  pleasant  as 
its  gardens,  and  its  veal  cutlets,  and  its  dear  little  bowling-green  else- 
where. But  the  time  comes  when  people  must  go  out  of  town,  and  so 
I  got  on  the  top  of  the  omnibus,  and  the  carpet-bag  was  put  inside. 

If  I  were  a  great  prince  and  rode  outside  of  coaches  (as  I  should 
if  I  were  a  great  prince),  I  would,  whether  I  smoked  or  not,  have  a 
case  of  the  best  Havannahs  in  my  i)ocket — not  for  my  own  smoking, 
but  to  give  them  to  the  snobs  on  the  coach,  who  smoke  the  vilest 
cheroots.  They  poison  the  air  with  the  odour  of  their  filthy  weeds. 
A  man  at  all  easy  in  his  circumstances  would  spare  himself  much 
annoyance  by  taking  the  above  simple  precaution. 


268  LITTLE    TRAVELS 

A  gentleman  sitting  behind  nie  tapped  nie  on  the  back  and 
asked  for  a  light.  He  was  a  footman,  or  rather  valet.  He  had 
no  livery,  but  the  three  friends  who  ac('onii)anied  him  were  tall 
men  in  pepper-and-salt  undress  jackets  with  a  duke's  coronet  on. 
their  buttons. 

After  tapping  me  on  the  back,  and  when  he  had  finished  his 
cheroot,  the  gentleman  produced  another  wind-instrument  which  he 
called  a  "kinopium,"  a  sort  of  trumi)et,  on  which  he  showed  a 
great  inclination  to  play.  He  began  puffing  out  of  the  "  kinoj)ium  " 
a  most  abominable  air,  which  he  said  was  the  "  Duke's  March." 
It  was  played  by  particular  request  of  one  of  the  pepper-and-salt 
gentry. 

The  noise  was  so  abominable  that  even  the  eoachraan  objected 
(although  my  friend's  brother  footmen  were  ravished  with  it),  and 
said  that  it  was  not  allowed  to  play  toons  on  his  'bus.      "  Very 

well,"  said  the  valet,  "  v)e're  only  of  the  Duke  of  B 's  estahlish- 

ment,  that's  all."  The  coachman  could  not  resist  that  appeal  to 
his  fashionable  feelings.  The  valet  was  allowed  to  play  his  infernal 
kinopium,  and  the  poor  fellow  (the  coachman),  who  had  lived  in 
some  private  families,  was  quite  anxious  to  conciliate  the  footmen 

"  of  the  Duke  of  B 's  establishment,  that's  all,"  and  told  several 

stories  of  his  having  been  groom  in  Captain  Hoskins's  family, 
nephew  of  Governor  Ilcfskins  ;  which  stories  the  footmen  received 
with  great  contempt. 

The  footmen  were  like  the  rest  of  the  fashionable  world  in  this 
respect.  I  felt  for  my  part  that  I  respected  them.  They  were  in- 
daily  communication  with  a  duke  !  They  were  not  the  rose,  but 
they  had  lived  beside  it.  There  is  an  odour  in  the  English  aris- 
tocracy which  intoxicates  plelieians.  I  am  sure  that  any  commoner 
in  England,  though  he  would  die  rather  than  confess  it,  would  have 
a  respect  for  those  great  big  hulking  Duke's  footmen. 

The  day  before,  her  Grace  the  Duchess  had  passed  us  alone 
in  a  chariot-and-four  with  two  outriders.  What  better  mark  of 
innate  superiority  could  man  want?  Here  was  a  slim  lady  who 
required  four — six  horses  to  herself  and  four  servants  (kinopium 
was,  no  doubt,  one  of  the  number)  to  guard  her. 

We  are  sixteen  inside  and  out,  and  had  consequently  an  eighth 
of  a  horse  apiece. 

A  duchess  =  6,  a  commoner  =  g  ;  that  is  to  say, 

1  duchess  =  48  connnoners. 

If  I  were  a  duchess  of  the  present  day,  I  would  say  to  the  duke 
my  noble  husband,  "  My  dearest  Grace,  I  think,  when  I  travel 
alone  in  my  chariot  from  Hammersmith  to  London,  I  will  not 
care  for  the   outriders.     In   these  days,   when   there   is  so  much 


FROM    RICHMOND    TO    BRUSSELS  269' 

poverty  and  so  much  disaffection  in  the  country,  we  should  not 
edahousser  the  canaille  witli  the  sight  of  our  preposterous 
prosperity." 

But  this  is  very  likely  only  plebeian  envy,  and  I  dare  say, 
if  I  were  a  lovely  duchess  of  the  realm,  I  would  ride  in  a  coach- 
and-six,  Avith  a  coronet  on  the  top  of  my  bonnet  and  a  robe  of 
velvet  and  ermine  even  in  the  dog-days. 

Alas !  these  are  the  dog-days.  Many  dogs  are  abroad — 
snarling  dogs,  biting  dogs,  envious  dogs,  mad  dogs;  beware  of 
exciting  the  fury  of  such  with  your  flaming  red  velvet  and  dazzling 
ermine.  It  makes  ragged  Lazarus  doubly  hungry  to  see  Dives 
feasting  in  cloth-of-gold  ;  and  so  if  I  were  a  beauteous  duchess  .  .  . 
Silence,  vain  man  !     Can  the  Queen  herself  make  you  a  duchess  1 

Be  content,  then,  nor  gibe  at  thy  betters  of  "  the  Duke  of  B 's 

establishment — that's  all." 

On  board  the  '  Antwerpen,"  off  everywhere. 

We  have  bidden  adieu  to  Billingsgate,  we  have  passed  the 
Thames  Tunnel ;  it  is  one  o'clock,  and  of  course  people  are  thinking 
of  being  hungry.  What  a  merry  place  a  steamer  is  on  a  calm  sunny 
summer  forenoon,  and  what  an  appetite  every  one  seems  to  have  ! 
We  are,  I  assure  you,  no  less  than  one  hundred  and  seventy  noble- 
men and  gentlemen  together,  pacing  up  and  down  under  the  awning, 
or  lolling  on  the  sofas  in  the  cabin,  and  hardly  have  we  passed 
Greenwich  when  the  feeding  begins.  Th'e  company  was  at  the 
brandy  and  soda-water  in  an  instant  (there  is  a  sort  of  legend 
that  the  beverage  is  a  preservative  against  sea-sickness),  and  I 
admired  the  penetration  of  gentlemen  who  partook  of  the  drink. 
In  the  first  place,  the  steward  ivill  put  so  much  brandy  into  the 
tumbler  that  it  is  fit  to  choke  you  :  and,  secondly,  the  soda-water, 
being  kept  as  near  as  possible  to  the  boiler  of  the  engine,  is  of  a 
fine  wholesome  heat  when  presented  to  the  hot  and  thirsty  traveller. 
Thus  he  is  prevented  from  catching  any  sudden  cold  which  might 
be  dangerous  to  him. 

The  forepart  of  the  vessel  is  crowded  to  the  full  as  much  as 
the  genteeler  quarter.  There  are  four  carriages,  each  with  piles 
of  imperials  and  aristocratic  gimcracks  of  travel,  under  the  wheels 
of  which  those  personages  have  to  clamber  who  have  a  mind  to 
look  at  the  bowsprit,  and  perhaps  to  smoke  a  cigar  at  ease.  The 
carriages  overcome,  you  find  yourself  confronted  by  a  huge  penful 
of  Durham  oxen,  lying  on  hay  and  surrounded  by  a  barricade  of 
oars.  Fifteen  of  these  horned  monsters  maintain  an  inces.sant 
mooing  and  bellowing.  Beyond  the  cows  come  a  heap  of  cotton- 
bags,  beyond  the  cotton-bags  more  carriages,  more  pyramids  of  travel- 


5270  LITTLE    TRAVELS 

ling  trunks,  and  valots  and  couriers  bustling  and  swearing  round 
about  tlicni.  And  already,  and  in  various  corners  and  niches,  lying 
on  coils  of  roi)e,  black  tar-cloths,  raggctl  cloaks,  or  hay,  you  see 
a  score  of  those  dubious  fore-cabin  passengers,  who  are  never  shaved, 
who  always  look  unhap])y,  and  appear  getting  ready  to  be  sick. 

At  one,  dinner  begins  in  the  after-cabin — boiled  salmon,  boiled 
beef,  boiled  nuitton,  boiled  cabbage,  boiled  potatoes,  and  parboiled 
wine,  for  any  gentlemen  who  like  it,  and  two  roast  ducks  between 
seventy.  After  this,  knobs  of  cheese  are  handed  round  on  a  plate, 
and  there  is  a  talk  of  a  tart  somewhere  at  some  end  of  the  table. 
All  this  I  saw  j^eeping  through  a  sort  of  meat-safe  which  ventilates  the 
top  of  the  cabin,  and  very  happy  and  hot  did  the  people  seem  below. 

"How  the  deuce  can  people  dine  at  such  an  hour'?"  say  several 
genteel  fellows  who  are  watching  the  manoeuvres.  "I  can't  touch 
a  morsel  before  seven." 

But  somehow  at  half-past  three  o'clock  we  had  dropped  a  long 
way  down  the  river.  The  air  was  delightfully  fresh,  the  sky  of  a 
faultless  cobalt,  the  river  shining  and  flashing  like  quicksilver,  and 
at  this  period  steward  runs  against  me  bearing  two  great  smoking 
dishes  covered  by  two  great  glistening  hemispheres  of  tin.  "  Fellow," 
says  I,  "  what's  that  1 " 

He  lifted  up  the  cover  :  it  was  ducks  and  green  peas,  by  jingo  ! 

"  What !  haven't  they  done  yet,  the  greedy  creatures  1"  1  asked. 
"  Have  the  ])eople  been  feeding  for  three  hours  1 " 

"  Law  bless  you,  sir,  it's  the  second  dinner.  Make  haste,  or 
you  won't  get  a  place."  At  which  words  a  genteel  party,  with 
whom  I  had  been  conversing,  instantly  tumbled  down  the  hatchway, 
and  I  find  myself  one  of  the  second  relay  of  seventy  who  are  attack- 
ing the  boiled  salmon,  boiled  beef,  boiled  cabbage,  &c.  As  for  the 
ducks,  I  certainly  had  some  peas,  very  fine  yellow  stiff"  peas,  that 
ought  to  have  been  split  before  they  were  boiled  ;  but,  with  regard 
to  the  ducks,  I  saw  the  animals  gobbled  up  before  my  eyes  by  an 
old  widow  lady  and  her  party  just  as  I  was  shrieking  to  the  steward 
to  bring  a  knife  and  fork  to  carve  them.  The  fellow  !  (I  mean  the 
widow  lady's  whiskered  companion) — I  saw  him  eat  peas  with  the 
very  knife  with  which  he  had  dissected  the  duck  ! 

After  dinner  (as  I  need  not  tell  the  keen  observer  of  human 
nature,  who  peruses  this),  the  human  mind,  if  the  body  be  in  a 
decent  state,  expands  into  gaiety  and  benevolence,  and  the  intellect 
longs  to  measure  itself  in  friendly  converse  with  the  divers  intelli- 
gences around  it.  We  ascend  upon  deck,  and  after  eyeing  each  other 
for  a  brief  space  and  with  a  friendly  modest  hesitation,  we  begin 
anon  to  converse  about  the  weather  and  other  profound  and  delight- 
ful  themes   of  English  discourse.     We   confide  to  each  other  our 


FROM    RICHMOND    TO    BRUSSELS  271 

respective  opinions  of  the  ladies  round  about  us.  Look  at  that 
charming  creature  in  a  pink  bonnet  and  a  dress  of  the  pattern  of  a 
Kilmarnock  snuff-box :  a  stalwart  Irish  gentleman  in  a  green  coat 
and  bushy  red  whiskers  is  whispering  something  very  agreeable  into 
her  ear,  as  is  the  wont  of  gentlemei>  of  his  nation  ;  for  her  dark  eyes 
kindle,  her  red  lips  open  and  give  an  opportunity  to  a  dozen  beauti- 
ful pearly  teeth  to  display  themselves,  and  glance  brightly  in  the 
sun  ;  Avhile  round  the  teeth  and  the  lips  a  number  of  lovely 
dimples  make  their  appearance,  and  her  whole  countenance  assumes 
a  look  of  perfect  health  and  hapjiiness.  See  her  companion  in  shot 
silk  and  a  dove-coloured  parasol  :  in  what  a  graceful  Watteau-like 
attitude  she  reclines.  The  tall  courier  who  has  been  bouncing  about 
the  deck  in  attendance  upon  these  ladies  (it  is  his  first  day  of 
service,  and  he  is  eager  to  make  a  favourable  impression  on  them 
and  the  lady's-maids  too)  has  just  brought  them  from  the  carriage  a 
small  paper  of  sweet  cakes  (nothing  is  prettier  than  to  see  a  pretty 
woman  eating  sweet  biscuits)  and  a  bottle  that  evidently  contains 
Malmsey  madeira.  How  daintily  they  sip  it ;  how  happy  tliey 
seem  ;  how  that  lucky  rogue  of  an  Irishman  prattles  away  !  Yonder 
is  a '  noble  group  indeed  :  an  English  gentleman  and  his  family. 
Children,  mother,  grandmother,  grown-up  daughters,  father,  and 
domestics,  twenty-two  in  all.  They  have  a  table  to  themselves  on  the 
deck,  and  the  consumption  of  eatables  among  them  is  really  endless. 
The  nurses  have  been  bustling  to  and  fro,  and  bringing,  first,  slices 
of  cake  ;  then  dinner ;  then  tea  with  huge  family  jugs  of  milk  ;  and 
the  little  people  have  been  playing  hide-and-seek  round  the  deck, 
coquetting  with  the  other  children,  and  making  friends  of  every 
soul  on  board.  I  love  to  see  the  kind  eyes  of  women  fondly  watch- 
ing them  as  they  gambol  about :  a  female  face,  be  it  ever  so  plain, 
when  occupied  in  regarding  children,  becomes  celestial  almost,  and  a 
man  can  hardly  fail  to  be  good  and  happy  while  he  is  looking  on  at 
such  sights.  "  Ah,  sir  !  "  says  a  great  big  man,  whom  you  would 
not  accuse  of  sentiment,  "I  have  a  couple  of  those  little  things 
at  home ; "  and  he  stops  and  heaves  a  great  big  sigh  and  swallows 
down  a  half  tumbler  of  cold  something  and  water.  We  know  what 
the  honest  fellow  means  well  enough.  He  is  saying  to  himself, 
"  God  bless  my  girls  and  their  mother  !  "  but,  being  a  Briton,  is  too 
manly  to  speak  out  in  a  more  intelligible  way.  Perhaps  it  is  as 
well  for  him  to  be  quiet,  and  not  chatter  and  gesticulate  like  those 
Frenchmen  a  few  yards  from  him,  who  are  chirping  over  a  bottle 
of  champagne. 

There  is,  as  you  may  fancy,  a  number  of  such  groups  on  the 
deck,  and  a  ])leasant  occupation  it  is  for  a  lonely  man  to  watch 
them  and  build  theories  upon  them,  and  examine  those  two  person- 


272  LITTLE    TRAVELS 

ages  seated  cheek  by  jowl.  One  is  an  English  youth,  travelling  for 
the  first  time,  who  has  been  hard  at  his  Guide-book  during  the 
whole  journey.  He  has  a  "  Manuel  du  Voyageur  "  in  his  pocket : 
a  very  pretty  amusing  little  oblong  work  it  is  too,  and  might  be 
very  useful,  if  the  foreign  people  in  three  languages,  among  whom 
you  travel,  would  but  give  the  answers  set  down  in  tlie  book,  or 
understand  the  questions  you  put  to  tlieni  out  of  it.  The  other 
honest  gentleman  in  the  fur  cap,  what  can  his  occupation  be  1  We 
know  him  at  once  for  what  he  is.  "  Sir,"  says  he,  in  a  fine  German 
accent,  "  I  am  a  brofessor  of  languages,  and  will  gif  you  lessons  in 
Danish,  Swedish,  English,  Bortuguese,  S{)anish,  and  Bersian."  Thus 
occupied  in  meditations,  the  rapid  hours  and  the  rapid  steamer  pass 
quickly  on.  The  sun  is  sinking,  and,  as  he  drops,  the  ingenious 
luminary  sets  the  Thames  on  fire  :  several  worthy  gentlemen,  watch 
in  hand,  are  eagerly  examining  the  phenomena  attending  his  dis- 
appearance,— rich  clouds  of  purple  and  gold,  that  form  the  curtains 
of  hks  bed, — little  barks  that  pass  black  across  his  disc,  his  disc 
every  instant  dropping  nearer  and  nearer  into  the  water.  "  There 
he  goes!"  says  one  sagacious  observer.  "No,  he  doesn't,"  cries 
another.  Now  he  is  gone,  and' the  steward  is  already  threading  the 
deck,  asking  the  passengers,  right  and  left,  if  they  will  take  a  little 
supper.  What  a  grand  object  is  a  sunset,  and  what  a  wonder  is  an 
appetite  at  sea !  Lo  !  the  horned  moon  shines  pale  over  Margate, 
and  the  red  beacon  is  gleaming  from  distant  Ramsgate  pier. 

A  great  rush  is  speedily  made  for  the  mattresses  that  lie  in  the 
boat  at  the  ship's  side ;  and  as  the  night  is  delightfully  calm,  many 
fair  ladies  and  worthy  men  determine  to  couch  on  deck  for  the 
night.  The  proceedings  of  the  former,  especially  if  they  be  young 
and  pretty,  the  philosopher  watches  with  indescribable  emotion  and 
interest.  What  a  number  of  pretty  coquetries  do  the  ladies  perform, 
and  into  what  pretty  attitudes  do  they  take  care  to  fall !  All  the 
little  children  have  been  gathered  up  by  the  nursery-maids,  and  are 
taken  down  to  roost  below.  Balmy  sleep  seals  the  eyes  of  many 
tired  wayfarers,  as  you  see  in  the  case  of  the  Russian  nobleman 
asleep  among  the  portmanteaus ;  and  Titmarsh,  who  has  been  walk- 
ing the  deck  for  some  time  with  a  great  mattress  on  his  shoulders, 
knowing  full  well  that  were  he  to  relinquish  it  for  an  instant,  some 
other  person  would  seize  on  it,  now  stretches  his  bed  upon  the  deck, 
wraps  his  cloak  about  his  knees,  draws  his  white  cotton  night-cap 
tight  over  his  head  and  ears ;  and,  as  the  smoke  of  his  cigar  rises 
calmly  upwards  to  the  deep  sky  and  the  cheerful  twinkling  stars,  he 
feels  himself  exquisitely  happy,  and  thinks  of  thee,  my  Juliana  ! 


FROM    RICHMOND    TO    BRUSSELS  273 

Why  people,  because  they  are  in  a  steamboat,  sliould  get  up  so 
deucedly  early  I  cannot  understand.  Gentlemen  liave  been  walking 
over  my  legs  ever  .since  three  o'clock  this  morning,  and,  no  doubt, 
have  been  indulging  in  personalities  (which  I  hate)  regarding  my 
appearance  and  manner  of  sleeping,  lying,  snoring.  Let  the  wags 
laugh  on ;  but  a  far  pleasanter  occupation  is  to  sleep  until  breakfast- 
time  or  near  it. 

The  tea,  and  ham  and  eggs,  which,  with  a  beefsteak  or  two, 
and  three  or  four  rounds  of  toast,  form  the  component  parts  of  the 
above-named  elegant  meal,  are  taken  in  the  River  Scheldt.  Little 
neat  plump-looking  churches  and  villages  are  rising  here  and  there 
among  tufts  of  trees  and  pastures  that  are  wonderfully  green.  To 
the  riglit,  as  the  "  Guide-book  "  says,  is  Walcheren  :  and  on  the  left 
Cadsand,  memorable  for  the  English  expedition  of  1809,  when  Lord 
Chatham,  Sir  Walter  Manny,  and  Henry  Earl  of  Derby,  at  the 
head  of  the  English,  gained  a  great  victory  over  the  Flemish  mer- 
cenaries in  the  pay  of  Philippe  of  Valois.  The  clothyard  shafts  of 
the  English  archers  did  gi'eat  execution.  Flushing  was  taken,  and 
Lord  Chatham  returned  to  England,  where  he  distinguished  himself 
greatly  in  the  debates  on  the  American  war,  which  he  called  the 
Jirightest  jewel  of  the  British  crown.  You  see,  my  love,  that, 
tliough  an  artist  by  profession,  my  education  has  by  no  means  been 
neglected ;  and  what,  indeed  would  be  the  pleasure  of  travel,  unless 
these  charming  historical  recollections  were  brought  to  bear  upon  it  1 

Antwerp. 

As  many  hundreds  of  thousands  of  English  visit  this  city  (I 
nave  met  at  least  a  hundred  of  them  in  this  half-hour  walking  the 
streets,  "  Guide-book  "  in  hand),  and  as  tlie  ubiquitous  Murray  has 
already  depicted  the  place,  there  is  no  need  to  enter  into  a  long 
<lescription  of  it,  its  neatness,  its  beauty,  and  its  stiff  antique  splen- 
dour. The  tall  pale  houses  have  many  of  them  crimped  gables, 
that  look  like  Queen  Elizabeth's  ruffs.  There  are  as  many  people 
in  the  streets  as  in  London  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning ;  tlie 
market-women  wear  bonnets  of  a  flower-pot  shape,  and  have  shining 
brazen  milk-pots,  which  are  delightful  to  the  eyes  of  a  painter. 
Along  the  quays  of  the  lazy  Scheldt  are  innumerable  good-natured 
groups  of  beer-drinkers  (small-beer  is  the  most  good-natured  drink 
in  the  world) ;  along  the  barriers  outside  of  the  town,  and  by  the 
glistening  canals,  are  more  beer-sliops  and  more  beer-drinkers.  The 
city  is  defended  by  the  queerest  fat  military.  The  chief  traffic  is 
between  the  hotels  and  the  raili-oad.  The  hotels  give  wonderful 
good  dinners,  and  especially  at  the  "  Grand   Laboureur "  may  be 


274  LITTLE    TRAVELS 

mentioned  a  peculiar  tart,  which  is  the  best  of  all  tarts  that  ever 
a  man  ate  since  he  was  ten  years  old.  A  moonlight  walk  is 
delightful.  At  ten  o'clock  the  whole  city  is  cpiiet ;  and  so  little 
changed  does  it  seem  to  be,  that  you  may  walk  back  three  hundred 
years  into  time,  and  fancy  yourself  a  majesticnl  Spaniard,  or  an 
oppressed  and  ])atriotic  Dutchman  at  your  leisure.  You  enter  the 
inn,  and  tJie  old  Quentin  Durward  courtyard,  on  which  the  old 
towers  look  down.  There  is  a  sound  of  singing — singing  at  n)id- 
niglit.  Is  it  Don  Sombrero,  who  is  singing  an  Andalu^ian  seguidilla 
under  the  window  of  the  Flemish  burgomaster's  daughter?  Ah, 
no  !  it  is  a  ftit  Englishman  in  a  zephyr  coat :  he  is  drinking  cold 
gin-and-water  in  the  moonlight,  and  warbling  softly — 


"  Nix  my  dolly,  pals,  fake  away, 

N-ix  my  dolly,  pals,  fake  a — a — way."  ^ 


I  wish  the  good  people  would  knock  off"  the  top  part  of  Antwerp 
Cathedral  spire.  Nothing  can  be  more  gracious  and  elegant  than 
the  lines  of  the  first  two  compartments ;  but  near  the  top  there 
bulges  out  a  little  round,  ugly,  vulgar  Dutch  monstrosity  (for  which 
the  architects  have,  no  doubt,  a- name)  which  offends  the  eye  cruelly. 
Take  tlie  Apollo,  and  set  upon  him  a  bob-wig  and  a  little  cocked- 
hat ;  imagine  "God  Save  the  King"  ending  with  a  jig;  foncy  a 
polonaise,  or  procession  of  slim,  stately,  elegant  Court  beauties, 
headed  by  a  buffoon  dancing  a  hornpipe.  Marslial  Gerard  should 
have  discharged  a  liomb-shell  at  that  abomination,  and  have  given 
the"  noble  steeple  a  chance  to  be  finished  in  the  grand  style  of  the 
early  fifteenth  century,  in  which  it  was  begun. 

This  style  of  criticism  is  base  and  mean,  and  quite  contrary 
to  the  orders  of  the  immortal  Goethe,  who  was  only  for  allowing 
the  eye  to  recognise  the  beauties  of  a  great  work,*  but  would  have 
its  defects  passed  over.  It  is  an  unhapi)y  luckless  organisation 
which  will  be  perpetually  fault-finding,  and  in  the  midst  of  a  grand 
concert  of  music  will  persist  only  in  hearing  that  unfortunate  fiddle 
out  of  tune. 

Within — except  where  the  rococo  architects  have  introduced 
their  ornaments  (here  is  the  fiddle  out  of  tune  again) — the  cathe- 
dral is  noble.  A  rich  tender  sunshine  is  streaming  in  through  the 
windows,  and  gilding  the  stately  edifice  with  the  purest  light.  The 
admirable  stained-glass  windows  are  not  too  brilliant  in  their  colours. 
The  organ  is  playing  a  rich  solemn  music ;  some  two  hundred  of 
people  are  listening  to  the  service  ;  and  there  is  scarce  one  of  the 
women  kneeling  on  her  chair,  enveloped  in  her  full  majestic  black 

*  In  1844. 


FROM    RICHMOND    TO    BRUSSELS  275 

drapery,  that  is  not  a  fine  study  for  a  painter.  These  large  black 
mantles  of  heavy  silk  brought  over  the  heads  of  women,  and  cover- 
ing their  persons,  fall  into  such  fine  folds  of  drapery,  that  they 
cannot  help  being  picturesque  iind  noble.  See,  kneeling  by  the  side 
of  two  of  those  fine  devout-looking  figures,  is  a  lady  in  a  little 
twiddling  Parisian  hat  and  feather,*  in  a  little  lace  mantelet,  in  a 
tight  gown  and  a  bustle.  She  is  almost  as  monstrous  as  yonder 
figure  of  the  Virgin,  in  a  hoop,  and  with  a  huge  crown  and  a  ball 
and  a  sceptre ;  and  a  bambino  dressed  in  a  little  hoop,  and  in  a 
little  crown,  round  which  are  clustered  flowers  and  pots  of  orange 
trees,  and  before  which  many  of  the  faithful  are  at  prayer.  Gentle 
clouds  of  incense  come  wafting  through  the  vast  edifice ;  and  in  the 
lulls  of  the  music  you  hear  the  faint  chant  of  the  priest,  and  the 
silver  tinkle  of  the  bell. 

Six  Englishmen,  with  the  commissionaires,  and  the  "Murray's 
Guide-books  "  in  their  hands,  are  looking  at  the  "  Descent  from  the 
Cross."  Of  this  picture  the  "  Guide-book "  gives  you  orders  how 
to  judge.  If  it  is  the  end  of  religious  painting  to  express  the 
religious  sentiment,  a  hundred  of  inferior  pictures  must  rank  before 
Rubens.  Who  was  ever  piously  affected  by  any  picture  of  the 
master  ?  He  can  depict  a  livid  thief  writhing  upon  the  cross,  some- 
times a  blonde  Magdalen  weeping  below  it ;  but  it  is  a  Magdalen  a 
very  short  time  indeed  after  her  repentance  :  her  yellow  brocades 
and  flaring  satins  are  still  those  which  she  wore  when  she  was  of 
thQ  world ;  her  body  has  not  yet  lost  the  marks  of  the  feasting  and 
voluptuousness  in  which  she  used  to  indulge,  according  to  the  legend. 
Not  one  of  the  Rubens  pictures,  among  all  tlie  scores  that  decorate 
chapels  and  churches  here,  has  the  least  tendency  to  purify,  to  touch 
tlie  affections,  or  to  awaken  the  feelings  of  religious  respect  and 
wonder.  The  "Descent  from -the  Cross"  is  vast,  gloomy,  and 
awful ;  but  the  awe  inspired  by  it  is,  as  I  take  it,  altogether 
material.  He  might  have  painted  a  picture  of  any  criminal  broken 
on  the  wheel,  and  the  sensation  inspired  by  it  would  have  been 
precisely  similar.  Nor  in  a  religious  picture  do  you  want  the 
savoir-faire  of  the  master  to  be  always  protruding  itself ;  it  detracts 
from  the  feeling  of  reverence,  just  as  the  thumping  of  cushion  and 
the  spouting  of  tawdry  oratory  does  from  a  sermon  :  meek  Religion 
disappears,  shouldered  out  of  the  desk  by  the  pompous,  stalwart, 
big-chested,  fresh-coloured,  bushy-whiskered  pulpiteer.  Rubens's 
piety  has  always  struck  us  as  of  this  sort.  If  he  takes  a  pious 
subject,  it  is  to  show  you  in  what  a  fine  way  he,  Peter  Paul  Rubens, 
can  treat  it.  He  never  seems  to  doubt  but  that  he  is  doing  it  a 
great  honour.  His  "Descent  from  the  Cross,"  and  its  accompany- 
ing wings  and  cover,  are  a  set  of  puns  upon  the  word  Christopher, 


276  LITTLE    TRAVELS 

ofwhicli  the  taste  is  lUDrt'  (•diinis  tliaii  that  of  the  hooped-petticoated 
Virgin  yonder,  with  her  artiticial  flowers,  and  lier  rings  and  brooches. 
The  people  who  made  an  otiering  of  that  hoi>j)ed  petticoat  did  their 
best,  at  any  rate ;  they  kiunv  no  better.  There  is  humility  in  that 
sim]ile  quaint  present;  trustfulness  and  kin<l  intention.  Looking 
about  at  otlier  altars,  you  see  (much  to  the  horror  of  pious  Pro- 
testants) all  sorts  of  queer  little  emblems  hanging  up  nnder  little 
pyramids  of  penny  candles  that  are  sputtering  and  flaring  there. 
Here  you  have  a  silver  arm,  or  a  little  gold  toe,  or  a  wax  leg,  or  a 
gilt  eye,  signifying  and  commemorating  cures  that  have  been  per- 
formed by  the  supposed  intercession  of  the  saint  over  whose  ciiapel 
they  hang.  "Well,  although  they  are  abominable  superstitions,  yet 
these  queer  little  oflerings  seem  to  me  to  be  a  great  deal  more  jiious 
than  Rubens's  big  pictures  ;  just  as  is  the  widow  with  her  poor  little 
mite  compared  to  the  swelling  Pharisee  who  flings  his  i)urse  of  gold 
into  the  plate. 

A  couple  of  days  of  Rubens  and  his  church  pictures  makes  one 
thoroughly  and  entirely  sick  of  him.  His  very  genius  and  splendour 
pall  upon  one,  even  taking  the  pictures  as  worldly  ])ictures.  One 
grows  weary  of  being  perpetually  feasted  with  this  rich,  coarse, 
steaming  food.  Considering  them  as  "church  pictures,  I  don't  want 
to  go  to  church  to  hear  however  splendid  an  organ  play  the  "British 
Grenadiers." 

The  Antwerpians  have  set  up  a  clumsy  bronze  statue  of  their 
divinity  in  a  square  of  the  town ;  and  those  who  have  not  enough 
of  Rubens  in  the  churches  may  study  him,  and  indeed  to  much 
greater  advantage,  in  a  good  well-lighted  museum.  Here,  there  is 
one  picture,  a  dying  saint  taking  the  communion,  a  large  piece  ten 
or  eleven  feet  high,  and  i)ainted  in  an  incredibly  short  space  of  time, 
which  is  extremely  curious  indeed  for  the  painter's  study.  The 
picture  is  scarcely  more  than  an  immense  magnificent  sketch ;  but 
it  tells  the  secret  of  the  artist's  manner,  which,  in  the  midst  of  its 
dash  and  splendour,  is  curiously  methodical.  Where  the  shadows 
are  warm  the  lights  are  cold,  and  vice  versa  ;  and  the  picture  has 
been  so  rapidly  painted,  that  the  tints  lie  raw  by  the  side  of  one 
another,  the  artist  not  having  taken  the  trouble  to  blend  them. 

There  are  two  exquisite  Vandykes  (whatever  Sir  Joshua  may 
say  of  them),  and  in  which  the  very  management  of  the  grey  tones 
which  the  President  abuses  forms  the  principal  excellence  and 
charm.  Why,  after  all,  are  we  not  to  have  our  opinion?  Sir 
Joshua  is  not  the  Pope.  The  colour  of  one  of  those  Vandykes  is 
as  fine  as  fine  Paul  Veronese,  and  the  sentiment  beautifully  tender 
and  graceful. 


FROM.  RICHMOND    TO    BRUSSELS  277 

I  saw,  too,  an  exhibition  of  the  modern  Belgian  artists  (1843), 
the  remembrance  of  whose  pictures  after  a  month's  absence  has 
ahnost  entirely  vanished.  Wappers's  hand,  as  I  thought,  seemed 
to  have  grown  old  and  feeble,  Verboeckhoven's  cattle-pieces  are 
almost  as  good  as  Paul  Potter's,  and  Keyser  has  dwindled  down 
into  namby-pamby  prettiness,  pitiful  to  see  in  the  gallant  young 
painter  who  astonished  the  Louvre  artists  ten  years  ago  by  a  hand 
almost  as  dashing  and  ready  as  that  of  Rubens  himself  There 
were  besides  many  caricatures  of  the  new  German  school,  which  are 
in  themselves  .caricatures  of  the  masters  before  Raphael. 

An  instance  of  honesty  may  be  mentioned  here  with  applause. 
The  writer  lost  a  pocket-book  containing  a  passport  and  a  couple  of 
modest  ten -pound  notes.  The  person  who  found  the  portfolio  in- 
geniously put  it  into  the  box  of  the  post-office,  and  it  was  fjiithfully 
restored  to  the  owner ;  but  somehow  the  two  ten-pound  notes 
were  absent.  It  was,  however,  a  great  comfort  to  get  the  passport, 
and  the  pocket-book,  which  must  be  worth  about  niuepence. 

Brussels. 

It  was  night  when  we  arrived  by  the  railroad  from  Antwerp  at 
Brussels ;  the  route  is  very  pretty  and  interesting,  and  the  flat 
countries  through  which  the  road  passes  in  the  highest  state  of 
peaceful  smiling  cultivation.  The  fields  by  the  roadside  are  en- 
closed by  hedges  as  in  England,  the  harvest  was  in  part  down,  and 
an  English  country  gentleman  who  was  of  our  party  pronounced  the 
crops  to  be  as  fine  as  any  he  had  ever  seen.  Of  this  matter  a 
cockney  cannot  judge  accurately,  but  any  man  can  see  with  what 
extraordinary  neatness  and  care  all  these  little  plots  of  ground  are 
tilled,  and  admire  the  richness  and  brilliancy  of  the  vegetation. 
Outside  of  the  moat  of  Antwerp,  and  at  every  village  by  which  we 
passed,  it  was  pleasant  to  see  the  happy  congregations  of  Avell-clad 
people  that  basked  in  the  evening  sunshine,  and  soberly  smoked 
their  pipes  and  drank  their  Flemish  beer.  Men  who  love  this 
drink  must,  as  I  fancy,  have  something  essentially  peaceful  in  their 
composition,  and  nuist  be  more  easily  satisfied  than  folks  on  our 
side  of  the  water.  The  excitement  of  Flemish  beer  is,  indeed,  not 
great.  I  have  tried  both  tlie  wliite  beer  and  the  brown ;  they  are 
both  of  the  kind  which  schoolboys  denominate  "  swipes,"  very  sour 
and  thin  fo  the  taste,  but  served,  to  be  sure,  in  quaint  Flemish  jugs 
that  do  not  seem  to  have  changed  their  form  since  the  days  of 
Rubens,  and  must  jdease  the  lovers  of  antiquarian  nicknacks. 
Numbers  of  comfortable-looking  women  and  children  sat  beside  the 


278  LITTLE    TRAVELS     , 

head  of  the  family  upon  the  tavern-benches,  and  it  was  amusing  to 
see  one  httle  fehow  of  ei^dit  years  old  smokinii;,  with  nuich  gravity, 
his  father's  cigar.  How  the  worship  of  the  sacred  plant  of  tobacco 
has  spread  through  all  Europe  !  I  am  sure  that  the  persons  who 
cry  out  against  the  use  of  it  are  guilty  of  superstition  and  unreason, 
and  tiiat  it  would  be  a  proper  and  easy  task  for  scientific  persons  to 
■write  an  encomium  upon  the  weed.  In  solitude  it  is  the  pleasantest 
companion  possible,  and  in  company  never  de  trop.  To  a  student  it 
suggests  all  sorts  of  agreeable  thoughts,  it  refreshes  the  brain  when 
weary,  and  every  sedentary  cigar-smoker  will  tell  you  how  much 
good  he  has  liad  from  it,  and  how  he  has  been  able  to  return  to  his 
labour,  after  a  quarter  of  an  hour's  mild  interval  of  the  delightful 
leaf  of  Havannah.  Drinking  has  gone  from  among  us  since  smoking 
came  in.  It  is  a  wicked  error  to  say  that  smokers  are  drunkards  : 
drink  they  do,  but  of  gentle  diluents  mostly,  for  fierce  stinuilants  of 
wine  or  strong  liquors  are  abhorrent  to  the  real  lover  of  the  Indian 
weed.  Ah  !  my  Juliana,  join  not  in  the  vulgar  cry  that  is  raised 
against  us.  Cigars  and  cool  drinks  beget  quiet  conversations,  good- 
humour,  meditation ;  not  hot  Ijlood  such  as  mounts  into  the  head 
of  drinkers  of  apoplectic  port  or  dangerous  claret.  Are  we  not 
more  moral  and  reasonable  than  our  forefathers  ?  Indeed  I  think 
so  somewhat ;  and  many  improvements  of  social  life  and  converse 
must  date  with  the  introduction  of  the  pipe. 

We  were  a  dozen  tobacco-consumers  in  the  waggon  of  the  train 
that  brought  us  from  Antwerp ;  nor  did  the  women  of  the  party 
(sensible  women  !)  make  a  single  objection  to  the  fumigation.  But 
enough  of  this  :  only  let  me  add,  in  conclusion,  that  an  excellent 
Israelitish  gentleman,  Mr.  Hartog  of  Antwerp,  supplies  cigars  for  a 
penny  apiece,  such  as  are  not  to  be  procured  in  London  for  four 
times  the  sum. 

Through  smiling  cornfields,  then,  and  by  little  woods  from 
which  rose  here  and  there  the  quaint  peaked  towers  of  some  old- 
fashioned  chdteaur,  our  train  went  smoking  along  at  tliirty  miles  an 
hour.  We  caught  a  glimpse  of  Mechlin  steeple,  at  first  dark  against 
the  sunset,  and  afterwards  bright  as  we  came  to  the  other  side  of 
it,  and  admired  long  glistening  canals  or  moats  that  surrounded  the 
queer  old  town,  and  were  lighted  up  in  that  wonderful  way  which 
the  sun  only  understands,  and  not  even  Mr.  Turner,  with  all  his 
vermilion  and  gamboge,  can  put  down  on  canvas.  The  verdure 
was  everywhere  astonishing,  and  we  fancied  we  saw  many  golden 
Cuyps  as  we  passed  by  these  quiet  pastures. 

Steam-engines  and  their  accompaniments,  blazing  forges,  gaunt 
manufactories,  with  numberless  windows  and  long  black  chimneys, 
■of  course  take  away  froin  the  romance  of  the  place ;  but,  as  we 


FROM    RICHMOND    TO    BRUSSELS.         279 

vvhirled  tato  Brussels,  even  these  engines  liad  a  fine  appearance. 
Three  or  four  of  the  snorting,  galloping  monsters  had  just  finislied 
their  journey,  and  tliere  was  a  quantity  of  flaming  ashes  lying  under 
the  brazen  bellies  of  each  that  looked  properly  lurid  and  denioiiiacal. 
Tlie  men  at  the  station  came  out  wit^i  flaming  torches — awful-looking 
fellows  indeed  !  Presently  the  different  baggage  was  handed  out, 
and  in  the  very  worst  vehicle  I  ever  entered,  and  at  the  very 
slowest  pace,  we  were  borne  to  the  "  Hotel  de  Suede,"  from  which 
house  of  entertainment  this  letter  is  written. 

We  strolled  into  tlie  town,  but,  though  the  night  was  excessively 
fine  and  it  was  not  yet  eleven  o'clock,  the  streets  of  the  little  capital 
were  deserted,  and  the  handsome  blazing  cafes  round  about  the 
theatres  contained  no  inmates.  Ah,  what  a  pretty  sight  is  the 
Parisian  Boulevard  on  a  night  like  this  !  how  many  pleasant  hours 
has  one  passed  in  watching  the  lights,  and  the  hum,  and  the  stir, 
and  the  laughter  of  those  happy  idle  people.  There  was  none  of 
this  gaiety  here ;  nor  was  there  a  person  to  be  found,  except  a 
skulking  commissioner  or  two  (whose  real  name  in  French  is  that 
of  a  fish  that  is  eaten  with  fennel-sauce),  and  who  offered  to  con- 
duct us  to  certain  curiosities  in  the  town.  What  must  we  English 
not  have  done,  that  in  every  town  in  Europe  we  are  to  be  fixed 
upon  by  scoundrels  of  this  sort;  and  what  a  pretty  reflection 
it  is  on  our  country  that  such  rascals  find  the  means  of  living 
on  us  ! 

Early  the  next  morning  we  walked  through  a  niunber  of  streets 
in  the  place,  and  saw  certain  sights.  The  Park  is  very  pretty,  and 
all  tlie  buildings  round  about  it  have  an  air  of  neatness — almost  of 
stateliness.  The  houses  are  tall,  the  streets  spacious,  and  the  roads 
extremely  clean.  In  the  park  is  a  little  theatre,  a  cafe  somewliat 
ruinous,  a  little  palace  for  the  king  of  this  little  kingdom,  some 
smart  public  buildings  (with  S.  P.  Q.  B.  emblazoned  on  them,  at 
which  pompous  inscription  one  cannot  help  laughing),  and  other 
rows  of  houses,  somewhat  resembling  a  little  Rue  de  Rivoli. 
Whether  from  my  own  natural  greatness  and  magnanimity,  or 
from  that  handsome  share  of  national  conceit  that  every  Englislnnan 
possesses,  my  impressions  of  this  city  are  certainly  anything  but 
respectful.  It  has  an  absurd  kind  of  Lilliput  look  with  it.  There 
are  soldiers,  just  as  in  Paris,  better  dressed,  and  doing  a  vast  deal 
of  drumming  and  bustle  ;  and  yet,  somehow,  far  from  l)eing  friglitened 
at  them,  I  feel  inclined  to  laugh  in  their  faces.  There  are  little 
Ministers,  who  work  at  their  little  bureaux ;  and  to  read  the 
journals,  tiow  fierce  they  are  !  A  great  tliundering  Times  could 
hardly  talk  more  big.     One  reads  about  the  rascally  Ministers,  the 


280  .  LJfTTLE    TRAVELS 

miserable  Opposition,  the  designs  of  tyrants,  the  eyes  of  Europe,  &o.y 
just  as  one  wouhl  in  real  journals.  Tlie  Moniteur  of  Ghent 
belabours  the  Independent  of  Brussels  ;  the  Ind 'pendent  falls  foul 
of  the  Lynx ;  and  really  it  is  difficult  not  to  suppose  sonietinies 
that  these  worthy  people  are  in  earnest.  And  yet  how  happy  were 
they  sua  si  bona  norint  I  Think  what  a  comfort  it  would  be  to 
belong  to  a  little  State  like  this ;  not  to  abuse  their  privilege,  but 
philosophically  to  use  it.  If  I  were  a  Belgian,  I  would  not  care 
one  single  fig  about  politics.  I  would  not  read  thundering  leading 
articles.  I  would  not  have  an  opinion.  What's  the  use  of  an 
opinion  here"?  Happy  fellows  !.  do  not  the  French,  the  English, 
and  tiie  Prussians  spare  them  the  trouble  of  thinking,  and  make  all 
their  opinions  for  them.  Think  of  living  in  a  country  free,  easy, 
respectable,  wealthy,  and  with  the  nuisance  of  talking  politics 
removed  from  out  of  it.  All  this  might  the  Belgians  have,  and  a 
part  do  they  enjoy,  but  not  the  best  part :  no,  these  people  will  be 
brawling  and  by  the  ears,  and  jjarties  run  as  high  here  as  at  Stoke 
Pogis  or  Little  Pedlington. 

These  sentiments  were  elicited  by  the  reading  of  a  paper  at  the 
cafe  in  the  Park,  where  we  sat  under  the  trees  for  a  while  and  sipped 
our  cool  lemonade.  Numbers  of  statues  decorate  the  place,  the 
very  worst  I  ever  saw.  These  Cupids  must  have  been  erected  in 
the  time  of  the  Dutch  dynasty,  as  I  judge  from  the  immense 
posterior  developments.  Indeed,  the  arts  of  the  country  are  very 
low.  The  statues  here,  and  the  lions  before  the  Prince  of  Orange's 
palace,  would  disgrace  almost  the  figure-head  of  a  ship. 

Of  course  we  paid  our  visit  to  this  little  lion  of  Brussels  (the 
Prince's  palace,  I  mean).  The  architecture  of  the  building  is 
admirably  simple  and  firm  ;  and  you  remark  about  it,  and  all 
other  works  here,  a  high  finish  in  doors,  woodwork,  paintings,  &c., 
that  one  does  not  see  in  France,  where  the  buildings  are  often 
rather  sketched  than  completed,  and  the  artist  seems  to  neglect 
the  limbs,  as  it  were,  and  extremities  of  his  figures. 

The  finish  of  this  little  place  is  exquisite.  We  went  through 
some  dozen  of  state-rooms,  paddling  along  over  the  slippery  fioors 
'if  inlaid  wood  in  great  slippers,  without  which  we  must  have  come 
to  the  ground.  How  did  his  Royal  Highness  the  Prince  of  Orange, 
manage  when  he  lived  here,  and  her  Imperial  Highness  the  Princess, 
and  their  excellencies  the  chamberlains  and  the  footmen  %  They 
must  have  been  on  their  tails  many  times  a  day,  that's  certain,  and 
must  have  cut  queer  figures. 

The  ballroom  is  beautiful — all  marble,  and  yet  with  a  com- 
fortable cheerful  look  ;  the  other  apartments  are  not  less  agreeable, 
and  the  people  looked  with  intense  satisfaction  at  some  great  lapis- 


FROM    RICHMOND    TO    BRUSSELS  281 

lazuli  tables,  wliicli  the  guide  informed  us  were  worth  four  millions, 
more  or  less ;  adding,  viith.  a  very  knowing  look,  that  they  were 
wn  2^eu  plus  cher  que  Vor.  This  sjieech  has  a  tremendous  effect  on 
visitors,  and  when  we  met  some  of  our  steamboat  companions  in 
the  Park  or  elsewhere — in  so  small  a  place  as  this  one  falls  in  with 
them  a  dozen  times  a  day — "Have  you  seen  the  tables'?"  was  the 
general  question.  Prodigious  tables  are  they,  indeed !  Fancy  a 
table,  my  dear — a  table  four  feet  wide — a  table  with  legs.  Ye 
heavens  !  the  mind  can  hardly  picture  to  itself  anything  so  beautiful 
and  so  tremendous  ! 

There  are  some  good  pictures  in  the  palace,  too,  but  not  so 
extraordinarily  good  as  the  guide-books  and  the  guide  would  have 
us  to  think.  The  latter,  like  most  men  of  his  class,  is  an  igno- 
ramus, who  showed  us  an  Andrea  del  Sarto  (copy  or  original),  and 
called  it  a  Correggio,  and  made  other  blunders  of  a  like  nature.  As 
is  the  case  in  England,  you  are  hurried  through  the  rooms  without 
being  allowed  time  to  look  at  the  pictures,  and,  consequently,  to 
pronounce  a  satisfactory  judgment  on  them. 

In  the  Museum  more  time  was  granted  me,  and  I  spent  some 
hours  with  pleasure  there.  It  is  an  absurd  little  gallery,  absurdly 
imitating  the  Louvre,  with  just  such  compartments  and  pillars  as 
you  see  in  the  noble  Paris  gallery  ;  only  here  the  pillars  and  capitals 
are  stucco  and  white  in  place  of  marble  and  gold,  and  plaster-of- 
Paris  busts  of  great  Belgians  are  placed  between  the  pillars.  An 
artist  of  the  country  has  made  a  picture  containing  them,  and  you 
will  be  ashamed  of  your  ignorance  when  you  hear  many  of  their 
names.  Old  Tilly  of  Magdeburg  figures  in  one  corner;  Rubens, 
the  endless  Rubens,  stands  in  the  midst.  What  a  noble  coun 
tenance  it  is,  and  what  a  manly  swaggering  consciousness  of 
power  I 

The  picture  to  see  here  is  *  portrait,  by  the  great  Peter  Paul, 
of  one  of  the  governesses  of  the  Netherlands.  It  is  just  the  finest 
portrait  that  ever  was  seen.  Only  a  half-length,  but  such  a  majesty, 
such  a  force,  such  a  splendour,  such  a  simplicity  about  it !  The 
woman  is  in  a  stiff  black  dress,  with  a  ruff  and  a  few  pearls ;  a 
yellow  curtain  is  behind  her — the  simplest  arrangement  that  can 
be  conceived ;  but  this  great  man  knew  how  to  rise  to  his  occasion  ; 
and  no  better  proof  can  be  shown  of  what  a  fine  gentleman  he  was 
than  this  his  homage  to  the  vice-Queen.  A  common  bungler  would 
have  jtainted  her  in  her  best  clothes,  with  crown  and  sceptre,  just 
as  our  Queen  has  been  painted  by — but  comparisons  are  odious. 
Here  stands  this  majestic  woman  in  her  every-day  working-dress  of 
black  satin,  looking  i/our  hat  off,  as  it  were.  Anotlier  portrait  of 
the  same  personage  hangs  elsewhere  in  the  gallery,  and  it  is  curious 


282  LITTLE    TRAVELS 

to  observe  the  difference  between  the  two,  and  see  how  a  man  of 
genius  paints  a  portrait,  and  how  a  coninion  Uniner  executes  it. 

Many  more  pictures  are  there  here  by  Rubens,  or  rather  from 
Rubens's  mamifactory, — ^odious  and  vulgar  most  of  them  are  :  fat 
Magdalens,  coarse  Saints,  vulgar  Virgins,  with  the  scene-painter's 
tricks  far  too  evident  upon  the  canvas.  By  the  side  of  one  of  the 
most  astonishing  colour-pieces  in  the  world,  tlie  "  Worshipping  of 
the  Magi,"  is  a  famous  picture  of  Paul  Veronese  that  cannot  be  too 
much  admired.  As  Rubens  souglit  in  the  first  picture  to  dazzle  and 
a'^tonish  by  gorgeous  variety,  Paul  in  liis  seems  to. wish  to  get  his 
effect  by  simplicity,  and  has  produced  the  most  noble  harmony  tliat 
can  be  conceived.  Many  more  works  are  there  that  merit  notice, — 
a  singularly  clever,  brilliant,  and  odious  Jordaens,  for  example  :  some 
curious  costume-pieces ;  one  or  two  works  by  the  Belgian  Raphael, 
who  was  a  very  Belgian  Raphael  indeed ;  and  a  long  gallery  of 
pictures  of  the  very  oldest  school,  that,  doubtless,  afford  much 
])leasure  to  the  amateurs  of  ancient  art.  I  confess  that  I  am 
inclined  to  believe  in  very  little  that  existed  before  the  time  of 
Raphael.  There  is,  for  instance,  the  Prince  of  Orange's  picture  by 
Perugino,  very  pretty  indeed,  up  to  a  certain  point,  but  all  the 
heads  are  repeated,  all  the  drawing  is  bad  and  affected ;  and  this 
very  badness  and  affectation  is  what  the  so-called  Catholic  school 
is  always  anxious  to  imitate.  Nothing  can  be  more  juvenile  or 
paltry  than  the  works  of  the  native  Belgians  here  exhibited.  Tin 
crowns  are  suspended  over  many  of  them,  showing  that  the  pictures 
are  prize  compositions  :  and  pretty  things,  indeed,  they  are  !  Have 
you  ever  read  an  Oxford  prize  poem  ?  Well,  these  pictures  are  worse 
even  than  tlie  Oxford  poems — an  awful  assertion  to  make. 

In  the  matter  of  eating,  dear  sir,  which  is  the  next  subject  of 
the  fine  arts,  a  subject  that,  after  many  hours'  walking,  attracts  a 
gentleman  very  much,  let  me  attempt  to  recall  the  transactions  of 
this  very  day  at  the  tahle-rVhote.  1,  green  peasoup ;  2,  boiled 
salmon ;  3,  mussels ;  4,  crimped  skate  ;  5,  roast-meat ;  6,  patties ; 
7,  melon ;  8,  carp,  stewed  with  mushrooms  and  onions ;  9,  roast- 
turkey ;  10,  cauliflower  and  butter;  11,  fillets  of  venison  piques, 
with  asafoetida  sauce  ;  12,  stewed  calf 's-ear  ;  13,  roast-veal ;  14,  roast- 
lamb  ;  15,  stewed  cherries;  16,  rice-pudding;  17,  Gruyfere  cheese, 
and  about  twenty-four  cakes  of  diflerent  kinds.  Except  5,  13,  and 
14,  I  give  you  my  word  I  ate  of  all  written  down  here,  with  three 
rolls  of  bread  and  a  score  of  potatoes.  Wliat  is  the  meaning  of  it  ? 
How  is  the  stomach  of  man  brought  to  desire  and  to  receive  all  this 
quantity  ?  Do  not  gastronomists  complain  of  heaviness  in  London 
after  eating  a  couple  of  mutton-chops  ?  Do  not  respectable  gentle- 
men fall  asleep  in  their  arm-chairs  1     Are  they  fit  for  mental  labour  % 


FROM    RICHMOND    TO    BRUSSELS  283 

Far  from  it.  But  look  at  the  difference  here :  after  dinner  here 
one  is  as  light  as  a  gossamer.  One  walks  with  pleasure,  reads  with 
pleasure,  writes  witli  pleasure — nay,  there  is  the  supper-bell  going 
at  ten  o'clock,  and  plenty  of  eaters,  too.  Let  lord  mayors  and 
aldermen  look  to  it,  this  fact  of  the  extraordinary  increase  of 
appetite  in  Belgium,  and  instead  of  steaming  to  Blackwall,  come 
a  little  farther  to  Antwerp. 

Of  ancient  architectures  in  the  place,  there  is  a  fine  old  Port  de 
Halle,  which  has  a  tall,  gloomy,  bastille  look ;  a  most  magnificent 
town-hall,  that  has  been  sketched  a  thousand  of  times,  and  opposite 
it,  a  building  that  I  think  Avould  be  the  very  model  for  a  Conserva- 
tive club-house  in  London.  Oh  !  how  charming  it  would  be  to  be 
a  great  painter,  and  give  the  character  of  the  building,  and  the 
numberless  groups  round  about  it.  The  booths  lighted  up  by  the 
sun,  the  market-women  in  their  gowns  of  brilliant  hue,  each  group 
having  a  character  and  telling  its  little  story,  the  troops  of  men 
foiling  in  all  sorts  of  admirable  attitudes  of  ease  round  the  great 
lamp.  Half-a-dozen  light-blue  dragoons  are  lounging  about,  and 
peeping  over  the  artist  as  the  drawing  is  made,  and  the  sky  is  more 
bright  and  blue  than  one  sees  it  in  a  hundred  years  in  London. 

The  priests  of  the  country  are  a  remarkably  well-fed  and  re- 
spectable race,  without  that  scowling  hangdog  look  which  one  has 
remarked  among  reverend  gentlemen  in  the  neighbouring  country  of 
France.  Their  reverences  wear  buckles  to  their  shoes,  light-blue 
neckcloths,  and  huge  three-cornered  hats  in  good  condition.  To- 
day, strolling  by  the  cathedral,  I  heard  the  tinkling  of  a  bell  in 
the  street,  and  beheld  certain  persons,  male  and  female,  suddenly 
plump  down  on  their  knees  before  a  little  procession  that  was 
passing.  Two  men  in  black  held  a  tawdry  red  canopy,  a  priest 
walked  beneath  it  holding  the  sacrament  covered  with  a  cloth,  and 
before  him  marched  a  couple  of  little  altar-boys  in  short  white 
surplices,  such  as  you  see  in  Rubens,  and  holding  lacquered  lamps. 
A  small  train  of  street-boys  followed  the  procession,  cap  in  hand, 
and  the  clergyman  finally  entered  a  hospital  for  old  women,  near 
the  church,  the  cano])y  and  the  lamp-bearers  remainiifg  without. 

It  was  a  touching  scene,  and  as  I  stayed  to  watch  it,  I  could 
not  but  tliink  of  the  poor  old  soul  who  was  dying  within,  listening 
to  the  last  words  of  prayer,  led  by  the  hand  of  the  priest  to  the 
brink  of  the  Itlack  fathomless  grave.  How  bright  the  sun  was 
shining  without  all  the  time,  and  how  happy  and  careless  everything 
around  us  looked  ! 

The  Duke  d'Arcnberg  has  a  picture-gallery  worthy  of  his 
princely  house.     It  does  not   contain   great  pieces,  but  titbits  of 


284.  LITTLE    TRAVELS 

pictures,  such  as  suit  an  aristocratic  epicure.  For  such  i)ersons  a 
great  huge  canvas  is  too  much,  it  is  like  sitting  down  alone  to  a 
roasted  ox  ;  and  they  do  wiselj^,  I  think,  to  i)atronise  small,  high- 
flavoured,  delicate  morceaux,  such  as  the  Duke  has  liere. 

Among  them  may  be  mentioned,  with  special  ])raise,  a  magnificent 
small  Rembrandt,  a  Paul  Potter  of  exceeding  minuteness  and  beauty, 
an  Ostade,  which  reminds  one  of  Wilkie's  early  performances,  and 
a  Dusart  quite  as  good  as  the  Ostade.  There  is  a  Berghem,  much 
more  unaflfected  than  that  artist's  works  generally  are ;  and,  what 
is  more,  precious  in  the  eyes  ,of  many  ladies  as  an  object  of  art, 
there  is,  in  one  of  the  grand  saloons,  some  needlework  done  by  the 
Duke's  own  grandmother,  which  is  looked  at  with  awe  by  those 
admitted  to  see  the  palace. 

The  chief  curiosity,  if  not  the  chief  ornament,  of  a  very  elegant 
library,  filled  with  vases  and  bronzes,  is  a  marble  head,  sui:)poseil  to 
be  tfie  original  head  of  the  Laocoon.  It  is,  unquestionably,  a  finer 
head  than  that  which  at  present  figures  upon  tlie  shoulders  of  the 
famous  statue.  The  expression  of  woe  is  more  manly  and  intense ; 
in  the  group  as  we  know  it,  the  head  of  the  principal  figure  has 
always  seemed  to  me  to  be  a  grimace  of  grief,  as  are  the  two  accom- 
panying young  gentlemen  with  their  pretty  attitudes,  and  their  little 
silly  open-moutl)ed  despondency.  It  has  always  had  upon  me  the 
effect  of  a  trick,  that  statue,  and  not  of  a  piece  of  true  art.  It 
would  look  well  in  the  vista  of  a  garden ;  it  is  not  august  enough 
for  a  temple,  witli  all  its  jerks,  and  twirls,  and  polite  convulsions. 
But  who  knows  Avhat  susceptibilities  such  a  confession  may  offend  ? 
Let  us  say  no  more  about  tlie  Laocoon,  nor  its  head,  nor  its  tail. 
The  Duke  was  offered  its  weight  in  gold,  they  say,  for  this  head, 
and  refused.  It  would  be  a  shame  to  speak  ill  of  such  a  treasure, 
but  I  have  my  opinion  of  the  man  who  made  the  offer. 

In  the  matter  of  sculpture  almost  all  the  Brussels  churches  are 
decorated  with  the  most  laborious  wooden  pulpits,  which  may  be 
worth  their  weight  in  gold,  too,  for  what  I  know,  including  his 
reverence  prellching  inside.  At  St.  Gudule  the  preacher  mounts 
into  no  less  a  place  than  the  garden  of  Eden,  being  supported  by 
Adam  and  Eve,  by  Sin  and  Death,  and  numberless  other  animals ; 
he  walks  up  to  his  desk  by  a  rustic  railing  of  flowers,  fruits,  and 
vegetables,  with  wooden  peacocks,  paroquets,  monkeys  biting  apples, 
and  many  more  of  the  birds  and  beasts  of  the  field.  In  another 
church  the  clergyman  speaks  from  out  a  hermitage ;  in  a  third  from 
a  carved  palm  tree,  which  supports  a  set  of  oak  clouds  that  form 
the  canopy  of  the  pulpit,  and  are,  indeed,  not  much  heavier  in 
appearance  than  so  many  huge  sponges.     A  priest,  however  tall  or 


GHENT  285 

stout,  must  be  lost  in  the  midst  of  all  these  queer  giracracks ;  in 
order  to  be  consistent,  they  ought  to  dress  him  up,  too,  in  some  odd 
fantastical  suit.  I  can  fancy  the  Cure  of  Meudon  preaching  out  of 
such  a  place,  or  the  Rev.  Sydney  Smith,  or  that  famous  clergyman 
of  the  time  of  the  League,  who,  brought  all  Paris  to  laugh  and  listen 
to  him. 

But  let  us  not  be  too  supercilious  and  ready  to  sneer.  It  is  only 
bad  taste.  It  may  have  been  very  true  devotion  which  erected  these 
strange  edifices. 


II 

GHENT— BR  UGES 

GHENT      (1840) 

THE  Btiguine  College  or  Village  is  one  of  the  most  extra- 
ordinary sights  that  all  Europe  can  show.  On  the  confines 
of  the  town  of  Ghent  you  come  upon  an  old-fashioned  brick 
gate,  that  seems  as  if  it  were  one  of  the  city  barriers ;  but,  on 
passing  it,  one  of  the  prettiest  sights  possible  meets  the  eye  :  At 
the  porter's  lodge  you  see  an  old  lady,  in  black  and  a  white  hood, 
occupied  over  her  book ;  before  you  is  a  red  church  with  a  tall 
roof  and  fantastical  Dutch  pinnacles,  and  all  around  it  rows  upon 
rows  of  small  houses,  the  queerest,  neatest,  nicest  that  ever  were 
seen  (a  doll's  house  is  hardly  smaller  or  prettier).  Eight  and  left, 
on  each  side  of  little  alleys,  these  little  mansions  rise ;  they  have 
a  courtlet  before  them,  in  which  some  green  plants  or  hollyhocks 
are  growing ;  and  to  each  house  is  a  gate,  that  has  mostly  a  picture 
or  queer-carved  ornament  upon  or  about  it,  and  bears  the  name, 
not  of  the  Be'guine  v\'ho  inhabits,  it,  but  of  the  saint  to  whom  she 
may  have  devoted  it — the  house  of  St.  Stephen,  the  house  of  St. 
Donatus,  the  English  or  Angel  Convent,  and  so  on.  Old  ladies  in 
black  are  pacing  in  the  quiet  alleys  here  and  there,  and  droj)  the 
stranger  a  curtsey  as  he  passes  them  and  takes  off"  his  hat.  Never 
were  such  patterns  of  neatness  seen  as  these  old  ladies  and  their 
houses.  I  peeped  into  one  or  two  of  the  chambers,  of  which  the 
windows  were  open  to  the  pleasant  evening  sun,  and  saw  beds 
.-scrupulously  plain,  a  quaint  old  chair  or  two,  and  little  pictures  of 
favourite  saints  decorating  the  sjiotless  white  walls.  The  old  ladies 
kept  up  a  quick  cheerful  clatter,  as  they  paused  to  gossip  at  the 


286  LITTLE    TRAVELS 

gates  of  their  little  domiciles  ;  and  with  a  great  deal  of  artifice,  and 
lurking  behind  walls,  and  looking  at  the  church  as  if  I  intended  to. 
design  that,  I  managed  to  get  a  sketch  of  a  couple  of  them. 

But  what  white  paper  can  render  the  whiteness  of  their  linen ; 
what  black  ink  can  do  justice  to  the  lustre  of  their  gowns  and 
shoes  ?  Both  of  the  ladies  had  a  neat  ankle  and  a  tight  stocking ; 
and  I  fancy  that  Heaven  is  quite  as  well  served  in  this  costume  as  in 
the  dress  of  a  scowling  stockingless  friar,  whom  I  had  seen  passing 
just  before.  .  The  look  and  dress  of  the  man  made  me  shudder. 
His  great  red  feet  were  bound  up  in  a  shoe  open  at  the  toes,  a  kind 
of  compromise  for  a  sandal.  I  had  just  seen  him  and  his  brethren  at 
the  Dominican  Cliurch,  where  a  mass  of  music  was  sung,  and  orange 
trees,  flags,  and  banners  decked  the  aisle  of  the  church. 

One  begins  to  grow  sick  of  these  churches,  and  the  hideous 
exhibitions  of  bodily  agonies  that  are  depicted  on  the  sides  of  all 
the  chapels.  Into  one  wherein  we  went  this  morning  was  what  they 
called  a  Calvary  :  a  horrible  ghastly  image  of  a  Christ  in  a  tomb, 
the  figure  of  the  natural  size,  and  of  the  livid  colour  of  death ; 
gaping  red  wounds  on  the  body  and  round  the  brows :  the  whole 
piece  enough  to  turn  one  sick,  and  fit  only  to  bnitalise  the  beholder 
of  it.  The  Virgin  is  commonly  represented  with  a  dozen  swords 
stuck  in  her  heart ;  bleeding  throats  of  headless  John  Baptists  are 
perpetually  thrust  before  your  eyes.  At  the  Cathedral  gate  was  a 
papier-mache  church-ornament  shop — most  of  the  carvings  and  reliefs 
of  the  same  dismal  ciiaracter  :  one,  for  instance,  represented  a  heart 
with  a  great  gash  in  it,  and  a  double  row  of  large  blood-drops  drib- 
bling from  it ;  nails  and  a  knife  were  thrust  into  the  heart ;  round 
the  whole  was  a  crown  of  thorns.  Such  things  are  dreadful  to  think 
of.  The  same  gloomy  spirit  which  made  a  religion  of  them,  and 
worked  upon  tlie  people  by  the  grossest  of  all  means,  terror,  dis- 
tracted the  natural  feelings  of  man  to  maintain  its  power — shut 
gentle  women  into  lonely  pitiless  convents — frightened  poor  peasants 
with  tales  of  torment — taught  that  the  end  and  labour  of  life  was 
silence,  wretchedness,  and  the  scourge — murdered  those  by  fagot  and 
prison  who  thought  otherwise.  How  has  the  blind  and  furious 
bigotry  of  man  perverted  that  which  God  gave  us  as  our  greatest 
boon,  and  bid  us  hate  where  God  bade  us  love  !  Thank  Heaven  that 
monk  has  gone  out  of  sight !  It  is  pleasant  to  look  at  the  smiling 
cheerful  old  Bdguine,  and  think  no  more  of  yonder  livid  face. 

One  of  the  many  convents  in  this  little  religious  city  seems  to  be 
the  specimen  house  which  is  shown  to  strangers,  for  all  the  guides 
conduct  you  thither,  and  I  saw  in  a  book  kept  for  the  purpose  the 
names  of  innumerable  Smiths  and  Joneses  registered. 


GHENT  287 

A  very  kind,  sweet-voiced,  smiling  nun  (I  wonder,  do  they  always 
choose  the  most  agreeable  and  best-humoured  sister  of  the  house  to 
show  it  to  strangers  1)  came  tripping  down  the  steps  and  across  the 
flags  of  the  little  garden  court,  and  welcomed  us  with  much  (-ourtesy 
into  the  neat  little  old-fashioned,  red-])ricked,  gable-ended,  shining- 
'vv'indowed  Convent  of  the  Angels.  First  she  showed  us  a  white- 
washed parlour,  decorated  with  a  grim  picture  or  two  and  some 
crucifixes  and  other  religious  emblems,  where,  upon  stift'  old  chairs, 
the  sisters  sit  and  work.  Three  or  four  of  them  were  still  there, 
pattering  over  their  laces  and  bobbins  ;  but  the  chief  part  of  the 
sisterhood  were  engaged  in  an  apartment  hard  by,  from  which  issued 
a  certain  odour  which  I  must  say  resembled  onions  :  it  was  in  fact 
the  kitchen  of  the  establishment. 

Every  Bdguine  cooks  her  own  little  dinner  in  her  own  little 
pipkin ;  and  there  were  half-a-score  of  them,  sure  enough,  busy  over 
their  pots  and  crockery,  cooking  a  repast  which,  when  ready,  was 
carried  off  to  a  neighbouring  room,  the  refectory,  where,  at  a  ledge- 
table  which  is  drawn  out  from  under  her  own  particular  cupboard, 
each  nun  sits  down  and  eats  her  meal  in  silence.  ]\Iore  religious 
emblems  ornamented  the  carved  cupboard  doors,  and  within,  every- 
thing was  a.s  neat  as  neat  could  be ;  shining  pewter  ewers  and 
glasses,  snug  Ijaskets  of  eggs  and  pats  of  butter,  and  little  bowls 
with  about  a  farthing's-worth  of  green  tea  in  them — for  some  great 
day  of  fete,  doubtless.  The  old  ladies  sat  round  as  we  examined 
these  things,  each  eating  soberly  at  her  ledge,  and  never  looking 
round.  There  was  a  bell  ringing  in  the  chapel  hard  by.  "  Hark  !  " 
said  our  guide,  "that  is  one  of  the  sisters  dying.  Will  you  come 
up  and  see  the  cells  1 " 

The  cells,  it  need  not  be  said,  are  the  snuggest  little  nests  in 
the  world,  with  serge-curtained  beds  and  snowy  linen,  and  saints 
and  martyrs  pinned  against  the  wall.  "  We  may  sit  up  till  twelve 
o'clock,  if  we  like,"  said  the  nun  ;  "  but  we  have  no  fire  and  candle, 
and  so  what's  the  use  of  sitting  up"?  When  we  have  said  our 
prayers  we  are  glad  enough  to  go  to  sleep." 

I  forget,  although  the  good  soul  told  us,  how  many  times  in 
the  day,  in  public  and  in  private,  these  devotions  are  made,  but 
fancy  that  the  morning  service  in  the  chapel  takes  place  at  too 
early  an  hour  for  most  easy  ti-avellers.  We  did  not  fail  to  attend 
ill  the  evening,  when  likewise  is  a  general  muster  of  the  seven 
liiuidred,  minus  the  absent  and  sick,  and  the  sight  is  not  a  little 
curious  and  striking  to  a  stranger. 

The  chapel  is  a  very  big  whitewashed  place  of  worship,  sup- 
ported by  half-a-dozen  columns  on  either  side,  over  each  of  which 
stands  the  statue  of  an  Apostle,  with  his  emblem  of  martyrdom. 


288  LITTLE    TRAVELS 

Nobody  was  as  yet  at  the  distant  altar,  which  was  too  far  off  to 
see  very  distinctly  ;  but  I  could  perceive  two  statues  over  it,  one 
of  which  (St.  Laurence,  no  doubt)  was  leaning  upon  a  huge  gilt 
gridiron  that  the  sun  lighted  up  in  a  blaze — a  painful  but  not  a 
romantic  instrument  of  death.  A  couple  of  old  ladies  in  white 
hoods  wei"e  tugging  and  swaying  about  at  two  bell-ropes  that  came 
down  into  the  middle  of  the  church,  and  at  least  five  hundred 
otlicrs  in  white  veils  were  seated  all  round  about  us  in  nuite 
contemplation  until  the  service  began,  looking  very  solemn,  and 
white,  and  ghastly,  like  an  army  of  tombstones  by  moonlight. 

The  service  commenced  as  the  clock  finished  striking  seven  : 
the  organ  j^ealed  out,  a  very  cracked  and  old  one,  and  i)resently 
some  weak  old  voice  from  the  choir  overhead  quavered  out  a 
canticle ;  which  done,  a  thin  old  voice  of  a  priest  at  the  altar  far 
oft'  (and  which  had  now  become  quite  gloomy  in  the  sunset)  chanted 
feebly  another  i)art  of  the  service ;  then  the  nuns  warbled  once 
more  overhead ;  and  it  was  curious  to  hear,  in  the  intervals  of  the 
most  lugubrious  chants,  how  the  organ  went  off  with  some  extremely 
cheerful  military  or  profane  air.  At  one  time  was  a  march,  at 
another  a  ([uick  tune  ;  which  ceasing,  the  old  nuns  began  again,  and 
so  sang  imtil  the  service  was  ended. 

In  the  midst  of  it  one  of  the  white-veiled  sisters  approached 
us  with  a  very  mysterious  air,  and  i^ut  down  her  white  veil  close 
to  our  ears  and  whispered.  Were  we  doing  anything  wrong,  I 
wondered  1  Were  they  come  to  that  part  of  the  service  where 
heretics  and  infidels  ought  to  quit  the  church"?  What  have  you 
to  ask,  0  sacred  white-veiled  maid  ? 

All  she  said  was,  "  Deux  centimes  pour  les  suisses,"  which 
sum  was  paid  ;  and  presently  the  old  ladies,  rising  from  their 
chairs  one  by  one,  came  in  face  of  the  altar,  where  they  knelt 
down  and  said  a  short  prayer ;  then,  rising,  unj)inned  their  veils, 
and  folded  them  up  all  exactly  in  the  same  folds  and  fashion,  and 
laid  them  s(iuare  like  napkins  on  their  heads,  and  tucked  up  their 
long  black  outer  dresses  and  trudged  oft"  to  their  convents. 

The  novices  wear  black  veils,  under  one  of  which  I  saw  a 
young,  sad,  handsome  face ;  it  was  the  only  thing  in  the  establish- 
ment that  was  the  least  romantic  or  gloomy :  and,  for  the  sake 
of  any  reader  of  a  sentimental  turn,  let  us  hope  that  the  poor  soul 
has  been  crossed  in  love,  and  that  over  some  soul-stirring  tragedy 
that  black  curtain  has  fallen. 

Ghent  has,  I  T^elieve,  been  called  a  vulgar  Venice.  It  contains 
dirty  canals  and  old  houses  that  must  satisfy  the  most  eager 
antiquary,  though  the  buildings  are  not  quite  in  so  good  preserva- 
tion as  others  that   may  be  seen  in   the  Netherlands.     The  com- 


GHENT  289 

mercial  bustle  of  the  place  seems  considerable,  and  it  contains  more 
beershops  than  any  city  I  ever  saw. 

These  beershops  seem  the  only  amusement  of  the  inhabitants, 
until,  at  least,  the  theatre  shall  be  built,  of  which  the  elevation 
is  now  complete,  a  very  handsome  and  extensive  pile.  There  are 
beershops  in  the  cellars  of  the  houses,  which  are  frequented,  it  is 
to  be  presumed,  by  the  lower  sort ;  there  are  beershops  at  the 
barriers,  where  the  citizens  and  their  families  repair  ;  and  beershops 
in  the  town,  glaring  with  gas,  with  long  gauze  blinds,  however,  to 
hide  what  I  hear  is  a  rather  questionable  reputation. 

Our  inn,  the  "  Hotel  of  the  Post,"  a  spacious  and  comfortable 
residence,  is  on  a  little  place  planted  round  with  trees,  and  that 
seems  to  be  the  Palais  Royal  of  the  town.  Three  clubs,  which 
look  from  without  to  be  very  comfortable,  ornament  this  square 
with  their  gas-lamps.  Here  stands,  too,  the  theatre  that  is  to  be ; 
there  is  a  cafe,  and  on  evenings  a  military  band  plays  the  very 
worst  music  I  ever  remember  to  have  heard.  I  went  out  to-night 
to  take  a  quiet  walk  upon  this  place,  and  the  horrid  brazen  discord 
of  these  trumpeters  sent  me  half  mad. 

I  went  to  the  cafe  for  refuge,  passing  on  the  way  a  subterraneous 
beershop,  where  men  and  women  were  drinking  to  the  sweet  music 
of  a  cracked  barrel-organ.  They  take  in  a  couple  of  French  itapers 
at  this  cafe,  and  the  same  number  of  Belgian  journals.  You  may 
imagine  how  well  the  latter  are  informed,  when  you  hear  that  tlie  . 
battle  of-  Boulogne,  fought  by  the  immortal  Louis  Napoleon,  was 
not  known  here  until  some  gentlemen  out  of  Norfolk  brought  the 
news  from  London,  and  until  it  had  travelled  to  Paris,  and  from 
Paris  to  Brussels.  For  a  whole  hour  I  could  not  get  a  newspaper 
at  the  caf^.  The  horrible  brass  band  in  the  meantime  had  quitted 
the  place,  and  now,  to  amuse  the  Ghent  citizens,  a  couple  of  little 
boys  came  to  the  caf(i  and  set  up  a  small  concert  :  one  played  ill  on 
the  gtutar,  but  sang,  very  sweetly,  plaintive  French  ballads;  the  other 
was  the  comic  singer;  he  cai-ried  about  with  him  a  queer,  long,  damp- 
looking,  mouldy  white  hat,  with  no  brim.  "Ecoutez,"  said  the  waiter 
to  me,  "  il  va  faire  I'Anglais ;  c'est  tres-drolc  !  "  The  little  rogue 
mounted  his  immense  brimless  hat,  and  thrusting  his  thumbs  into 
the  armholes  of  hfs  waistcoat,  began  to  faire  V Anglais,  with  a  song 
in  which  swearing  was  the  principal  joke.  We  all  laughed  at  this, 
and  indeed  the  little  rascal  seemed  to  have  a  good  deal  of  humour. 

How  they  hate  us,  these  foreigners,  in  Belgium  as  nuicli  as  in 
France  !  What  lies  they  tell  of  us  ;  how  gladly  they  would  see  us 
humiliated  !  Honest  folks  at  home  over  their  port-wine  say,  "  Ay, 
ay,  and  very  good  reason  they  have  too.  National  vanity,  sir, 
wounded — we  have  beaten  them  so  often."     My  dear  sir,  there  is 


290  LITTLE    TRAVELS 

not  a  greater  error  in  the  world  than  this.  They  hate  you  because 
you  are  stupid,  liard  to  please,  and  intolerably  iiisi)lont  and  air- 
giving.  I  walked  witli  an  Englislnaan  yesterday,  who  asked  the 
way  to  a  street  of  wliifh  he  j)ronouiu'od  tlie  name  very  badly  to  a 
little  Flemish  boy  :  the  Flemish  boy  did  not  answer  ;  and  there 
Avas  my  Englisliman  quite  in  a  rage,  shrieking  in  the  child's  ear  as 
if  he  must  answer.  He  seemed  to  think  that  it  was  the  duty  of 
"  the  snob,"  as  he  called  him,'  to  obey  the  gentleman.  This  is 
why  we  are  hated — for  pride.  In  our  free  country  a  tradesman,  a 
lacquey,  or  a  waiter  will  submit  to  almost  any  given  insult  from 
a  gentleman :  in  these  benighted  lands  one  man  is  as  good  as 
anotlier  ;  and  pray  God  it  may  soon  be  so  with  us !  Of  all 
European  people,  which  is  tlie  nation  that  has  the  most  haughtiness, 
the  strongest  prejudices,  the  greatest  reserve,  the  greatest  dulnessl 
I  say  an  Englishman  of  the  genteel  classes.  An  lionest  groom 
jokes  and  hobs-and-nobs  and  makes  his  way  with  the  kitchen-maids, 
for  there  is  good  social  nature  in  the  man  ;  his  master  dare  not 
unbend.  Look  at  him,  how  he  scowls  at  you  on  your  entering  an 
inn-room  ;  think  how  you  scowl  yourself  to  meet  his  scowl.  To-day, 
as  we  were  walking  and  staring  about  the  place,  a  worthy  old 
gentleman  in  a  carriage,  seeing  a  pair  of*  strangers,  took  off  his  hat 
and  bowed  very  gravely  with  his  old  ])owdered  head  out  of  the 
window :  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  our  first  impulse  was  to  burst 
out  laughing — it  seemed  so  supremely  ridiculous  that  a  stranger 
should  notice  and  welcome  another. 

As  for  the  notion  tliat  foreigners  hate  us  because  we  have  beaten 
them  so  often,  my  dear  sir,  this  is  the  greatest  error  in  the  world  : 
well-educated  Frenchmen  do  not  believe  that  ive  have  beaten  them. 
A  man  was  once  ready  to  call  me  out  in  Paris  because  I  said  that 
we  had  beaten  the  French  in  Spain ;  and  here  before  me  is  a  French 
paper,  with  a  London  correspondent  discoursing  about  Louis  Buona- 
parte and  his  jackass  expedition  to  Boulogne.  "He  was  received 
at  Eglintoun,  it  is  true,"  says  the  correspondent,  "but  what  do  you 
think  was  the  reason  1  Because  the  English  nobility  were  anxious  to 
revenr/e  ujion  his  2>erson  (with  some  coups  de  lance)  the  checks  which 
the  '  grand  homme '  his  uncle  had  inflicted  on  them  in  Spain." 

This  opinion  is  so  general  among  the  FrencM,  that  they  would 
laugh  at  you  with  scornful  incredulity  if  you  ventured  to  assert  any 
other.  Foy's  history  of  the  Spanish  War  does  not,  tuduckily,  go 
far  enough.  I  have  read  a  French  history  which  hardly  mentions 
the  war  in  Spain,  and  calls  the  battle  of  Salamanca  a  French  victory. 
You  know  how  the  other  day,  and  in  the  teeth  of  all  evidence,  the 
French  swore  to  their  victory  of  Toulouse :  and  so  it  is  with  the 
rest;  and  you  may  set  it  down  as  pretty  certain,  1st,  That  only  a 


BRUGES  291 

few  people  know  the  real  state  of  tilings  in  France,  as  to  the  matter 
in  dispute  between  us ;  2nd,  That  those  who  do,  keep  the  truth  to 
themselves,  and  so  it  is  as  if  it  had  never  been. 

These  Belgians  have  caught  up,  and  quite  naturally,  the  French 
tone.  We  are  perjide  Albion  with  them  still.  Here  is  the  Ghent 
paper,  which  declares  that  it  is  beyond  a  doubt  that  Louis  Napoleon 
was  sent  by  the  English  and  Lord  Palmerston  ;  and  though  it  states 
in  another  part  of  the  journal  (from  English  authority)  that  the 
Prince  had  never  seen  Lord  Palmerston,  yet  the  lie  will  remain 
uppermost — the  people  and  the  editor  will  believe  it  to  the  end  of 
time.  .  .  .  See  to  what  a  digression  yonder  httle  fellow  in  the  tall 
hat  has  given  rise !  Let  us  make  his  picture,  and  have  done 
with  him. 

I  could  not  understand,  in  my  walks  about  this  place,  which  is 
certainly  picturesque  enough,  and  contains  extraordinary  charms  in 
the  shape  of  old  gables,  quaint  spires,  and  broad  shining  canals — I 
could  not  at  fo-st  comprehend  why,  for  all  this,  the  town  was  especi- 
ally disagreeable  to  me,  and  have  only  just  hit  on  the  reason  why. 
Sweetest  Juliana,  you  will  never  guess  it :  it  is  simply  this,  that  I 
have  not  seen  a  single  decent-looking  woman  in  the  whole  place ; 
they  all  look  ugly,  with  coarse  mouths,  vulgar  figures,  mean  mer- 
cantile faces ;  and  so  the  traveller  walking  among  them  finds  the 
pleasure  of  his  walk  excessively  damped,  and  tlie  impressions  made 
upon  him  disa.greeable. 

In  the  Academy  there  are  no  pictures  of  merit ;  but  sometimes  a 
second-rate  picture  is  as  pleasing  as  the  best,  and  one  may  pass  an 
hour  here  very  pleasantly.  There  is  a  room  appropriated  to  Belgian 
artists,  of  which  I  never  saw  the  like  :  they  are,  like  all  the  rest  of 
the  things  in  this  country,  miserable  imitations  of  the  French  school 
— great  nude  Venuses,  and  Jimos  a  la  David,  with  the  drawing 
left  out. 


BRUGES 

THE  change  froiri  vulgar  Ghent,  with  its  ugly  women  and  coarse 
bustle,  to  this  quiet,  old,  half-deserted,  cleanly  Bruges  was 
very  pleasant.  I  liave  seen  old  men  at  Versailles,  with 
shabby  coats  and  pigtails,  sunning  themselves  on  the  benches  in  the 
walls ;  they  had  seen  better  days,  to  be  sure,  but  they  were  gentle- 
men still :  and  so  we  found,  this  morning,  old  dowager  Bruges 
basking  in  the  jjleasant  August  sun,  and  looking,  if  not  prosperous, 
21 


o()'2  LITTLE    TRAVELS 

at  least  cheerful  and  well  bred.  It  is  the  quaintest  and  prettiest  of 
all  the  quaint  and  jjretty  towns  I  have  seen.  A  painter  might 
spend  months  here,  and  wander  from  church  to  cliurch,  and  admire 
old  towers  and  pinnacles,  tall  gables,  bright  canals,  and  pretty  little 
patches  of  green  garden  and  moss-grown  wall,  that  reflect  in  the 
clear  quiet  water.  Before  the  inn  window  is  a  garden,  from  which 
in  tlie  early  morning  issues  a  most  wonderful  odour  of  stocks  and 
wallflowers ;  next  comes  a  road  with  trees  of  admirable  green  ; 
numbers  of  little  children  are  playing  in  this  road  (the  place  is  so 
clean  that  they  may  roll  in  it  all  day  without  soiling  their  pinafores), 
and  on  the  other  side  of  the  trees  are  little  old-fashioned,  dumpy, 
whitewashed,  red-tiled  houses.  A  poorer  landscape  to  draw  never 
Avas  known,  nor  a  pleasanter  to  see — the  children  especially,  who 
are  inordinately  fat  and  rosy.  Let  it  be  remembered,  too,  that  here 
we  are  out  of  the  country  of  ugly  women  :  the  expression  of  the  face 
is  almost  uniformly  gentle  and  pleasing,  and  the  figures  of  the 
women,  wrapped  in  long  black  monk-like  cloaks  and  hoods,  very 
picturesque.  No  wonder  there  are  so  many  children  :  the  "  Guide- 
book "  (omniscient  Mr.  Murray  !)  says  there  are  fifteen  thousand 
paupers  in  the  town,  and  we  know  how  such  multiply.  How  the 
deuce  do  their  children  look  so  fat  and  rosy  1  By  eating  dirt-pies, 
I  suppose.  I  saw  a  couple  making  a  very  nice  savoury  one,  and 
another  employed  in  gravely  sticking  strips  of  stick  betwixt  the 
pebbles  at  the  house  door,  and  so  making  for  herself  a  stately  garden. 
The  men  and  women  don't  seem  to  have  much  more  to  do.  There 
are  a  couple  of  tall  chimneys  at  either  suburb  of  the  town,  where 
no  doubt  manufactories  are  at  w^ork,  but  within  the  walls  everybody 
seems  decently  idle. 

We  have  been,  of  course,  abroad  to  visit  the  lions.  The  tower 
in  the  Grand  Place  is  very  fine,  and  the  bricks  of  which  it  is  built 
do  not  yield  a  whit  in  colour  to  the  best  stone.  The  great  building 
round  this  tower  is  very  like  the  pictures  of  the  Ducal  Palace  at 
Venice ;  and  there  is  a  long  market  area,  with  columns  down  the 
middle,  from  which  hung  shreds  of  rather  lean-looking  meat,  that 
would  do  wonders  under  the  hands  of  Cattermole  or  Haghe.  In 
the  tower  there  is  a  chime  of  bells  that  keep  ringing  perpetually. 
They  not  only  play  tunes  of  thennselves,  and  every  quarter  of  an 
hour,  but  an  individual  performs  selections  from  popular  operas  on 
them  at  certain  periods  of  the  morning,  afternoon,  and  evening.  I 
have  heard  to-day  "  Suoni  la  Tromba,"  "Son  Vergin  vezzosa,"  from 
the  "  Puritani,"  and  other  airs,  and  very  badly  they  were  played 
too  ;  for  such  a  great  monster  as  a  tower-bell  cannot  be  expected  to 
imitate  Madame  Grisi  or  even  Signor  Lablache.  Other  churches 
indulge  in  the  same  amusement,  so  that  one  may  come  here  and 


BRUGES  293 

live  in  melody  all  day  or  night,  like  the  young  woman  in  Moore's 
"  LaUa  Rookii." 

In  the  matter  of  art,  the  chief  attractions  of  Bruges  are  the 
pictures  of  Hemliiig,  that  are  to  be  seen  in  the  churches,  the 
hospital,  and  the  i>icture-gallery  of  the  place.  There  are  no  more 
pictures  of  Rubens  to  be  seen,  and,  indeed,  in  the  course  of  a 
fortnight,  one  has  had  quite  enough  of  the  great  man  and  his 
magnificent  swaggering  canvases.  What  a  difference  is  here  with 
simple  Hemling  and  tlie  extraordinary  creations  of  his  pencil !  The 
hospital  is  particularly  rich  in  them ;  and  the  legend  there  is  that 
the  painter,  who  had  served  Charles  the  Bold  in  his  war  against 
the  Swiss,  and  his  last  battle  and  defeat,  wandered  ])ack  wounded 
and  penniless  to  Bruges,  and  here  found  cure  and  shelter. 

This  hospital  is  a  noble  and  curious  sight.  The  great  hall  is 
almost  as  it  was  in  the  twelfth  century ;  it  is  spanned  by  Saxon 
arches,  and  lighted  by  a  multiplicity  of  Gothic  windows  of  all 
sizes;  it  is  very  lofty,  clean,  and  perfectly  well  ventilated;  a 
screen  runs  across  the  middle  of  the  room,  to  divide  the  male 
from  the  female  patients,  and  we  were  taken  to  examine  each  ward 
where  the  poor  people  seemed  happier  than  possibly  tliey  would 
have  been  in  health  and  starvation  without  it.  Great  yellow 
blankets  were  on  the  iron  beds,  the  linen  was  scrupulously  clean, 
glittering  pewter  jugs  and  goblets  stood  by  the  side  of  each  patient, 
and  they  were  provided  with  godly  books  (to  judge  from  the 
binding),  in  which  several  were  reading  at  leisure.  Honest  old 
comfortable  nuns,  in  queer  dresses  of  blue,  black,  white,  and  flannel, 
were  bustling  through  the  room  attending  to  the  wants  of  the  sick. 
I  saw  about  a  dozen  of  these  kind  women's  faces :  one  was  young 
— all  were  healthy  and  cheerful.  One  came  with  bare  blue  arms 
and  a  great  pile  of  linen  from  an  outhouse — such  a  grange  as 
Cedric  the  Saxon  might  have  given  to  a  guest  for  the  night.  A 
couple  were  in  a  laboratory,  a  tall  bright  clean  room,  five  hundred 
years  old  at  least.  "We  saw  you  were  not  very  religious,"  said 
one  of  the  old  ladies  with  a  red  wrinkled  good-humoured  face,  "  by 
your  behaviour  yesterday  in  chapel."  And  yet  we  did  not  laugh 
and  talk  as  we  used  at  college,  but  were  profoundly  affected  by 
the  scene  that  we  saw  there.  It  was  a  fete-day  :  a  mass  of  Mozart 
was  sung  in  the  evening — not  well  sung,  and  yet  so  exquisitely 
tender  and  melodious,  that  it  brought  tears  into  our  eyes.  There 
were  not  above  twenty  people  in  the  church  :  all,  save  three  or 
four,  were  women  in  long  black  cloaks.  I  took  them  for  nuns  at 
first.  They  were,  however,  the  common  people  of  the  town,  very 
poor  indeed,  doubtless,  for  the  priest's  box  that  was  brought  round 
was  not  added  to  by  most  of  them,  and  their  contributions  were 


o{)4.  LITTLE    TRAVELS 

but  two-cent  pieces, — five  of  these  go  to  a  penny ;  but  we  know 
the  vahie  of  such,  and  can  tell  the  exact  worth  of  a  poor  woman's 
mite  !  The  box-bearer  did  not  seem  at  first  willing  to  accept  our 
donation — we  were  strangers  and  heretics  ;  however,  I  held  out  my 
hand,  and  he  came  perforce  as  it  were.  Indeed  it  had  only  a  franc 
in  it :  but  qtie  voulez  vous  ?  I  had  been  drinking  a  bottle  of  Rhine 
wine  that  day,  and  how  was  I  to  afford  more  1  The  Rhine  wine 
is  dear  in  this  country,  and  costs  four  francs  a  bottle. 

Well  the  service  proceeded.  Twenty  poor  women,  two  English- 
men, four  ragged  beggars  cowering  on  the  steps ;  and  there  was  the 
priest  at  the  altar,  in  a  great  robe  of  gold  and  damask,  two  little 
boys  in  white  surplices  serving  him,  holding  his  robe  as  he  rose  and 
bowed,  and  the  money-gatherer  swinging  his  censer,  and  filling  the 
little  chapel  with  smoke.  The  music  pealed  with  wonderful  sweet- 
ness;  you  could  see  the  prim  white  heads  of  the  nuns  in  their 
gallery.  The  evening  light  streamed  down  upon  old  statues  of 
saints  and  carved  brown  stalls,  and  lighted  np  the  head  of  tlie 
golden-haired  Magdalen  in  a  picture  of  the  entombment  of  Christ. 
Over  the  gallery,  and,  as  it  were,  a  kind  protectress  to  the  poor 
below,  stood  the  statue  of  the  Virgin. 


Ill 

WATERLOO 

IT  is,  my  dear,  the  happy  privilege  of  yoiu-  sex  in  England  to  quit 
the  dinner-table  after  the  wine-bottles  have  once  or  twice  gone 
round  it,  and  you  are  thereby  saved  (though,  to  be  sure,  I  can't 
tell  what  the  ladies  do  upstairs) — you  are  saved  two  or  three  hours' 
excessive  dulness,  which  the  men  are  obliged  to  go  through. 

I  ask  any  gentleman  who  reads  this — the  letters  to  my  Juliana 
being  written  with  an  eye  to  publication — to  remember  especially 
how  many  times,  how  many  hundred  times,  how  many  thousand 
times,  in  his  hearing,  the  battle  of  Waterloo  has  been  discussed  after 
dinner,  and  to  call  to  mind  how  cruelly  he  has  been  bored  by  the 
discussion.  "  Ah,  it  was  lucky  for  us  that  the  Prussians  came  uj)!  " 
says  one  little  gentleman,  looking  particularly  wise  and  ominous. 
"  Hang  the  Prussians ! "  (or,  perhaps,  something  stronger  "  the 
Prussians!")  says  a  stout  old  major  on  half-pay.  "We  beat  the 
French  without  them,  sir,  as  beaten  them  we  always  have  !  We 
were  tliundering  down  the  hill  of  Belle  Alliance,  sir,  at  the  backs  of 


WATERLOO  295 

them,  and  the  French  were  crying  '  Sauve  qui  pent '  long  before  the 
Prussians  ever  touclied  them  ! "  And  so  the  battle  opens,  and  for 
many  mortal  hours,  amid  rounds  of  claret,  rages  over  and  over  again. 

I  thought  to  myself,  considering  the  above  tilings,  what  a  fine 
thing  it  will  be  in  after-days  j;o  say  that  I  have  been  to  Brussels 
and  never  seen  the  field  of  Waterloo ;  indeed,  that  I  am  such  a 
philosopher  as  not  to  care  a  fig  about  the  battle — nay,  to  regret, 
rather,  that  when  Napoleon  came  back,  the  British  Government  had 
not  spared  their  men  and  left  him  alone. 

But  this  pitch  of  philosophy  was  unattainable.     This  morning, ' 
after  having  seen  the  Park,  the  fashionable  boulevard,  the  pictures,  the 
cafi^s — having  sipped,  I  say,  the  sweets  of  every  flower  that  grows  in 
this  paradise  of  Brussels,  quite  weary  of  the  place,  we  mounted  on 
a  Nauiur  diligence,  and  jingled  off"  at  four  miles  an  hour  for  Waterloo. 

The  road  is  very  neat  and  agreeable  :  the  Forest  of  Soignies 
here  and  there  interposes  pleasantly  to  give  your  vehicle  a  shade ; 
the  country,  as  usual,  is  vastly  fertile  and  well  cultivated.  A  farmer 
and  the  conducteur  were  my  companions  in  the  imperial,  and  could 
I  have  understood  their  conversation,  my  dear,  you  should  have  ha'd 
certainly  a  report  of  it.  The  jargon  which  they  talked  was,  indeed, 
most  queer  and  puzzling — French,  I  believe,  strangely  hashed  up 
■and  pronounced,  for  here  and  there  one  could  catch  a  few  woixls  of 
it.  Now  and  anon,  however,  they  condescended  to  speak  in  the 
purest  French  they  could  muster ;  and,  indeed,  nothing  is  more 
curious  than  to  hear  the  French  of  the  country.  You  can't  under- 
stand why  all  the  people  insist  upon  speaking  it  so  badly.  I  asked 
the  conductor  if  he  had  been  at  the  battle ;  he  burst  out  laughing, 
like  a  philosopher  as  he  was,  and  said,  "Pas  si  bete."  I  asked  the 
farmer  whether  his  contributions  were  lighter  now  than  in  King 
William's  time,  and  lighter  than  those  in  the  time  of  the  Emperor  1 
He  vowed  that  in  war-time  he  had  not  more  to  pay  than  in  time  of 
peace  (and  this  strange  fact  is  vouched  for  by  every  person  of  every 
nation),  and  being  asked  wherefore  the  King  of  Holland  had  been 
ousted  from  liis  throne,  replied  at  once,  ''  Parce  que  c'dtait  un 
voleur  :  "  for  which  accusation  I  believe  there  is  some  show  of  reason, 
his  Majesty  having  laid  hands  on  much  Belgian  property  before 
the  lamented  outbreak  which  cost  him  his  crown.  A  vast  deal  of 
laughing  and  roaring  passed  between  these  two  worthy  people  and 
the  j)ostillion,  whom  they  called  "  Baron,"  and  I  thought  no  doubt 
that  this  talk  was  one  of  the  many  jokes  that  my  companions  were 
in  the  liabit  of  making.  But  not  so :  the  postillion  was  an  actual 
baron,  the  bearer  of  an  ancient  name,  the  descendant  of  gallant 
gentlemen.  Good  heavens  !  what  would  Mrs.  Tro]loi)e  say  to  see 
his  Lordsliip  here  1     His  father  tlie  old  baron  had  dissipated  the 


2.06  LITTLE    TRAVELS 

family  fortune,  and  here  was  tliis  young  nobleman,  at  about  five- 
and-forty,  compelled  to  bestride  a  clattering  Flemish  stallion,  and 
bump  over  dusty  i)avements  at  the  rate  of  five  miles  an  hour.  But 
see  the  beauty  of  high  blood  :  with  what  a  calm  grace  the  man  of 
family  accommodates  himself  to  fortune.  Far  from  being  cast  down, 
his  Lordship  met  his  fate  like  a  man  :  he  swore  and  laughed  the 
wliole  of  the  journey,  and  as  we  changed  horses  condescended  to 
partake  of  half-a-pint  of  Louvain  beer,  to  which  the  farmer  treated 
him — indeed  the  wortliy  rustic  treated  me  to  a  glass  too. 
•  Much  delight  and  instruction  have  I  had  in  the  course  of  the 
journey  from  my  guide,  philosopher,  and  friend,  the  author  of 
"  Murray's  Handbook."  He  has  gathered  together,  indeed,  a  store 
of  information,  and  must,  to  make  his  single  volume,  have  gutted 
many  hundreds  of  guide-books.  How  the  Continental  ciceroni  must 
hate  him,  whoever  he  is  !  Every  English  party  I  saw  had  this 
infallible  red  book  in  their  hands,  and  gained  a  vast  deal  of  historical 
and  general  information  from  it.  Thus  I  heard,  in  confidence,  many 
remarkable  anecdotes  of  Charles  V.,  the  Duke  of  Alva,  Count 
Egmont,  all  of  which  I  had  before  perceived,  with  much  satisfaction, 
not  only  in  the  "  Handbook,"  but  even  in  other  works. 

The  Laureate  is  among  the  English  poets  evidently  the  great 
favourite  of  our  guide  :  the  choice  does  honour  to  his  head  and 
heart.  A  man  must  have  a  very  strong  bent  for  poetry,  indeed, 
who  carries  Southey's  wofks  in  his  portmanteau,  and  quotes  them 
in  proper  time  and  occasion.  Of  course  at  Waterloo  a  spirit  like 
our  guide's  cannot  fail  to  be  deeply  moved,  and  to  turn  to  his 
favourite  poet  for  sympathy.  Hark  how  the  laureated  bard  sings 
about  the  tombstones  at  Waterloo  : — 

"  That  temple  to  our  hearts  vras  hallo w'd  now. 

For  many  a  wounded  Briton  there  was  laid, 
With  such  for  help  as  time  might  then  allow, 

From  the  fresh  carnage  of  the  field  conveyed. 
And  they  whom  human  succour  could  not  save, 

Here,  in  its  precincts,  found  a  hasty  grave. 
And  here,  on  marble  tablets,  set  on  high, 

In  English  lines  by  foreign  workmen  traced, 
The  names  familiar  to  an  English  eye, 

Their  brethren  here  the  fit  memorial  placed  ; 
Whose  unadorned  inscriptions  briefly  tell 

Their  gallant  comrades   rank,  and  where  they  fell. 
The  stateliest  monument  of  human  pride, 

Enriched  with  all  magnificence  of  art. 
To  honour  chieftains  who  in  victory  died 

Would  wake  no  stronger  feeling  in  the  heart 
Than  these  plain  tablets  by  the  soldier's  hand 

Raised  to  his  comrades  in  a  foreign  land." 


WATERLOO  297 

There  are  lines  for  you  !  wonderful  for  justice,  rich  in  thought  and 
novel  ideas.  The  passage  concerning  their  gallant  comrades'  rank 
should  be  specially  remarked.  There  indeed  they  lie,  sure  enough  : 
the  Honourable  Colonel  This  of  the  Guards,  Captain  That  of  the 
Hussars,  Major  So-and-so  of  tlie  Dragoons,  brave  men  and  good, 
who  did  their  duty  by  their  country  on  that  day,  and  died  in  the 
performance  of  it. 

Amen.  But  I  confess  fairly  that,  in  looking  at  these  tablets, 
I  felt  very  much  disappointed  at  not  seeing  the  names  of  the  men 
as  well  as  the  oificers.  Are  they  to  be  counted  for  nought "?  A  few 
more  inches  of  marble  to  each  monument  would  have  given  space 
for  all  the  names  of  the  men  :  and  the  men  of  that  day  were  the 
winners  of  the  battle.  We  have  a  right  to  be  as  grateful  individually 
to  any  given  private  as  to  any  given  officer :  their  duties  were  very 
much  the  same.  Why  should  the  country  resei-ve  its  gratitude  for 
the  genteel  occupiers  of  the  Army  List,  and  forget  the  gallant 
fellows  whose  humble  names  were  written  in  the  regimental  books  ? 
In  reading  of  the  Wellington  wars,  and  the  conduct  of  the  men 
engaged  in  them,  I  don't  know  whether  to  respect  them  or  to 
wonder  at  them  most.  They  have  death,  wounds,  and  poverty  in 
contemplation ;  in  possession,  poverty,  hard  labour,  hard  fare,  and 
small  thanks.  If  they  do  wrong,  they  are  handed  over  to  the 
inevitable  provost-marshal ;  if  they  are  heroes,  heroes  they  may  be, 
but  they  remain  privates  still,  handling  the  old  brown  Bess,  starving 
on  the  old  twopence  a  day.  They  grow  grey  in  battle  and  victory, 
and  after  thirty  years  of  bloody  service,  a  young  gentleman  of 
fifteen,  fresh  from  a  preparatory  school,  who  can  scarcely  read,  and 
came  but  yesterday  with  a  pinafore  in  to  papa's  dessert — such  a 
young  gentleman,  I  say,  arrives  in  a  spick-and-span  red  coat,  and 
calmly  takes  the  command  over  our  veteran,  who  obeys  him  as  if 
God  and  nature  had  ordained  that  so  throughout  time  it  should  be. 

That  privates  should  obey,  and  that  they  should  be  smartly 
punished  if  they  disobey,  this  one  can  understand  very  well.  But 
to  say  obey  for  ever  and  ever — to  say  that  Private  John  Styles  is, 
by  some  physical  disproportion,  hopelessly  inferior  to  Cornet  Snooks 
— to  say  that  Snooks  shall  have  honours,  epaulets,  and  a  marble 
tablet  if  he  dies,  and  that  Styles  shall  fight  his  fight,  and  have  his 
twopence  a  day,  and  when  shot  down  shall  be  shovelled  into  a  liole 
with  other  Styleses,  and  so  forgotten  ;  and  to  think  that  we  had 
in  the  course  of  the  last  war  some  400,000  of  these  Styleses,  and 
some  10,000,  say,  of  the  Snooks  sort— Styles  being  by  nature 
exactly  as  honest,  clever,  and  brave  as  Snooks — and  to  think  that 
the  400,000  should  bear  this,  is  the  wonder ! 

Suppose  Snooks  makes  a  speech.      "  Look  at  these  Frenchmen, 


29S  LITTLE    TRAVELS 

British  soldiers,"  says  he,  "and  remcinlH'r  who  they  are.  Two-and- 
tweiity  years  since  they  hurled  their  King  from  his  throne  and  mur- 
dered him  "  (groans).  "  They  tiung  out  of  their  country  their  ancient 
and  famous  nobility — they  published  the  audacious  doctrine  of  equality 
— they  made  a  caclet  of  artillery,  a  beggarly  lawyer's  son,  into  an  Em- 
peroi',  and  took  ignoramuses  from  the  ranks — drummers  and  private.^ 
by  Jove !  — of  whom  they  made  kings,  generals,  and  marshals !  Is  this 
to  be  borne?"  (Cries  of  "No!  no!")  "Upon  them,  my  boys!  down 
with  these  godless  revolutionists,  and  rally  .round  the  British  lion!" 

So  saying.  Ensign  Snooks  (whose  flag,  which  he  can't  carry,  is 
held  by  a  huge  grizzly  colour-sergeant)  draws  a  little  sword,  and 
pipes  out  a  feeble  huzza.  The  men  of  his  company,  roaring  curses 
at  the  Frenchmen,  prepare  to  receive  and  repel  a  thundering  charge 
of  French  cuirassiers.  The  men  fight,  and  Snooks  is  knighted  be- 
cause the  men  fought  so  well. 

But  live  or  ilie,  win  or  lose,  what  do  they  get  ?  English  glory 
is  too  genteel  to  meddle  with  those  humble  fellows.  She  does  not 
condescend  to  ask  the  names  of  the  poor  devils  whom  she  kills  in 
her  service.  Why  was  not  every  private  man's  name  written  upon 
the  stones  in  Waterloo  Church  as  well  as  every  officer's  %  Five 
hundred  pounds  to  the  stone-cutters  w^ould  have  served  to  carve  the 
whole  catalogue,  and  paid  the  poor  compliment  of  recognition  to 
men  who  died  in  doing  their  duty.  If  the  officers  deserved  a  stone, 
the  men  did.  But  come,  let  us  away  and  drop  a  tear  over  the 
Marquis  of  Anglesey's  leg  ! 

As  for  Waterloo,  has  it  not  been  talked  of  enough  after  dinner  % 
Here  are  some  oats  that  were  plucked  before  Hougoumont,  where 
grow  not  only  oats,  but  flourishing  crops  of  grape-shot,  bayonets, 
and  legion-of-honour  crosses,  in  amazing  profusion. 

Well,  though  I  made  a  vow  not  to  talk  about  Waterloo  either 
here  or  after  dinner,  there  is  one  little  secret  admission  that  one 
must  make  after  seeing  it.  Let  an  Englishman  go  and  see  that 
field,  and  he  nemr  forgets  it.  The  sight  is  an  event  in  his  life ; 
and  though  it  has  been  seen  by  millions  of  ])eaceable  fients — 
grocers  from  Bond  Street,  meek  attorneys  from  Chancery  Lane,  and 
timid  tailors  from  Piccadilly — I  wall  wager  that  there  is  not  one  of 
them  but  feels  a  glow  as  he  looks  at  the  place,  and  remembers  that 
he,  too,  is  an  Englishman. 

It  is  a  wrong,  egotistical,  savage,  unchristian  feeling,  and  that's 
the  truth  of  it.  A  man  of  peace  has  no  right  to  be  dazzled  by  that 
red-coated  glory,  and  to  intoxicate  his  vanity  with  those  remem- 
brances of  carnage  and  triumph.  The  same  sentence  which  tells  us 
that  on  earth  there  ought  to  be  peace  and  good-will  amongst  men, 
tells  us  to  whom  Glory  belongs. 


THE   BOOK   OF   SNOBS 


ADVERTISEMENT 


THE  genus  "  Snob  "  formed  the  subject  of  the  earliest  of  Mr. 
Thackeray's  studies  of  character.  When  he  was  an  under- 
graduate of  Cambridge,  in  1829,  there  appeared  an  unpre- 
tending little  weekly  periodical  entitled  "The  Snob  :  a  Literary  and 
Scientific  Journal,"  not  "  conducted  by  members  of  the  University," 
to  which  Mr.  Thackeray  was  a  contributor ;  and  it  probably  owed 
its  name  and  existence  to  him.  Each  number  contained  only  six 
pages,  of  a  small  octavo  size,  printed  on  tinted  paper  of  different 
colours,  green,  pink,  and  yellow ;  and,  as  if  to  complete  the  eccen- 
tricity of  the  periodical,  its  price  was  twopence-halfpenny.  "The 
Snob "  had  but  a  short  life,  only  eleven  numbers  having  been 
published;  the  first  being  dated  April  9,  1829,  and  the  last, 
June  1 8,  of  the  same  year. 

In  those  contributions  which  appear  to  have  been  written  by 
Mr.  Thackeray,  indications  are  discernible  of  the  fine  satiric  humour 
with  which  he  ridiculed  vulgarity  and  pretension  in  "  The  Book  of 
Snobs."  But  as  the  Publishers  believe  that  the  Author  would  not 
himself  have  wished  such  fugitive  papers,  hastily  thrown  off"  in  sport 
for  his  own  anmsement,  at  an  early  period  of  his  life,  to  be  repub- 
lished, none  of  them  have  been  included  in  this  volume. 


THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

BY   ONE   OF   THEMSELVES 

PREFATORY   REMARKS 

[The  necessity  of  a  Work  on  Snobs,  demonstrated  from,  History, 
and  proved  hy  felicitous  illustrations :  —  /  am  the  individual 
destined  to  write  that  work — My  vocation  is  announced  in  terms 
of  great  eloquence — /  show  that  the  tvorlcl  has  been  gradually  2)Te- 
joaring  itself  for  the  work  and  the  man — Snobs  are  to  be  studied 
like  other  objects  of  Natural  Science,  and  are  a  jtart  of  the  Beauti- 
ful {u'ith  a  large  B) — They  pervade  all  classes — Affecting  instance 
of  Colonel  Snobley.'\ 

WE  have  all  read  a  statement  (the  authenticity  of  which  I 
take  leave  to  doubt  entirely,  for  upon  what  calculations 
I  should  like  to  know  is  it  founded  ?) — we  have  all,  I 
say,  been  favoured  by  perusing  a  remark,  that  when  the  times  and 
necessities  of  the  world  call  for  a  Man,  that  individual  is  found. 
Thus  at  the  French  Revolution  (which  the  reader  will  be  pleased 
to  have  introduced  so  early),  when  it  w^as  requisite  to  administer  a 
corrective  dose  to  the  nation,  Robespierre  was  found ;  a  most  foul 
and  nauseous  dose  indeed,  and  swallowed  eagerly  by  the  patient, 
greatly  to  the  latter's  ultimate  advantage  :  thus,  wlien  it  became 
necessary  to  kick  John  Bull  out  of  America,  Mr.  Washington 
stepped  forward,  and  performed  that  job  to  satisfaction  :  thus,  when 
the  Earl  of  Aldborougli  was  unwell.  Professor  Holloway  appeared 
with  Ills  pills,  and  cured  his  lordship,  as  per  advertisement,  &c.  &c. 
Numberless  instances  might  be  adduced  to  show  that  when  a  nation 
is  in  great  want,  the  relief  is  at  hand;  just  as  in  the  Pantomime  (that 
microcosm),  where  when  Clown  wants  anything — a  warming-pan, 
a  pump-handle,  a  goose,  or  a  lady's  tippet — a  fellow  comes  saunter- 
ing out  from  behind  the  side-scenes  with  the  very  article  in  question. 


:504  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

Again,  when  men  commence  an  undertaking,  they  always  are 
prepared  to  show  that  the  absohite  necessities  of  the  world  demanded 
its  completion. — -Say  it  is  a  railroad  :  the  directors  begin  by  stating 
that  "  A  more  intimate  communication  between  Bathershins  and 
Derrynane  Beg  is  necessary  for  the  advancement  of  civilisation,  and 
demanded  by  the  multitudinous  acclamations  of  the  great  Irish 
people."  Or  suppose  it  is  a  newspajjcr  :  the  prosjjectus  states  that 
"  At  a  time  when  the  Church  is  in  danger,  threatened  from  without 
by  savage  fanaticism  and  miscreant  uid)elief,  and  undermined  from 
within  by  dangerous  Jesuitism,  and  suicidal  Schism,  a  Want  has 
been  universally  felt — a  suffering  people  has  looked  abroad — for  an 
Ecclesiastical  Champion  and  Guardian.  A  body  of  Prelates  and 
Gentlemen  have  therefore  stepped  forward  in  this  our  hour  of  danger, 
and  determined  on  establishing  the  Beadle  newspaper,"  &c.  &c. 
One  or  other  of  these  points  at  least  is  incontrovertible ;  the  public 
wants  a  thing,  therefore  it  is  supplied  with  it ;  or  the  public  is 
supplied  with  a  thing,  therefore  it  wants  it. 

I  have  long  gone  about  with  a  conviction  on  my  mind  that  I 
had  a  work  to  do — a  Work,  if  you  like,  with  a  great  W ;  a  Purpose 
to  fulfil ;  a  chasm  to  leap  into,  like  Curtius,  horse  and  foot ;  a  Great 
Social  Evil  to  Discover  and  to  Remedy.  That  Conviction  Has  Pur- 
sued me  for  Years.  It  has  Dogged  me  in  the  Busy  Street ;  Seated 
Itself  By  Me  in  The  Lonely  Study ;  Jogged  My  Elbow  as  it  Lifted 
the  Wine-cup  at  The  Festive  Board;  Pursued  me  through  the  Maze 
of  Rotten  Row  ;  Followed  me  in  Far  Lands.  On  Brighton's  Shingly 
Beach,  or  Margate's  Sand,  the  Voice  Outpiped  the  Roaring  of  the 
Sea ;  it  Nestles  in  my  Night-cap,  and  It  Whispers,  "  Wake,  Slum- 
berer,  thy  Work  Is  ISTot  Yet  Done."  Last  Year,  By  Moonlight, 
in  the  Colosseum,  the  Little  Sedulous  Voice  Came  To  Me  and  Said, 
"  Smith  or  Jones  "  (The  Writer's  Name  is  Neither  Here  nor  There), 
"  Smith  or  Jones,  my  fine  fellow,  this  is  all  very  well,  but  you  ought 
to  be  at  home  writing  your  great  work  on  SNOBS." 

When  a  man  has  this  sort  of  vocation  it  is  all  nonsense  attempt- 
ing to  elude  it.  He  must  speak  out  to  the  nations ;  he  must 
unbusm  himself,  as  Jeames  would  say,  or  choke  and  die.  "Mark 
to  yourself,"  I  have  often  mentally  exclaimed  to  your  humble 
servant,  "the  gradual,  way  in  which  you  have  been  prepared  for, 
and  are  now  led  by  an  irresistible  necessity  to  enter  upon  your 
great  labour.  First,  the  World  was  made :  then,  as  a  matter  of 
course.  Snobs ;  they  existed  for  years  and  years,  and  were  no 
more  known  than  America.  But  presently, — ingens  patehat  tellns, 
— the  people  became  darkly  aware  that  there  was  such  a  race. 
Not  aV)ove  five-and-twenty  years  since,  a  name,  an  expressive 
monosyllable,  arose  to  designate  that  race.     That  name  has  spread 


PREFATORY    REMARKS  305 

over  England  like  railroads  subsequently ;  Snobs  are  known  and 
recognised  throughout  an  Empire  on  which  I  am  given  to  under- 
stand tlie  Sun  never  sets.  P^mch  appears  at  the  ripe  season,  to 
chronicle  their  history  :  and  the  individual  comes  forth  to  write 
that  history  in  Puvch* 

I  have  (and  for  this  gift  I*  congratulate  myself  with  a  Deep 
and  Abiding  Thankfulness)  an  eye  for  a  Snob.  If  the  Truthful 
is  the  Beautiful,  it  is  Beautiful  to  study  even  the  Snobbish  ;  to 
track  Snobs  through  history,  as  certain  little  dogs  in  Hampshire 
hunt  out  truffles;  to  sink  shafts  in  society  and  come  upon  rich 
veins  of  Snob-ore.  Snobbishness  is  like  Death  in  a  quotation  from 
Horace,  which  I  hope  you  never  have  heard,  "  beating  with  equal 
foot  at  poor  men's  doors,  and  kicking  at  the  gates  of  Emperors." 
It  is  a  great  mistake  to  judge  of  Snobs  lightly,  and  think  they 
exist  among  the  lower  classes  merely.  An  immense  percentage  of 
Snobs,  I  believe,  is  to  be  found  in  every  rank  of  this  mortal  life. 
You  must  not  judge  hastily  or  vulgarly  of  Snobs  :  to  do  so  shows 
that  you  are  yourself  a  Snob.     I  myself  have  been  taken  for  one. 

When  I  was  taking  the  waters  at  Bagnigge  Wells,  and  living 
at  the  "  Imperial  Hotel "  there,  there  used  to  sit  opposite  me  at 
breakfast,  for  a  short  time,  a  Snob  so  insufferable  that  I  felt  I 
should  never  get  any  benefit  of  the  waters  so  long  as  he  remained. 
His  name  was  Lieutenant-Colonel  Snobley,  of  a  certain  dragoon 
regiment.  He  v.'ore  japanned  boots  and  moustaches  :  he  lisped, 
drawled,  and  left  the  "  r's "  out  of  his  words  :  he  was  always 
flourishing  about,  and  smoothing  his  lacquered  whiskers  with  a 
huge  flaming  bandanna,  that  filled  the  I'oom  with  an  odour  of 
musk  so  stifling  that  I  determined  to  do  battle  with  that  Snob, 
and  that  either  he  or  I  should  quit  the  Inn.  I  first  began  harm- 
less conversations  with  him  ;  frightening  him  exceedingly,  for  he 
did  not  know  what  to  do  when  so  attacked,  and  had  never  the 
slightest  notion  that  anybody  would  take  such  a  liberty  with  him 
as  to  speak  _/irst :  tlien  I  handed  him  the  paper  :  then,  as  he  would 
take  no  notice  of  these  advances,  I  used  to  look  him  in  the  face 
steadily  and — and  use  my  fork  in  the  light  of  a  toothpick.  After 
two  mornings  of  tliis  practice,  he  could  bear  it  no  longer,  and  fairly 
quitted  the  place. 

Should  the  Colonel  see  this,  will  he  remember  the  Gent  who 
asked  him  if  he  thought  Publicoaler  was  a  fine  writer,  and  drove 
him  from  the  Hotel  with  a  four-pronged  fork  1 

*  These  papers  were  originally  published  in  that  popular  periodical. 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  SNOB  PLAYFULLY  DEALT  WITH 

THERE  are  relative  and  positive  Snobs.  I  mean  by  positive, 
such  persons  as  are  Snol3s  everywhere,  in  all  companies,  from 
morning  till  night,  from  youth  to  the  grave,  being  by  Nature 
endowed  with  Snobbisliness ;  and  others  who  are  Snobs  only  in 
certain  circumstances  and  relations  of  life. 

For  instance :  I  once  knew  a  man  who  committed  before  me  an 
act  as  atrocious  as  that  which  I  have  indicated  in  tlie  last  chapter 
as  performed  by  me  for  the  purjjose  of  disgusting  Colonel  Snobley ; 
viz.,  the  using  the  fork  in  the  guise  of  a  toothpick.  I  once,  I  say, 
knew  a  man  who,  dining  in  my  comj)any  at  the  "  Europa  Coffee- 
house "  (opposite  the  Grand  Opera,  and,  as  everybody  knows,  the 
only  decent  place  for  dining  at  Naples),  ate  peas  with  the  assistance 
of  his  knife.  He  was  a  person  with  whose  society  I  was  greatly 
pleased  at  first — indeed,  we  had  met  in  the  crater  of  Mount 
Vesuvius,  and  were  subsequently  robbed  and  held  to  ransom  by 
brigands  in  Calabria,  which  is  nothing  to  the  imrpose — a  man  of 
great  powers,  excellent  heart,  and  varied  information ;  but  I  ha<l 
never  before  seen  him  with  a  dish  of  peas,  and  his  conduct  in  regard 
to  them  caused  me  the  deepest  pain. 

After  having  seen  him  thus  publicly  comport  himself,  but  one 
course  was  open  to  me — to  cut  his  acquaintance.  I  commissioned 
a  mutual  friend  (tlie  Honoura,ble  Poly  Anthus)  to  break  the  matter 
to  this  gentleman  as  delicately  as  possible,  and  to  say  that  painful 
circumstances — in  nowise  affecting  Mr.  Marrowfat's  honour,  or  my 
esteem  for  him — had  occurred,  wliieh  obliged  me  to  forego  my 
intimacy  with  him  ;  and  accordingly  we  met,  and  gave  each  other 
the  cut  direct  that  night  at  the  Duchess  of  Monte  Fiasco's  ball. 

Everybody  at  Naples  remarked  tlie  sei^aration  of  the  Damon 
and  Pythias — indeed,  Marrowfat  had  saved  my  life  more  than  once 
— but,  as  an  English  gentleman,  what  was  I  to  do "? 

My  dear  friend  was,  in  this  instance,  the  Snob  relative.  It  i& 
not  snobbish  of  persons  of  rank  of  any  other  nation  to  employ  their 
knife  in  the  manner  alluded  to.  I  have  seen  Monte  Fiasco  clean  his 
trencher  with  his  knife  and  every  Principe  in  company  doing  like- 


THE    SNOB    PLAYFULLY    DEALT   WITH      307 

wise.  I  have  seen,  at  the  hospitable  board  of  H.I.H.  the  Grand 
Duchess  Stephanie  of  Baden — (who,  if  these  humble  lines  should 
come  under  her  Imperial  eyes,  is  besouglit  to  remember  graciously 
the  most  devoted  of  her  servants)^ — I  have  seen,  I  say,  the  Heredi- 
tary Princess  of  Potztausend-Donnerwetter  (that  serenely-beautiful 
woman)  use  her  knife  in  lieu  of  a  fork  or  spoon ;  I  have  seen  her 
almost  swallow  it,  by  Jove  !  like  Ramo  Samee,  the  Indian  juggler. 
And  did  I  blench  ?  Did  my  estimation  for  the  Princess  diminish  1 
No,  lovely  Amalia !  One  of  the  truest  passions  that  ever  was  in- 
spired by  woman  was  raised  in  this  bosom  by  that  lady.  Beautiful 
one  !  long  long  may  the  knife  carry  food  to  those  lips  !  the  reddest 
and  loveliest  in  the  world  ! 

The  cause  of  my  quarrel  with  Marrowfat  I  never  breathed  to 
mortal  soul  for  four  years.  We  met  in  the  halls  of  the  aristocracy 
— our  friends  and  relatives.  We  jostled  each  other  in  the  dance  or  at 
the  board ;  but  the  estrangement  continued,  and  seemed  irrevocable, 
until  the  fourth  of  June,  last  year. 

We  met  at  Sir  George  Golloper's.  We  were  placed,  he  on  the 
right,  your  humble  servant  on  the  left,  of  the  admirable  Lady  G. 
Peas  formed  part  of  the  banquet — ducks  and  green  peas.  I  trembled 
as  I  saw  Marrowfat  helped,  and  turned  away  sickening,  lest  I  should 
behold  the  weapon  darting  down  his  horrid  jaws. 

What  was  my  astonishment,  what  my  delight,  when  I  saw  him 
use  his  fork  like  any  other  Christian  !  He  did  not  administer  the 
cold  steel  once.  '  Old  times  rushed  back  upon  me — the  remembrance 
of  old  services — his  rescuing  me  from  the  brigands — his  gaUant 
conduct  in  the  affair  with  the  Countess  Dei  Spinachi — his  lending 
me  the  £1700.  I  almost  burst  into  tears  with  joy — my  voice 
trembled  with  emotion.  "  George,  my  boy  !  "  I  exclaimed  ;  "  George 
Marrowfat,  my  dear  fellow  !  a  glass  of  wine  !  " 

Blushing — deeply  moved — almost  as  tremulous  as  I  was  myself, 
George  answered,  "Frank,  shall  it  be  Hock  or  Madeira  ?"  I  could 
have  hugged  him  to  my  heart  but  for  the  presence  of  the  company. 
Little  did  Lady  Golloper  know  what  was  the  cause  of  the  emotion 
which  sent  the  duckling  I  was  carving  into  her  Ladyship's  pink 
satin  lap.  The  most  good-natured  of  women  pardoned  the  error, 
and  the  butler  removed  the  bird. 

We  have  been  the  closest  friends  ever  since,  nor,  of  course,  has 
George  repeated  his  odious  habit.  He  acquired  it  at  a  country 
school,  where  they  cultivated  ])eas  and  only  used  two-pronged  forks, 
and  it  was  only  by  living  on  the  Continent,  where  the  usage  of  the 
four-prong  is  general,  that  he  lost  the  liorrible  custom. 

In  this  point — and  in  this  only — I  confess  myself  a  member  of 
the  Silver-Fork  School ;  and  if  this  tale  but  induce  one  of  my  readers 
22 


308  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

to  ])ause,  to  examine  in  his  own  mind  solemnly,  and  ask,  "Do  I  or 
do  I  not  eat  peas  with  a  knife  1 " — to  see  the  ruin  which  may  fall 
upon  himself  by  continuing  the  practice,  or  liis  family  by  beholding 
the  example,  these  lines  will  not  have  been  written  in  vain.  And 
now,  whatever  other  authors  may  be,  I  flatter  myself,  it  will  be 
allowed  that  /,  at  least,  am  a  moral  man. 

By  the  way,  as  some  readers  are  dull  of  comi)rehension,  I  may 
as  well  say  what  the  moral  of  this  history  is.  The  moral  is  this — 
Society  having  ordained  certain  customs,  men  are  bound  to  obey  the 
law  of  society,  and  conform  to  its  harmless  orders. 

If  I  should  go  to  the  British  and  Foreign  Institute  (and  Heaven 
forbid  I  should  go  under  any  pretext  or  in  any  costume  whatever) 
— if  I  should  go  to  one  of  the  tea-parties  in  a  dressing-gown  and 
slippers,  and  not  in  the  usual  attire  of  a  gentleman,  viz.,  pumps,  a 
gold  waistcoat,  a  crush  hat,  a  sham  frill,  and  a  white  choker — I 
should  be  insulting  society,  and  eating  jyeas  with  my  knife.  Let 
the  porters  of  the  Institute  hustle  out  the  individual  who  shall  so 
offend.  Such  an  oftender  is,  as  regards  society,  a  most  emphatical 
and  refractory  Snob.  It  has  its  code  and  police  as  well  as  govern- 
ments, and  he  must  conform  who  would  profit  by  the  decrees  set 
forth  for  their  common  comfort. 

I  am  naturally  averse  to  egotism,  and  hate  self-laudation  con- 
sumedly ;  but  I  can't  help  relating  here  a  circumstance  illustrative 
of  tjie  point  in  question,  in  which  I  must  think  I  acted  with  con- 
siderable prudence. 

Being  at  Constantinople  a  few  years  since — (on  a  delicate 
mission), — the  Eussians  were  playing  a  double  game,  between  our- 
selves, and  it  became  necessary  on  our  part  to  employ  an  extra 
negotiator — Leckerbiss  Pasha  of  Roumelia,  then  Chief  Galeongee  of 
the  Porte,  gave  a  dijilomatic  banquet  at  his  summer  palace  at 
Bujukdere.  I  was  on  the  left  of  the  Galeongee,  and  the  Russian 
agent.  Count  de  Diddloft',  on  his  dexter  side.  Diddloft'  is  a  dandy 
who  would  die  of  a  rose  in  aromatic  pain  :  he  had  tried  to  have  me 
assassinated  three  times  in  the  course  of  the  negotiation  ;  but  of 
course  we  were  friends  in  public,  and  saluted  each  other  in  the  most 
cordial  and  charming  manner. 

The  Galeongee  is — or  was,  alas  !  for  a  bowstring  has  done  for 
him — a  stanch  supporter  of  the  old  school  of  Turkish  politics.  We 
dined  with  our  fingers,  and  had  flaps  of  bread  for  plates ;  the  only 
innovation  he  admitted  was  the  use  of  European  liquors,  in  which 
he  indulged  with  great  gusto.  He  was  an  enormous  eater.  Amongst 
the  dishes  a  very  large  one  was  placed  before  him  of  a  lamb  dressed 
in  its  wool,  stuffed  with  prunes,  garlic,  assafcetida,  capsicums,  and 
other  condiments    the  most  abominable  mixture  that  ever  mortal 


THE  SNOB  PLAYFULLY  DEALT  WITH   309 

smelt  or  tasted.  The  Galeongee  ate  of  this  hugely ;  and,  pursuing 
the  Eastern  fashion,  insisted  on  heljiing  his  friends  right  and  left, 
and  when  he  came  to  a  particularly  spicy  morsel,  would  push  it 
with  his  own  hands  into  his  guests'  very  mouths. 

I  never  shall  forget  the  look  of  poor  Diddloflf,  when  his  Excel- 
lency, rolling  up  a  large  quantity  of  this  into  a  ball,  and  exclaiming, 
"  Buk  Buk "  (it  is  very  good),  administered  the  horrible  bolus  to 
Diddloff.  The  Russian's  eyes  rolled  dreadfully  as  he  received  it : 
he  swallowed  it  with  a  grimace  that  I  thought  must  precede  a  convul- 
sion, and,  seizing  a  bottle  next  him,  which  he  thought  was  Sauterne, 
but  which  turned  out  to  be  French  brandy,  he  drank  off  nearly  a 
pint  before  he  knew  his  error.  It  finished  him  :  he  was  carried 
away  from  the  dining-room  almost  dead,  and  laid  out  to  cool  in  a 
summer-house  on  the  Bosphorus. 

When  it  came  to  my  turn,  I  took  down  the  condiment  with  a 
smile,  said  "  Bismillah,"  licked  my  lips  with  easy  gratification,  and 
when  the  next  dish  was  served,  made  up  a  ball  myself  so  dexterously, 
and  popped  it  down  the  old  Galeongee's  mouth  with  so  much  grace, 
that  his  heart  was  won.  Russia  was  put  out  of  court  at  once,  and 
the  Treaty  of  Kabobanople  tvas  signed.  As  for  Diddloff,  all  waa 
over  with  him  :  he  was  recalled  to  St.  Petersburg,  and  Sir  Roderick 
Murchison  saw  him,  under  the  No.  3967,  working  in  the  Ural  mines. 

The  moral  of  this  tale,  I  need  not  say,  is,  that  there  are  many 
disagreeable  things  in  society  which  you  are  bound  to  take  down, 
and  to  do  so  with  a  smiling  face. 


CHAPTER   II 

THE    SNOB    ROYAL 

LONG  since,  at  the  commencement  of  the  reign  of  her  present 
Gracious  Majesty,  it  chanced  "  on  a  fair  summer  evening,"  as 
■^  Mr.  James  would  say,  that  three  or  four  young  cavaliers  were 
drinking  a  cup  of  wine  after  dinner  at  the  hostelry  called  the  "  King's 
Arms,"  kept  by  Mistress  Anderson,  in  the  Royal  village  of  Kensing- 
ton. 'Twas  a  balmy  evening,  and  the  wayfarers  looked  out  on  a 
cheerful  scene.  The  tall  elms  of  the  ancient  gardens  were  in  full 
leaf,  and  countless  chariots  of  the  nobility  of  England  whirled  by  to 
the  neighbouring  palace,  where  princely  Sussex  (whose  income  latterly 
only  allowed  him  to  give  tea-parties)  entertained  his  Royal  niece  at 
a  State  banquet.  When  the  caroches  of  the  nobles  had  set  down 
their  owners  at  the  banquet-hall,  their  varlets  and  servitors  came  to 
quaff  a  flagon  of  uut-ljrown  ale  in  the  "  King's  Arms  "  gardens  hard 
by.  We  watched  these  fellows  from  our  lattice.  By  Saint  Boniface, 
'twas  a  rare  siglit  ! 

The  tulips  in  Mynheer  Van  Dunck's  gardens  were  not  more 
gorgeous  tlian  the  liveries  of  these  pie-coated  retainers.  All  the 
flowers  of  the  field  bloomed  in  their  ruffled  bosoms,  all  the  hues  of 
the  rainbow  gleamed  in  their  plush  breeches,  and  the  long-caned 
ones  walked  up  and  down  the  garden  with  that  charming  solemnity, 
that  delightful  quivering  swagger  of  the  calves,  which  has  always 
had  a  frantic  fascination  for  us.  The  walk  was  not  wide  enougli  for 
them  as  tlie  shoulder-knots  strutted  up  and  down  it  in  canary,  and 
crimson,  and  light  blue. 

Suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  their  pride,  a  little  bell  was  rung,  a 
side  door  opened,  and  (after  setting  down  their  Royal  Mistress)  her 
Majesty's  own  crimson  footmen,  with  epaulets  and  black  plushes, 
came  in. 

It  was  pitiable  to  see  the  otlier  i)oor  Johns  slink  off  at  this 
arrival !  Not  one  of  the  honest  private  Plushes  could  stand  up  before 
the  Royal  Flunkeys.  They  left  the  walk  :  they  sneaked  into  dark 
holes  and  drank  their  beer  in  silence.  The  Royal  Plush  kept  pos- 
session of  the  garden  until  the  Royal  Plush  dinner  was  announced, 
when  it  retired,  and  we  heard  from  the  pavilion  where  they  dined, 


THE    SNOB    ROYAL  311 

conservative  cheers,  and  speeches,  and  Kentish  fires.  The  other 
Fhmkeys  we  never  saw  more. 

My  dear  Fhinkeys,  so  absurdly  conceited  at  one  moment  and  so 
abject  at  the  next,  are  but  the  types  of  their  masters  in  this  world. 
He  u'ho  meanly  admu-es  mean  things  is  a  Snob — perhaps  that  is  a 
safe  definition  of  the  character. 

And  this  is  why  I  have,  with  the  utmost  respect,  ventured  to 
place  the  Snob  Eoyal  at  the  head  of  my  list,  causing  all  others  to 
give  way  before  him,  as  the  Flunkeys  before  the  Royal  representa- 
tive in  Kensington  Gardens.  To  say  of  such  and  such  a  Gracious 
Sovereign  that  he  is  a  Snob,  is  but  to  say  that  his  Majesty  is  a 
man.  Kings,  too,  are  men  and  Snobs.  In  a  country  where  Snobs 
are  in  the  majority,  a  prime  one,  surely,  cannot  be  unfit  to  govern. 
With  us  they  have  succeeded  to  admiration. 

For  instance,  James  I.  was  a  Snob,  and  a  Scotch  Snob,  than 
which  the  world  contains  no  more  ofiiensive  creature.  He  appears 
to  have  had  not  one  of  the  good  qualities  of  a  man — neither 
courage,  nor  generosity,  nor  honesty,  nor  brains ;  but  read  what  the 
great  Divines  and  Doctors  of  England  said  about  him  !  Charles  II., 
jfhis  grandson,  was  a  rogue,  but  not  a  Snob;  whilst  Louis  XIV., 
his  old  squaretoes  of  a  contemporary, — the  great  worshipper  of 
Bigwiggery — has  always  struck  me  as  a  most  undoubted  and  Roval 
Snob. 

I  will  not,  however,  take  instances  from  our  own  country  of 
Royal  Snobs,  but  refer  to  a  neighbouring  kingdom,  that  of  Brentford 
— and  its  monarch,  the  late  great-  and  lamented  Gorgius  IV.  With 
the  same  humility  with  which  the  footmen  at  the  "  King's  Arms  " 
gave  way  before  the  Plush  Royal,  the  aristocracy  of  the  Brentford 
nation  bent  down  and  truckled  before  Gorgius,  and  proclaimed  him 
the  first  gentleman,  in  Europe.  And  it's  a  wonder  to  think  what 
is  the  gentlefolks'  opiniorr  of  a  gentleman,  when  they  gave  Gorgius 
such  a  title. 

What  is  it  to  be  a  gentleman  1  It  is  to  be  honest,  to  be  gentle, 
to  be  generous,  to  be  brave,  to  be  wise,  and,  possessing  all  these 
qualities,  to  exercise  them  in  the  most  graceful  outward  manner. 
Ought  a  gentleman  to  be  a  loyal  son,  a  true  husband,  and  iionest 
father?  Ought  his  life  to  be  decent — his  bills  to  be  ])aid — his 
tastes  to  be  high  and -elegant — his  aims  in  life  lofty  and  noble?  In 
a  word,  ought  not  tlie  Biograpliy  of  a  First  Gentleman  in  Europe 
to  be  of  such  a  nature  that  it  might  be  read  in  Ytmng  Ladies' 
Schools  with  advantage,  and  studied  with  profit  in  the  Seminaries 
of  Young  Gentlemen  1  I  i)ut  this  question  to  all  instructors  of 
youth — to  Mrs.  Ellis  and  the  Women  of  England ;  to  all  school- 
master.'?, from  Doctor  Hawtrey  down  to  Mr.  Squeers.     I  conjure  up 


312  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

before  me  an  awful  tribunal  of  youth  and  innocence,  attended  by  its 
venerable  instructors  (like  the  ten  thousand  red-cheeked  charity- 
chililren  in  Saint  Paul's),  sitting  in  judgment,  and  Gorgius  ])l('ading 
his  cause  in  the  midst.     Out  of  Court,  out  of  Court,  fat  old  Floi-izel ! 

Beadles,  turn  out  that  bloated  })imple-faced  man  !- If  Corgius 

//iKst  have  a  statue  in  the  new  Palace  which  the  Brentford  nation 
is  building,  it  ought  to  be  set  up  in  the  Flunkeys'  Hall.  He  should 
be  represented  cutting  out  a  coat,  in  whicli  art  he  is  said  to  have 
excelled.  He  also  invented  Maraschino  jtuncli,  a  shoe-buckle  (this 
was  in  the  vigour  of  his  youth,  and  the  prime  force  of  his  inven- 
tion), and  a  Chinese  pavilion,  the  most  hideous  building  in  tlie 
world.  He  could  drive  a  four-in-hand  very  nearly  as  well  as  the 
Brighton  coachman,  could  fence  elegantly,  and,  it  is  said,  played  the 
fiddle  well.  And  he  smiled  with  such  irresistible  fascination,  that 
persons  who  were  introduced  into  his  august  presence  became  his 
victims,  body  and  soul,  as  a  rabbit  becomes  the  prey  of  a  great  big 
boa-constrictor. 

I-  would  wager  that  if  Mr.  Widdicomb  were,  by  a  revolu- 
tion, placed  on  the  throne  of  Brentford,  people  would  be  equally 
fascinated  by  his  irresistibly  majestic  smile,  and  trendjle  as  they ' 
knelt  down  to  kiss  his  hand.  If  he  went  to  Dublin  they  would 
erect  an  obelisk  on  the  spot  where  he  first  landed,  as  the  Paddy- 
landers  did  when  Gorgius  visited  them.  We  have  all  of  us  read 
with  delight  that  story  of  the  King's  voyage  to  Haggisland,  where 
his  presence  inspired  such  a  fury  of  loyalty ;  and  Avhere  the  most 
famous  man  of  the  country — the  Baron  of  Bradwardine — coming 
on  board  the  Royal  yacht,  and  finding  a  glass  oiit  of  which  Gorgius 
had  drunk,  put  it  into  his  coat-pocket  as  an  inestimable  relic,  and 
went  ashore  in  his  boat  again.  But  the  Baron  sat  down  upon  the 
glass  and  broke  it,  and  cut  his  coat-tails  very  much  ;  and  the  in- 
estimable relic  was  lost  to  the  world  for  fever.  0  noble  Bradwar- 
dine !  what  old-world  superstition  could  set  you  on  your  knees 
before  such  an  idol  as  that  1 

If  you  want  to  moralise  upon  the  mutability  of  human  affairs, 
go  and  see  the  figure  of  Gorgius  in  his  real  identical  robes,  at  the 
waxwork. — Admittance  one  shilling.  Children  and  flunkeys  six- 
pence.    Go,  and  pay  sixpence. 


CHAPTER   III 

THE  INFLUEXCE  OF  THE  ARISTOCRACY  ON  SNOBS 

T'AST  Sunday  week,  being  at  church  in  .this  city,  and  the  service 

I        just  ended,  I  heard  two  Snobs  conversing  about  the  Parson. 

-*— '    One  was  asking  the  other  who  the  clergyman  was?     "  He  is 

Mr,  So-and-so,"  the  second  Snob  answered,  "  domestic  chaplain  to 

the  Earl  of  What-d'ye-call-'ira."     "  Oh,  is  he  ?  "  said  the  first  Snob, 

with  a  tone  of  indescribable  satisfaction. — The  Parson's  orthodoxy 

and  identity  were  at  once  settled  in  this  Snob's  mind.     He  knew 

.  no  more  about  the  Earl  than  about  the  Chaplain,  but  he  took  the 

latter's  character  upon  the  authority  of  the  former ;  and  went  home 

quite  contented  with  liis  Reverence,  like  a  little  truckling  Snob. 

This  incident  gave  me  more  matter  for  reflection  even  than 
the  sermon  :  and  wonderment  at  the  extent  and  i)revalence  of  Lo-rd- 
olatry  in  this  country.  What  could  it  matter  to  Snob  whether 
his  Reverence  were  chaplain  to  his  Lordship  or  not?  What 
Peerage-worship  tliere  is  all  through  this  free  country  !  How  we 
are  all  implicated  in  it,  and  more  or  less  down  on  our  knees. — And 
with  regard  to  the  great  subject  on  hand,  I  think  that  the  influence 
of  the  Peerage  upon  Snobbishness  has  been  more  remarkable  than 
that  of  any  other  institution.  The  increase,  encouragement,  and 
maintenance  of  Snobs  are  among  the  "  priceless  services,"  as  Lord 
John  Russell  says,  Avhich  we  owe  to  the  nobility. 

It  can't  be  otherwise.  A  man  becomes  enormously  rich,  or  he 
jobs  successfully  in  the  aid  of  a  Minister,  or  he  T,-i!i::  a  gi'eat  battle, 
or  executes  a  treaty,  or  is  a  clever  lawyer  who  makes  a  multitude 
of  fees  and  ascends  the  bench  ;  and  the  country  rewards  him  for 
ever  with  a  gold  coronet  (with  moj-e  or  less  balls  or  leaves)  and  a 
title,  and  a  rank  as  legislator.  "  Your  merits  are  so  great,"  says 
the  nation,  "  that  your  children  shiill  l)e  allowed  to  reign  over  us, 
in  a  manner.  It  does  not  in  tlie  least  matter  that  your  eldest  son  be 
a  fool :  we  think  your  services  so  remarkal)le,  that  he  shall  have  the 
reversi(in  of  your  honours  when  death  vacates  your  noble  shoes.  If 
you  are  poor,  we  will  give  you  such  a  sum  of  money  as  shall  enable 
you  and  the  eldest-born  of  your  race  for  ever  to  live  in  fat  and 
splendour.     It  is  our  wish  that  there  should  be  a  race  set-  apart  in 


314-  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

this  happy  country,  wlio  shall  lioUl  the  first  rank,  have  the  first 
prizes  and  chances  in  all  Government  jobs  and  patronages.  We 
cannot  make  all  your  dear  children  Peers — that  would  make  Peerage 
common  and  crowd  the  House  of  Lords  uncomfortably — but  the 
young  ones  shall  have  everything  a  Government  can  give  :  they 
shall  get  the  pick  of  all  the  places  :  tiiey  shall  be  Captains  and 
Lieutenant-Colonels  at  nineteen,  when  hoary-headed  old  Lieutenants 
are  spending  thirty  years  at  drill :  they  shall  command  shijjs  at 
one-and-twenty,  and  veterans  who  fought  before  they  were  born. 
And  as  we  are  eminently  a  free  people,  and  in  order  to  encourage 
all  men  to  do  their  duty,  we  say  to  any  man  of  any  rank — get 
enormously  rich,  make  immense  fees  as  a  lawyer,  or  great  speeches, 
or  distinguish  youi'self  and  win  battles — and  you,  even  you,  sliall 
come  into  the  privileged  class,  and  your  children  shall  reign  naturally 
over  ours." 

How  can  we  help  Snobbishness  with  such  a  prodigious  national 
institution  erected  for  its  worship  1  How  can  we  help  cringing  to 
Lords  ?  Flesli  and  blood  can't  do  otherwise.  What  man  can  with- 
stand this  prodigious  temptation  1  Inspired  by  what  is  called  a 
noble  emulation,  some  people  grasp  at  honours  and  win  them ; 
others,  too  weak  or  mean,  blindly  admire  and  grovel  before  those 
who  have  gained  them ;  others,  not  being  able  to  acquire  them, 
furiously  hate,  abuse,  and  envy.  There  are  only  a  few  bland  and 
not-in-the-least-conceited  philosophers,  who  can  behold  the  state  of 
society,  viz..  Toadyism,  organised: — base  Man-and-Mammon  worship, 
instituted  by  command  of  law  : — Snobbishness,  in  a  word,  perpetu- 
ated,— and  mark  the  phenomenon  calmly.-  And  of  these  calm 
moralists,  is  there  one,  I  wonder,  whose  heart  would  not  throb  with 
pleasure  if  he  could  be  seen  walking  arm-in-arm  with  a  couple  of 
dukes  down  Pall  Mall  ?  No  ;  it  is  impossible,  in  our  condition  of 
society,  not  to  be  sometimes  a  Snob. 

On  one  side  it  encourages  the  commoner  to  be  snobbishl)^  mean, 
and  the  noble  to  be  snobbishly  arrogant.  When  a  noble  marchioness 
writes  in  her  travels  about  the  hard  necessity  under  which  steam- 
boat travellers  labour  of  being  brought  into  contact  "  with  all  sorts 
and  conditions  of  people  "  :  implying  that  a  fellowship  with  God's 
creatures  is  disagreeable  to  her  Ladyship,  who  is  their  superior : — • 

wlien,  I  say,  the  Marchioness  of  writes  in  this  fashion,  we 

must  consider  that  out  of  her  natural  heart  it  would  have  been 
impossible  for  any  woman  to  have  had  such  a  sentiment ;  but  that 
the  habit  of  truckling  and  cringing,  which  all  who  surroynd  her 
have  adopted  towards  this  beautiful  and  magnificent  lady, — this 
Iiroprietor  of  so  many  black  and  other  diamonds,  — has  really  induced 
her  to  believe  that  she  is  the  superior  of  the  world  in  general :  and 


INFLUENCE    OF    THE    ARISTOCRACY        315 

that  people  are  not  to  associate  with  her  except  awfully  at  a  dis- 
tance. I  recollect  being  once  at  the  city  of  Grand  Cairo,  through 
which  a  European  Royal  Prince  was  passing  India-wards.  One 
night  at  the  inn  there  was  a  gi-eat  disturbance  :  a  man  had  drowned 
himself  in  the  well  hard  by :  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  hotel  came 
bustling  into  the  court,  and  anlongst  others  your  humble  servant, 
who  asked  of  a  certain  young  man  the  reason  of  the  disturbance. 
How  was  I  to  know  that  this  young  gent  was  a  prince'?  He  had 
not  his  crown  and  sceptre  on  :  he  was  dressed  in  a  white  jacket  and 
felt  hat:  but  he  looked  surprised  at  anybody  speaking  to  him  : 
answered  an  unintelligible  monosyllable,  and — beckoned  his  aide-de- 
camp  to  come  and  speak  to  me.  It  is  our  fault,  not  that  of  the 
great,  that  they  should  fancy  themselves  so  far  above  us.  If  you 
will  fling  yourself  under  the  wheels.  Juggernaut  will  go  over  you, 
depend  upon  it :  and  if  you  and  I,  my  dear  friend,  had  Kotow  per- 
formed before  us  every  day,— found  people  whenever  we  appeared 
grovelling  in  slavish  adoration,  we  should  drop  into  the  airs  of 
superiority  quite  naturally,  and  accept  the  greatness  with  which  the 
world  insisted  upon  endowing  us. 

Here  is  an  instance,  out  of  Lord  L 's  travels,  of  that  calm, 

good-natured,  undoubting  way  in  which  a  great  man  accepts  the 
homage  of  his  inferiors.  After  making  some  profound  and  ingenious 
remarks  about  the  town  of  Brussels,  his  Lordship  says :  "  Staying 
some  days  at  the  Hotel  de  Belle  Vue — a  greatly  overrated  establish- 
ment, aitid  not  nearly  so  comfortable  as  the  Hotel  de  France— I 

made  acquaintance  with  Dr.  L ,  the  physician  of  the  Mission. 

He  was  desirous  of  doing  the  honour  of  the  place  to  me,  and  he 
ordered  for  us  a  diner  en  gourviand  at  the  chief  restaurateur's, 
maintaining  it  surpassed  the  Rocher  at  Paris.  Six  or  eight  partook 
of  the  entertainment,  and  we  all  agreed  it  was  infinitely  inferior 
to  the  Paris  display,  and  much  more  extravagant.  So  much  for 
the  copy." 

And  so  much  for  the  gentleman   wlio  gave  the  dinner.      Dr. 

L ,  desirous  to  do  his  Lordship    "-the  honour   of  the   place," 

feasts  him  with  the  best  victuals  money  can  procure — and  my 
Lord  finds  the  entertainment  extravagant  and  inferior.  Extra- 
vagant !    it  was  not   extravagant   to  him.     Inferior !    Mr.   L 

did  his  best  to  satisfy  those  noble  jaws,  and  my  Lord  receives 
the  entertainment,  and  dismisses  the  giver  with  a  rebuke.  It 
is  like  a  three-tailed  Pasha  grumbling  about  an  unsatisfactory 
backsheesh. 

But  how  should  it  be  otherwise  in  a  country  where  Lordolatry 
is  part  of  our  creed,  and  where  oiu-  children  are  brought  up  to 
respect  the  "  Peerage  "  as  the  Englishman's  second  Bible  ? 


CHAPTER  IV 

"  THE  COURT  CIRCULAR,"   AND  ITS  INFLUENCE  ON  SNOBS 

EXAMPLE  is  the  best  of  precejits ;  so  let  us  begin  with  a  true 
and  authentic  story,  showing  liow  young  aristocratic  snobs  are 
reared,  and  how  early  their  Snobbishness  may  be  made  to 
bloom.  A  beautiful  and  fashionable  lady — (pardon,  gracious  madam, 
that  your  story  should  be  made  public ;  but  it  is  so  moral  that  it 
ought  to  be  known  to  the  universal  world) — told  me  that  in  her 
early  youth  she  had  a  little  acquaintance,  who  is  now  indeed  a 
beautiful  and  fashionable  lady  too.  In  mentioning  Miss  Snobky, 
daughter  of  Sir  Snobby  Snobky,  whose  presentation  at  Court  caused 
such  a  sensation,  need  I  say  more  1 

When  Miss  Snobky  was  so  very  young  as  to  be  in  the  nursery 
regions,  and  to  walk  of  early  mornings  in  St.  James's  Park,  pro- 
tected by  a  French  governess  and  followed  by  a  huge  hirsute  flunkey 
in  the  canary-coloured  livery  of  the  Snobkys,  she  used  occasionally 
in  these  promenades  to  meet  with  young  Lord  Claude  Lollipop,  the 
Marquis  of  Sillabub's  younger  son.  In  the  very  height  of  the 
season,  from  some  unexplained  cause,  the  Snobkys  suddenly  deter- 
mined upon  leaving  town.  Miss  Snobky  spoke  to  her  female  friend 
and  confidante.  "  What  will  poor  Claude  Lollipop  say  when  he 
hears  of  my  absence  1 "  asked  the  tender-hearted  child. 

"  Oh,  perhaps  he  won't  hear  of  it,"  answers  the  confidante. 

"  J/?/  dear,  he  will  read  it  in  the  2^(ipers,"  replied  the  dear 
little  fashionable  rogue  of  seven  years  old.  She  knew  already  her 
importance,  and  how  all  the  world  of  England,  how  all  the  would- 
be  genteel  people,  how  all  the  silver-fork  worshippers,  how  all  the 
tattle-mongers,  how  all  the  grocers'  ladies,  the  tailors'  ladies,  the 
attorneys'  and  merchants'  ladies,  and  the  people  living  at  Clapham 
and  Brunswick  Square,  — who  have  no  more  chance  of  consorting  with 
a  Snobky  than  my  beloved  reader  has  of  dining  with  the  Emperor  of 
Cliina — ^yet  watched  the  movements  of  the  Snobkys  with  interest, 
and  were  glad  to  know  when  they  came  to  London,  and  left  it. 

Here  is  the  account  of  Miss  Snobky's  dress,  and  that  of  her 
mother.  Lady  Snobky,  from  the  papers  : — 


THE    "COURT    CIRCULAR"  31' 


"miss  snobky. 

"  Habit  de  Cour,  composed  of  a  yellow  nankeen  illusion  dres^s 
over  a  slip  of  rich  pea-green  corduroy,  trimmed  en  tablier,  with 
bouquets  of  Brussels  sprouts :  tlie  body  and  sleeves  handsomely 
trimmed  with  calimanco,  and  festooned  with  a  pink  train  and  white 
radishes.     Head-dress,  carrots  and  lappets. 


"LADY   SNOBKY. 

"  Costume  de  Cour,  composed  of  a  train  of  the  most  superb 
Pekin  bandannas,  elegantly  trimmed  with  spangles,  tinfoil,  and  red- 
tape.  Bodice  and  imder-dress  of  sky-blue  velveteen,  trimmed  with 
bouffants  and  no3uds  of  bell-pulls.  Stomacher,  a  muffin.  Head- 
dress, a  bird's  nest,  with  a  bird  of  paradise,  over  a  rich  brass  knocker 
en  ferrounifere.  This  splendid  costume^  by  Madame  Crinoline,  of 
Regent  Street,  was  the  object  of  universal  admiration." 

This  is  what  you  read.  Oh,  Mrs.  Ellis !  Oh,  mothers, 
daughters,  aunts,  grandmothers  of  England,  this  is  the  sort  of  -writ- 
ing which  is  put  in  the  newspapers  for  you !  How  can  you  help 
being  the  mothers,  "daughters,  &c.  of  Snobs,  so  long  as  this  balder- 
dash is  set  before  you  ? 

You  stuff  the  little  rosy  foot  of  a  Chinese  young  lady  of  fasliion 
into  a  slipper  that  is  about  the  size  of  a  salt-cruet,  and  keep  the 
poor  little  toes  there  imprisoned  and  twisted  up  so  long  that  the 
dwarfishness  becomes  irretnediable.  Later,  the  foot  would  not 
expand  to  the  natural  size  were  you  to  give  her  a  washing-tub  for 
a  shoe,  and  for  all  her  life  she  has  little  feet,  and  is  a  cripple.  Oh, 
my  dear  Miss  Wiggins,  thank  your  stars  that  those  beautiful  feet 
of  yours — though  I  declare  when  you  walk  they  are  so  small  as  to 
be  almost  invisible — thank  your  stars  tliat  society  never  so  practised 
upon  them ;  but  look  around  and  see  how  many  friends  of  ours  in 
the  highest  circles  have  had  their  brains  so  prematurely  and  hope- 
lessly pinched  and  distorted. 

How  can  you  expect  that  those  poor  creatures  are  to  move 
naturally  when  the  world  and  their  parents  have  nuitilated  them  so 
cruelly  1  As  long  as  a  Court  Circular  exists,  how  the  deuce  are 
people  whose  names  are  clironicled  in  it  ever  to  believe  tliemselves 
tlie  equals  of  the  cringing  race  which  daily  reads  that  abominable 
trash  1  I  believe  that  ours  is  the  only  country  in  the  world  now 
where  the  Court  Circular  remains  in  full  flourish — where  you  read, 
"This  day  liis   Royal   Highness   Prince   Pattypan  was    taken    au 


31S  TPIE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

iiiriiiLr  in  his  go-cart."  "  The  Princess  Pimminy  was  taken  a  drive, 
attomlcd  liy  lier  ladies  of  liouour,  and  accompanied  by  her  doll,"  &c. 
We  laiigli  at  the  solemnity  with  which  Saint  Simon  announces  that 
Sii  Majestd  se  mMicamente  anjoitrrPhiii.  Under  our  very  noses 
the  same  folly  is  daily  going  on.  Tliat  wonderful  and  mysterious 
man,  the  author  of  the  Coiort  Circular,  drops  in  with  his  budget 
at  the  newspaper  offices  every  night. "  I  once  asked  the  editor  of  a 
])aper  to  allow  me  to  lie  in  wait  and  sec  him. 

I  am  told  tliat  in  a  kingdom  where  there  is  a  German  King- 
Consort  (Portugal  it  must  be,  for  the  Queen  of  that  country  married 
a  German  Prince,  wlio  is  greatly  admired  and  respected  by  the 
natives),  whenever  the  Consort  takes  the  diversion  of  shooting 
among  the  rabbit-warrens  of  Cintra,  or  the  plieasant-preserves  of 
Mafra,  he  has  a  keeper  to  load  his  guns,  as  a  matter  of  course,  and 
then  tliey  are  handed  to  the  nobleman,  his  equerry,  and  the  noble- 
man hands  them  to  the  Prince,  who  blazes  away — gives  back  the 
discharged  gun  to  the  nobleman,  who  gives  it  to  the  keeper,  and  so 
on.  But  the  Prince  won't  tahe  the  gun  from  the  hands  of  the 
loader. 

As  long  as  this  unnatural  and  monstrous  etiquette  continues. 
Snobs  there  must  be.  The  three  persons  engaged  in  this  transaction 
are,  for  the  time  being,  Snobs, 

1.  Tlie  keeper — the  least  Snob  of  all,  because  he  is  discharging 
his  daily  duty ;  but  he  appears  here  as  a  Snob,  that  is  to  say,  in  a 
position  of  debasement,  before  another  human  being  (the  Prince), 
with  whom  he  is  oidy  allowed  to  communicate  through  another 
party.  A  free  Portuguese  gamekeeper,  who  professes  himself  to  be 
unworthy  to  communicate  directly  with  any  person,  confesses  him- 
self to  be  a  Snob. 

2.  The  nobleman  in  waiting  is  a  Snob,  If  it  degrades  the 
Prince  to  receive  the  gun  from  the  gamekeeper,  it  is  degrading  to 
tlie  nobleman  in  waiting  to  execute  that  service.  He  acts  as  a  Snob 
towards  the  keeper,  whom  he  keeps  from  communication  with  the 
Prince — a  Snob  towards  the  Prince,  to  whom  he  pays  a  degrading 
liomage. 

3.  The  King-Consort  of  Portugal  is  a  Snob  for  insulting  fellow- 
men  in  this  way.  There's  no  harm  in  his  accepting  the  seiwices  of 
the  keeper  directly ;  but  indirectly  he  insults  the  service  performed, 
and  the  two  servants  who  perform  it ;  and  tlierefore,  I  say,  respect- 
fully, is  a  most  undoubted,  though  Royal  Sn-b. 

Anil  then  you  read  in  the  Diario  do  Goherno — "  Yesterday, 
his  Majesty  the  King  took  the  diversion  of  shooting  in  the  woods  of 


THE    "COURT    CIRCULAR"  319 

Ciutra,  attended  by  Colonel  the  Honourable  Whiskerando  Sombrero. 
His  Majesty  returned  to  the  Necessidades  to  lunch,  at,"  &c.  &c. 

Oh  that  Court  Circular  I  once  more,  I  exclaim.  Down  with 
the  Court  Circular — that  engine  and  propagator  of  Snobbishness  ! 
I  promise  to  subscribe  for  a  year^to  any  daily  paper  that  shall  come 
out  without  a  Court  Circular — were  it  the  Morning  Herald  itself 
When  I  read  that  trash,  I  rise  in  my  wrath ;  I  feel  myself  disloyal, 
a  regicide,  a  member  of  the  Calf's  Head  Club.  The  only  Court 
Circular  story  which  ever  pleased  me,  was  that  of  the  King  of 
Spain,  who  in  great  part  was  roasted,  because  there  was  not  time 
for  the  Prime  Minister  to  command  the  Lord  Chamberlain  to  desire 
the  Grand  Gold  Stick  to  order  the  first  page  in  waiting  to  bid  the 
chief  of  the  flunkeys  to  request  the  Housemaid  of  Honour  to  bring 
up  a  pail  of  water  to  put  his  Majesty  out. 

I  am  like  the  Pasha  of  three  tails,  to  whom  the  Sultan  sends  his. 
Court  Circular,  the  bowstring. 

It  choices  me.     May  its  usage  be  abolished  for  ever. 


CHAPTER  V 

}rHAT  SNOBS  ADMIRE 

NOW  let  us  consider  how  difficult  it  is  eveu  for  great  men  to 
escape  from  being  Snobs.  It  is  very  well  for  the  reader, 
whose  fine  feelings  are  disgusted  by  the  assertion  that  Kings, 
Princes,  Lords,  are  Snobs,  to  say,  "  You  are  confessedly  a  Snob 
yourself  In  professing  to  depict  Snobs,  it  is  only  your  own  ugly 
mug  which  you  are  copying  with  a  Narcissus-like  conceit  and 
fatuity."  But  I  shall  pardon  this  explosion  of  ill-temper  on  the 
part  of  my  constant  reader,  reflecting  upon  the  misfortune  of  his 
birth  and  country.  It  is  impossible  for  any  Briton,  perhaps,  not 
to  be  a  Snob  in  some  degree.  If  people  can  be  convinced  of  this 
fact,  an  immense  point  is  gained,  surely.  If  I  have  pointed  out 
the  disease,  let  us  hope  that  other  scientific  characters  may  discover 
the  remedy. 

If  you,  who  are  a  person  of  the  middle  ranks  of  life,  are  a 
Snob, — you  whom  nobody  flatters  particularly ;  you  who  have  no 
toadies ;  you  wliom  no  cringing  flunkeys  or  shopmen  bow  out  of 
doors  ;  you  whom  the  policeman  tells  to  move  on ;  you  who  are 
jostled  in  the  crowd  of  this  world,  and  amongst  the  Snobs  our 
brethren  :  consider  how  much  harder  it  is  for  a  man  to  escape  who 
has  not  your  advantages,  and  is  all  his  life  long  subject  to  adulation  ; 
the  butt  of  meanness :  consider  how  difficult  it  is  for  tlie  Snob's 
idol  not  to  be  a  Snob. 

As  I  was  discoursing  with  my  friend  Eugenio  in  this  impressive 
way.  Lord  Buckram  passed  us,  tlie  son  of  the  Marquis  of  Bagwig, 
and  knocked  at  the  door  of  the  family  mansion  in  Red  Lion  Square. 
His  noble  father  and  motlier  occupied,  as  everybody  knows,  dis- 
tinguished posts  in  the  Courts  of  late  Sovereigns.  The  Marquis 
was  Lord  of  the  Pantry,  and  her  Ladyship,  Lady  of  the  Powder 
Closet  to  Queen  Charlotte.  Buck  (as  I  call  him,  for  we  are  very 
familiar)  gave  me  a  nod  as  he  passed,  and  I  proceeded  to  show 
Eugenio  how  it  was  impossible  that  this  nobleman  should  not  be 
one  of  ourselves,  having  been  practised  upon  by  Snobs  all  his  life. 

His  parents  resolved  to  give  him  a  public  education,  and  sent 
him  to  school  at  the  earliest  possible  period.     The  Reverend  Otto 


WHAT    SNOBS    ADMIRE  321 

Rose,  D.D.,  Principal  of  the  Preparatory  Academy  for  young  noble- 
men and  gentlemen,  Richmond  Lodge,  took  this  little  Lord  in  hand, 
and  fell  down  and  worshipped  him.  He  always  introduced  him 
to  fathers  and  mothers  who  came  to  visit  their  children  at  the 
school.  He  referred  with  pride  and  pleasure  to  the  most  noble 
the  Marquis  of  Bagwig,  as  on'e  of  the  kind  friends  and  patrons 
of  his  Seminary.  He  made  Lord  Buckram  a  bait  for  such  a 
multiplicity  of  pupils,  that  a  new  wing  was  built  to  Richmond 
Lodge,  and  thirty-live  new  little  white  dimity  beds  were  added  to 
the  establishment.  Mrs.  Rose  used  to  take  out  the  little  Lord 
in  the  one-horse  chaise  with  her  when  she  paid  visits,  until  the 
Rector's  lady  and  the  Surgeon's  wife  almost  died  with  envy.  His 
own  son  and  Lord  Buckram  having  been  discovered  robbing  an 
orchard  together,  the  Doctor  flogged  his  own  flesh  and  blood  most 
unmercifully  for  leading  the  young  Lord  astray.  He  parted  from 
him  with  tears.  There  was  always  a  letter  directed  to  the  Most 
Noble  the  Marquis  of  Bagwig,  on  the  Doctor's  study  table,  when 
any  visitors  were  received  by  him. 

At  Eton,  a  great  deal  of  Snobbishness  was  thrashed  out  of 
Lord  Buckram,  and  he  was  birched  with  perfect  impartiality. 
Even  there,  however,  a  select  band  of  sucking  tuft-hunters  followed 
him.  Young  Croesus  lent  him  three-and-twenty  brand-new  sove- 
reigns out  of  his  father's  bank.  Young  Snaily  did  his  exercises 
for  him,  and  tried  "  to  know  him  at  home " ;  but  Young  Bull 
licked  him  in  a  fight  of  fifty-five  minutes,  and  he  was  caned  several 
times  Avith  great  advantage  for  not  sufiiciently  polishing  his  master 
Smith's  shoes.     Boys  are  not  all  toadies  in  the  morning  of  life. 

But  when  he  went  to  the  University,  crowds  of  toadies  sprawled 
over  him.  The  tutors  toadied  him.  The  fellows  in  hall  paid  him 
great  clumsy  compliments.  The  Dean  never  remarked  his  absence 
from  Chapel,  or  heard  any  noise  issuing  from  his  rooms.  A  number 
of  respectable  young  fellows  (it  is  among  the  respectable,  the  Baker 
Street  class,  that  Snobbishness  flourishes,  more  than  among  any 
set  of  people  in  England) — a  number  of  these  clung  to  him  like 
leeches.  There  was  no  end  now  to  Croesus's  loans  of  money ;  and 
Buckram  couldn't  ride  out  with  the  hounds,  but  Snaily  (a  timid 
creature  by  nature)  was  in  the  field,  and  would  take  any  leaj)  at 
which  his  friend  chose  to  ride.  Young  Rose  came  up  to  the  same 
college,  having  been  kept  back  for  that  express  purpose  by  his 
father.  He  spent  a  quarter's  allowance  in  giving  Buckram  a  single 
dinner ;  but  he  knew  there  was  always  pardon  for  him  for  extra- 
vagance in  such  a  cause ;  and  a  ten-pound  note  always  came  to 
Iiim  from  home  when  he  mentioned  Buckram's  name  in  a  letter. 
What  wild  visions  entered   the   brains  of  Mrs.    Podge   and   Miss 


322  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

Podge,  tlie  wife  aud  daughter  of  the  Principal  of  Lord  Buckram's 
College,  I  don't  know,  but  that  reverend  old  gentleman  was  too 
])rofound  a  flunkey  by  nature  ever  for  one  minute  to  tliink  that 
a  child  of  his  could  marry  a  nobleman.  He  therefore  hastened  on 
his  daughter's  union  with  Professor  Crab. 

When  Lord  Buckram,  after  taking  his  honorary  degree  (for 
Alma  Mater  is  a  Snob,  too,  and  truckles  to  a  Lord  like  the  rest) — 
when  Lord  Buckram  went  abroad  to  finish  his  education,  you  all  know 
what  dangers  he  ran,  and  what  nund)ers  of  caps  were  set  at  him. 
Lady  Leach  and  her  daughters  followed  liim  from  Paris  to  Rome, 
and  from  Rome  to  Baden-Baden  ;  Miss  Leggitt  burst  into  tears  before 
his  face  wlien  he  announced  his  determination  to  quit  Naples,  and 
fainted  on,  the  neck  of  her  mamma ;  Captain  Macdragon,  of  Mac 
dragonstown,  county  Tipperary,  called  upon  him  to  "  explene  his 
intintions  with  respect  to  his  sisther.  Miss  Amalia  Macdragon,  of 
Macdragonstown,"  and  proposed  to  shoot  him  unless  he  married  that 
spotless  and  beautiful  young  creature,  who  was  afterwards  led  to 
the  altar  by  Mr.  Muff,  at  Cheltenham.  If  perseverance  and  forty 
thousand  pounds  down  could  have  tempted  him,  Miss  Lydia  Croesus 
would  certainly  have  been  Lady  Buckram.  Count  Towrowski  was 
glad  to  take  her  with  half  the  money,  as  all  the  genteel  world  knows. 

And  now,  perhaps,  the  reader  is  anxious  to  know  what  sort  of 
a  man  this  is  wdio  wounded  so  many  ladies'  hearts,  and  who  has 
been  such  a  prodigious  favourite  with  men.  If  we  were  to  describe 
him  it  would  be  personal.  Besides,  it  really  does  not  matter  in  the 
least  what  sort  of  a  man  he  is,  or  what  his  personal  qualities  are. 

Suppose  he  is  a  young  nobleman  of  a  literary  turn,  and  that  he 
published  poems  ever  so  foolish  and  feeble,  the  Snobs  would  purchase 
thousands  of  his  volumes :  the  publishers  (who  refused  my  Passion- 
Flowers,  and  my  grand  Epic  at  any  price)  would  give  him  his  own. 
Suppose  he  is  a  nobleman  of  a  jovial  turn,  and  has  a  fancy  for  wrench- 
ing of!  knockers,  frequenting  gin-shops,  and  half  murdering  policemen  : 
the  public  will  sympathise  good-naturedly  with  his  amusements,  and 
say  he  is  a  hearty  honest  fellow.  Suppose  he  is  fond  of  play  and 
the  turf,  and  has  a  fancy  to  be  a  blackleg,  and  occasionally  con- 
descends to  pluck  a  pigeon  at  cards :  the  public  will  pardon  him,  and 
many  honest  people  will  court  him,  as  they  would  court  a  liouse- 
lireaker  if  he  happened  to  be  a  Lord.  Suppose  he  is  an  idiot :  yet,  by 
the  glorious  constitution,  he  is  good  enough  to  govern  us.  Suppose 
he  is  an  honest  high-minded  gentleman  :  so  much  the  better  for  him- 
self. But  he  may  be  an  ass,  and  yet  respected  ;  or  a  ruffian,  and  yet 
be  exceedingly  popular ;  or  a  rogue,  and  yet  excuses  will  be  found  for 
him.  Snobs  will  still  worship  him.  Male  Snobs  will  do  him  honour, 
and  females  look  kindly  upon  him,  however  hideous  he  may  be. 


CHAPTER   VI 

0-V  SOME  RESPECTABLE  SXOBS 

HAYIXG  received  a  great  deal  of  obloquy  for  dragging  raonarchs, 
lirinces,  and  the  respected  nobilitj'  into  the  Snob  category,  I 
trust  to  please  everybody  in  the  present  chapter,  by  stating 
my  firm  opinion  that  it  is  among  the  7'esjiectable  classes  of  this  vast 
and  happy  empire  that  the  greatest  profusion  of  Snobs  is  to  be  found. 
I  pace  down  my  beloved  Baker  Street  (I  am  engaged  on  a  life  of 
Baker,  founder  of  this  celebrated  street),  I  walk  in  Harley  Street 
(where  every  other  house  has  a  hatchment),  "Wimpole  Street,  that 
is  as  cheerful  as  the  Catacombs — a  dingy  M;vusoleum  of  the  genteel : 
— I  rove  round  Regent's  Park,  where  the  plaster  is  patching  off  the 
house  walls  :  where  Methodist  preacliers  are  holding  forth  to  three 
little  children  in  the  green  enclosures,  and  pufiy  valetudinarians  are 
cantering  in  the  solitary  mud : — I  thread  the  doubtful  zigzags  ef 
Mayfair,  where  JMrs.  Kitty  Lorimer's  brougham  may  be  seen  drawn 
up  next  door  to  old  Lady  Lollipop's  belozengeil  family  coach  ; — I 
roajn  through  Belgravia,  tliat  jiale  and  polite  district,  where  all  the 
inhabitants  look  prim  and  correct,  and  the  mansions  are  painted  a 
faint  whity-brown ;  I  lose  myself  in  the  new  squares  and  terraces  of 
the  brilliant  brand-new  Bayswater-and-Tyburn-Junction  line  ;  and  in 
one  and  all  of  these  districts  the  same  truth  comes  across  me.  I  stop 
before  any  house  at  hazard,  and  say,  "  0  house,  you  are  inhabited — 
0  knocker,  you  are  knocked  at — 0  undressed  flunkey,  sunning  your 
lazy  calves  as  you  lean  against  the  iron  railings,  you  are  paid — by 
Snobs."  It  is  a  ti'emendous  thouglit  that :  and  it  is  almost  sufficient 
to  drive  a  benevolent  mind  to  madness  to  think  that  perhaps  there 
is  not  one  in  ten  of  those  houses  wliere  the  "  Peerage  "  does  not  lie 
on  the  drawing-room  table.  Considering  the  hann  that  foolish  lying 
book  does,  I  would  have  all' the  copies  of  it  burned,  as  the  barber 
burned  all  Quixote's  books  of  humbugging  chivalry. 

Look  at  tliis  grand  house  in  the  middle  of  the  square.  The 
Earl  of  Loughcorrib  lives  there  :  he  has  fifty  tliousand  a  year.  A 
dejeuner  dansant  given  at  his  house  last  week  cost,  who  knows  liow 
much  1  The  mere  flowers  for  the  room  and  bouquets  for  the  ladies 
cost  four  hundred  pounds.     That  man   in   drab  trousers,  coming 


324  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

crying  down  the  steps,  is  a  dun  :  Lord  Loushcorrib  hcOS  ruined  liim, 
and  won't  see  him  :  that  is  his  Lordship  })eeping  through  tlic  blind 
of  liis  study  at  him  now.  Go  thy  ways,  Louglieori'ib :  tliou  art  a 
Snob,  a  lieartless  pretender,  a  hypocrite  of  liospitality  ;  a  rogue  wlio 
passes  forged  notes  upon  society ; — but  I  ain  growing  too  eloquent. 

You  see  that  fine  house,  No.  23,  wliere  a  butcher's  boy  is  ringing 
the  area-bell.  He  has  three  mutton-chops  in  his  tray.  They  are 
for  the  dinner  of  a  very  different  and  very  respectable  family ;  for 
Lady  Susan  Scraper,  and  her  daughters,  Miss  Scraper  and  Miss 
Emily  Scraper.  The  domestics,  luckily  for  them,  are  on  board 
wages — ^two  huge  footmen  in  light  blue  and  canary,  a  fat  steady 
coachman  who  is  a  Methodist,  and  a  butler  who  would  never  have 
stayed  in  the  family  but  that  he  was  orderly  to  General  Scraper 
when  the  General  distinguished  himself  at  "VValcheren.  His  widow 
sent  his  portrait  to  the  United  Service  Club,  and  it  is  hung  up  in 
one  of  the  back  dressing-closets  there.  He  is  rejjresented  at  a 
parlour  window  with  red  curtains  ;  in  the  distance  is  a  whirlwind, 
in  which  cannon  are  firing  off;  and  he  is  pointing  to  a  cliart,  on 
which  are  written  the  words  '' Walcheren,  Tobago." 

Lady  Susan  is,  as  everybody  knows  by  referring  to  the  "  British 
Bible,"  a  daughter  of  the  great  and  good  Earl  Bagwig  before 
inentioned.  She  thinks  everything  belonging  to  her  the  greatest  and 
l)est  in  the  world.  The  first  of  men  naturally  are  the  Buckrams, 
her  own  race  :  then  follow  in  rank  the  Scrapers.  The  General  was 
the  greatest  general :  his  eldest  son,  Scra]Der  Buckram  Scraper,  is 
at  present  the  greatest  and  best ;  his  second  sou  the  next  greatest 
and  best ;  and  herself  the  paragon  of  women. 

Indeed,  she  is  a  most  respectable  and  honourable  lady.  She 
"goes  to  church  of  course  :  she  would  fancy  the  Church  in  danger 
if  she  did  not.  She  subscribes  to  the  church  and  parish  charities  ; 
and  is  a  directress  of  many  meritorious  charitable  institutions — of 
Queen  Charlotte's  Lying-in  Hospital,  the  Washerwomen's  Asylum, 
the  British  Drummers'  Daughters'  Home,  &c.  &c.  She  is  a  model 
of  a  matron. 

The  tradesman  never  lived  who  could  say  that  his  bill  was  not 
paid  on  the  quarter-day.  The  beggars  of  her  neighbourhood  avoid 
lier  like  a  j^estilence  ;  for  while  she  walks  out,  protected  by  John, 
that  domestic  has  always  two  or  three  mendicity  tickets  ready  for 
deserving  objects.  Ten  guineas  a  year  will  j^ay  all  her  charities. 
There  is  no  respectable  lady  in  aU  London  wlio  gets  her  name  more 
often  printed  for  such  a  sum  of  money. 

Those  three  mutton-chops  which  you  see  entering  at  the  kitchen- 
door  will  be  served  on  the  family-plate  at  seven  o'clock  this  evening, 
the  huge  footman  being  present,  and  the  butler  in  black,  and  the 


ON    SOME    RESPECTABLE    SNOBS  325 

crest  and  coat-of-arms  of  the  Scrapers  blazing  everywhere.  I  pity 
Miss  Emily  Scraper — she  is  still  young — young  and  hungry.  Is  it 
a  fact  that  slie  spends  her  pocket-money  in  buns  1  Malicious  tongues 
say  so ;  but  she  has  very  little  to  spare  for  buns,  the  poor  little 
hungry  soul !  For  the  fact  is,  that  when  the  footmen,  and  the 
ladies'-maids,  and  the  fat  coach^iorses,  which  are  jobbed,  and  the 
six  dinner-parties  in  the  season,  and  the  two  gi'eat  solemn  evening- 
parties,  and  the  rent  of  the  big  house,  and  the  journey  to  an  English 
or  foreign  watering-place  for  the  autumn,  are  paid,  my  Lady's 
income  has  dwindled  away  to  a  very  small  sum,  and  she  is  as  poor 
as  you  or  I. 

You  would  not  think  it  when  you  saw  her  big  carriage  rattling 
up  to  the  drawing-room,  and  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  plumes, 
lappets,  and  diamonds,  Avaving  over  her  Ladyshij^'s  sandy  hair  and 
majestical  hooked  nose  ; — you  would  not  think  it  when  you  hear 
"  Lady  Susan  Scraper's  carriage  "  bawled  out  at  midnight  so  as  to 
disturb  all  Belgravia : — you  would  not  think  it  when  she  comes 
rustling  into  church,  the  obsequious  John  behind  with  the  bag  of 
Prayer-books.  Is  it  possible,  you  would  say,  that  so  grand  and 
awful  a  personage  as  that  can  be  hard-up  for  money  1  Alas ! 
so  it  is. 

She  never  heard  such  a  word  as  Snob,  I  will  engage,  in  this 
wicked  and  vidgar  world.  And,  0  stars  and  garters  !  how  •  she 
would  start  if  she  heard  that  she — she,  as  solemn  as  Minerva — 
she,  as  chaste  as  Diana  (witiiout  that  heathen  goddess's  unladylike 
propensity  for  field-sports) — that  she  too  was  a  Snob  ! 

A  Snob  she  is,  as  loug  as  she  sets  that  prodigious  value  upon 
herself,  upon  her  name,  upon  her  outward  appearance,  and  indulges 
in  that  intolerable  pomposity ;  as  long  as  she  goes  parading  abroad, 
like  Solomon  in  all  his  glory ;  as  long  as  she  goes  to  bed — as  I 
believe  she  does — with  a  turban  and  a  bird  of  paradise  in  it,  and  a 
Court  train  to  her  night-goM'n ;  as  long  as  she  is  so  insufferably 
virtuous  and  condescending ;  as  long  as  she  does  not  cut  at  least 
one  of  those  footmen  down  into  mutton-chops  for  the  benefit  of  the 
young  ladies. 

I  had  my  notions  of  her  from  my  old  schoolfellow — her  sou 
Sydney  Scraper— a  Chancery  barrister  without  any  practice — the 
most  jdacid,  polite,  and  genteel  of  Snobs,  who  never  exceeded  his 
allowance  of  two  hun<lred  a  year,  and  who  may  be  seen  any  evening 
at  the  "  Oxford  and  Caudiridge  Club,"  simpering  over  the  Quarterly 
Review,  in  the  blameless  enjoyment  of  his  half-pint  of  port. 


CHAPTER  VII 

ON  SOME  RESPECTABLE  SNOBS 

LOOK  fit  the  next  house  to  Ladj'  Susan  Scraper's.  The  first 
mansion  with  tlie  awning  over  the  door :  that  canopy  Avill 
■^  be  let  down  this  evening  for  the  comfort  of  the  friends  of 
Sir  Alured  and  Lady  S.  de  Mogyns,  whose  parties  are  so  much 
admired  by  the  public,  and  the  givers  themselves. 

Peach-coloured  liveries  laced  with  silver,  and  pea-green  plush 
inexpressibles,  render  the  De  Mogyns'  flunkeys  the  pride  of  the 
ring  when  they  appear  in  Hyde  Park,  where  Lady  de  Mogyns,  .as 
she  sits  upon  her  satin  cushions,  with  her  dwarf  spaniel  in  her 
arms,  only  bows  to  the  very  selectest  of  the  genteel.  Times  are 
altered  now  with  Mary  Anne,  or,  as  she  calls  herself,  Marian 
de  Mogyns. 

She  was  the  daughter  of  Captain  Flack  of  the  Rathdrum 
Fencibles,  who  crossed  with  his  regiment  over  from  Ireland  to 
Caermarthenshire  ever  so  many  years  ago,  and  defended  Wales 
from  the  Corsican  invader.  The  Rathdrums  were  cjuartered  at 
Pontydwdlm,  where  Marian  wooed  and  won  her  De  Mogyns,  a 
young  banker  in  the  place.  His  attentions  to  Miss  Flack  at  a 
race  Imll  were  such  that  iier  fatiier  said  De  Mogyns  must  either 
die  on  the  field  of  honour,  or  become  his  son-in-law.  He  preferred 
marriage.  His  name  was  Muggins  tlien,  and  his  father — a  flourish- 
ing banker,  army  contractor,  smuggler,  and  general  jobber — almost 
disinherited  him  on  account  of  this  connection.  There  is  a  story 
that  Muggins  the  Elder  was  made  a  baronet  for  having  lent  money 
to  a  R-y-1  p-rs-n-ge.  I  do  not  believe  it.  The  R-y-1  Family 
always  paid  their  debts,  from  the  Prince  of  Wales  downwards. 

Howbeit,  to  liis  life's  end  he  remained  simple  Sir  Thomas 
Muggins,  representing  Pontydwdlm  in  Parliament  for  many  years 
after  the  war.  The  old  banker  died  in  course  of  time,  and,  to  use 
the  afi'ectionate  phrase  common  on  such  occasions,  "cut  up"pro- 
(liLriously  well.  His  son,  Alfred  Smith  Mogyns,  succeeded  to  tlie 
Tiiain  portion  of  his  wealth,  and  to  his  titles  and  the  bloody  hand 
of  Ids  scutcheon.  It  was  not  for  many  years  after  that  he  appeared 
as  Sir  Alured  Mogyns  Smyth  de  Mogyns,  with  a  genealogy  found 


ON    SOME    RESPECTABLE    SNOBS  327 

out  for  him  by  the  Editor  of  "  Fluke's  Peerage,"  and  which  appears 
as  follows  in  that  work  : — 

"De  Mogyns. — Sir  Alured  Mogyns  Smytli,  2nd  Baronet. 
This  gentleman  is  a  representative  of  one  of  the  most  ancient 
families  of  Wales,  who  trace  their  descent  until  it  is  lost  in  the 
mists  of  antiquity.  A  genealogical  tree  beginning  with  Shem  is  in 
the  possession  of  tlie  family,  and  is  stated  by  a  legend  of  many 
thousand  years'  date  to  have  been  drawn  on  papyrus  by  a  grandson 
of  the  patriarch  himself.  Be  this  as  it  may,  there  can  be  no  doubt 
of  the  immense  antiquity  of  the  race  of  Mogyns. 

"  In  the  time  of  Boadicea,  Hogyn  Mogyn,  of  the  hundred 
Beeves,  was  a  suitor  and  a  rival  of  Caractacus  for  the  hand  of  that 
Princess.  He  was  a  person  gigantic  in  stature,  and  was  slain  by 
Suetonius  in  the  battle  which  terminated  the  liberties  of  Britain. 
From  him  descended  directly  the  Princes  of  Pontydwdlm,  Mogyn 
of  the  Golden  Harp  (see  the  '  Mabinogion '  of  Lady  Charlotte 
Guest),  Bogyn-Merodac-ap-Mogyn  (the  black  fiend  son  of  Mogyn), 
and  a  long  list  of  bards  and  warriors,  celebrated  both  in  Wales  and 
Armorica.  The  independent  Princes  of  Mogyn  long  held  out  against 
the  ruthless  Kings  of  England,  until  finally  Gam  Mogyns  made 
his  submission  to  Prince  Henry,  sou  of  Henry  IV.,  and,  under  the 
name  of  Sir  David  Gam  de  Mogyns,  was  distinguished  at  the  battle 
of  Agincourt.  From  him  the  present  Baronet  is  descended.  (And 
here  the  descent  follows  in  order  until  it  comes  to)  Thomas  Muggins, 
first  Baronet  of  Pontydwdlm  Castle,  for  23  years  Member  of  Parlia- 
ment for  that  borough,  who  had  issue,  Alured  Mogyns  Smyth,  the 
present  Baronet,  who  married  Marian,  daughter  of  the  late  General 
P.  Flack,  of  Ballyflack,  in  the  Kingdom  of  Ireland,  of  the  Counts 
Flack  of  tlic  H.  R.  Empire,  Sir  Alured  has  issue,  Alured  Caradoc, 
bom  1819,  Marian,  1811,  Blanche  Adeliza,  Emily  Doria,  Adelaide 
Obleans,  Katinka  Rostopchin,  Patrick  Flack,  died  1809. 

Ar7/is — a  mullion  garbled,  gules,  on  a  saltire  reversed  of  the 
second.  C^-est- — a  tomtit  rampant  regardant.  Motto— t^«y  -Roy, 
Ung  Mogyns." 

It  was  long  before  Lady  de  Mogyns  shone  as  a  star  in  the 
fashionable  world.  At  first,  poor  Muggins  was  in  the  hands  of  the 
Flacks,  the  Clancys,  the  Tooles,  the  Shanahans,  his  wife's  Irish 
relations ;  and  whilst  he  Avas  yet  but  heir-apparent,  his  house  over- 
flowed with  claret  and  the  national  nectar,  for  tlie  benefit  of  his 
Hibernian  relatives,  Tom  Tufto  absolutely  left  tlie  street  in  which 
they  lived  in  London,  because  ho  said  *'  it  was  infected  with  such  a 
confounded  smell  of  whisky  from  the  house  of  those  Iwish  people." 


328  THE    BOOK   OF   SNOBS 

It  was  abroad  tliat  they  learned  to  be  genteel.  They  pushed 
into  all  foreign  Courts,  and  elbowed  their  way  into  the  halls  of 
Ambassadors.  Tiiey  ])Ounced  npon  tlie  stray  nobility,  and  seized 
young  lords  travelling  with  their  bear-leaders.  They  gave  parties 
at  Naples,  Rome,  an(i  Paris.  They  got  a  royal  Prince  to  attend 
their  soirees  at  the  latter  place,  and  it  was  here  that  they  first 
appeared  under  the  name  of  Da  Mogyns,  wliich  they  bear  with  such 
sjilendour  to  this  day. 

All  sorts  of  stories  are  told  of  the  desperate  efforts  made  by  the 
indomitable  Lady  de  Mogyns  to  gain  the  place  she  now  occupies, 
and  those  of  my  beloved  readers  who  live  in  middle  life,  and  are 
unacquainted  with  the  frantic  struggles,  the  wicked  feuds,  the 
intrigues,  cabals,  and  disappointments  which,  as  I  am  given  to 
understand,  reign  in  the  fashionable  world,  may  bless  their  stars 
that  they  at  least  are  not  fashionable  Snobs.  The  intrigues  set 
afoot  by  the  De  Mogyns  to  get  the  Duchess  of  Buckskin  to  her 
parties,  would  strike  a  Talleyrand  with  admiration.  She  had  a 
brain  fever  after  being  disappointed  of  an  invitation  to  Lady  Alder- 
manbury's  the'  dansant,  and  would  have  committed  suicide  but  for 
a  ball  at  Windsor.  I  have  the  following  story  from  my  noble  friend 
Lady  Clapperclaw  herself, — Lady  Kathleen  O'Shaughnessy  that 
was,  and  daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Turfanthunder  : — 

"When  that  ojous  disguised  Irishwoman,  Lady  Muggins,  was 
struggling  to  take  her  place  in  the  world,  and  was  bringing  out  her 
hidjous  daughter  Blanche,"  said  old  Lady  Clai^perclaw — "  (Marian 
has  a  hump-back  and  doesn't  show,  but  she's  the  only  lady  in  the 
family)  — ■  when  that  wretched  Polly  Muggins  was  bringing  out 
Blanche,  with  her  radish  of  a  nose,  and  her  carrots  of  ringlets,  and 
her  turnip  for  a  face,  she  was  most  anxious — as  her  father  had  been 
a  cowboy  on  my  father's  land — to  be  patronised  by  us,  and  asked 
me  point-blank,  in  the  midst  of  a  silence  at  Count  Volauvent's,  the 
French  Ambassador's  dinner,  why  I  had  not  sent  her  a  card  for 
my  ball "? 

"  '  Because  my  rooms  are  already  too  full,  and  your  Ladyship 
would  be  crowded  inconveniently,'  says  I ;  indeed,  she  takes  up  as  much 
room  as  an  elephant :  besides,  I  wouldn't  have  her,  and  that  was  flat. 

"  I  thought  my  answer  was  a  settler  to  her :  but  the  next  day 
she  comes  weeping  to  my  arms — 'Dear  Lady  Clapperclaw,'  says 
she,  '  it's  not  for  me ;  1  ask  it  for  my  blessed  Blanche  !  a  young 
creature  in  her  first  season,  and  not  at  your  ball !  My  tender  child 
will  j)ine  and  die  of  vexation.  /  don't  want  to  come.  /  will  stay 
at  home  to  nurse  Sir  Alured  in  the  gout.  Mrs.  Bolster  is  going, 
I  know ;  she  will  be  Blanche's  chaperon.' 

"  '  You  wouldn't  subscribe  for  the  Rathdrum  l)lanket  and  potato 


ON  SOME  RESPECTABLE  SNOBS     329 

fund ;  you,  who  come  out  of  tlie  parish,'  says  I,  'and  whose  grand- 
father, lionest  man,  kept  cows  there.' 

" '  "Will  twenty  guineas  be  enough,  dearest  Lady  Clapperclaw  1 ' 

"  '  Twenty  guineas  is  sufficient,'  says  I,  and  she  paid  them  ;  so 
I  said,  '  Blanche  may  come,  but  not  you,  mind : '  and  she  left  me 
with  a  world  of  thanks. 

"  Would  you  believe  it  1 — when  my  ball  came,  the  horrid  woman 
made  her  appearance  with  her  daughter  !  '  Didn't  I  tell  you  not  to 
come  1 '  said  I,  in  a  mighty  passion.  '  What  would  the  world  have 
said?'  cries  my  Lady  Muggins:  'my  carriage  is  gone  for  Sir  Alured  to 
the  Club  ;  let  me  stay  only  ten  minutes,  dearest  Lady  Clapperclaw.' 

"  '  Well,  as  you  are  here,  madam,  you  may  stay  and  get  your 
supper,'  I  answered,  and  so  left  her,  and  never  spoke  a  word  more 
to  her  all  night. 

"And  now,"  screamed  out  old  Lady  Clapperclaw,  clapping  her 
hands,  and  speaking  with  more  brogue  than  ever,  "wdiat  do  you 
think,  after  all  my  kindness  to  her,  the  wicked,  vulgar,  odious, 
impudent  upstart  of  a  cowboy's  granddaughter,  has  done'? — she  cut 
me  yesterday  in  Hy'  Park,  and  hasn't  sent  me  a  ticket  for  her  ball 
to-night,  though  they  say  Prince  George  is  to  be  there." 

Yes,  such  is  the  fact.  In  the  race  of  fashion  the  resolute  and 
active  De  Mogyns  has  passed  the  poor  old  Clapperclaw.  Her  pro- 
gress ill  gentility  may  be  traced  by  the  sets  of  friends  whom  she  has 
courted,  and  made,  and  cut,  and  left  behind  her.  She  has  struggled 
,30  gallantly  for  polite  reputation  that  she  has  won  it :  pitilessly 
kicking  down  the  ladder  as  she  advanced  degree  by  degree. 

Her  Irish  relations  were  first  sacrificed ;  she  made  her  father 
dine  in  the  steward's  room,  to  his  perfect  contentment ;  and  would 
send  Sir  Amred  thither  likewise,  but  that  he  is  a  peg  on  which  she 
hopes  to  hang  her  future  honours ;  and  is,  after  all,  paymaster  of 
her  daughters'  fortunes.  He  is  meek  and  content.  He  has  been 
so  long  a  gentleman  that  he  is  used  to  it,  and  acts  the  part  of 
goypTuor  very  well.  In  the  day-time  he  goes  from  the  "  Union  " 
to  "Arthur's,"  and  from  "Arthur's"  to  the  "Union."  He  is  a 
dead  hand  at  piquet,  and  loses  a  very  comfortable  maintenance  to 
some  young  fellows,  at  whist,  at  the  "Travellers'." 

His  son  has  taken  his  father's  seat  in  Parliament,  and  has  of 
course  joined  Young  England.  He  is  the  only  man  in  the  country 
who  believes  in  the  De  Mogynses,  and  sighs  for  the  days  when  a 
De  Mogyns  lecl  the  van  of  battle.  He  has  written  a  little  volume 
of  spoony  puny  poems.  He  wears  a  lock  of  the  hair  of  Laud,  the 
Confessor  and  Martyr,  and  fainted  when  he  kissed  the  Pope's  toe 
at  Rome.  He  sleeps  in  white  kid-gloves,  and  commits  dangerous 
excesses  upon  green  tea. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

GREAT    CITY   SNOBS 

THERE  is  no  disguising  the  fact  that  this  series  of  papers  is 
making  a  prodigious  sensation  among  all  classes  iu  this 
Empire.  Notes  of  admiration  (!),  of  interrogation  (I),  of 
remonstrance,  approval,  or  abuse,  come  pouring  into  Mr.  Punches 
box.  We  have  been  called  to  task  for  betraying  the  secrets  of  three 
different  families  of  De  Mogyns ;  no  less  than  four  Lady  Susan 
Scrapers  have  been  discovered ;  and  young  gentlemen  are  quite  shy 
of  ordering  half-a-piut  of  i)ort  and  simpering  over  the  Quarterly 
Review  at  the  Club,  lest  they  should  be  mistaken  for  Sydney 
Scrajier,  Esq.  "What  can  be  your  antipathy  to  Baker  Street?" 
asks  some  fair  remonstrant,  evidently  writing  from  that  quarter. 

"Why  only  attack  the  aristocratic  Snobs'?"  says  one  estimable 
correspondent :  "  are  not  the  snobbish  Snobs  to  have  their  turn  1 " — 
"  Pitch  into  the  University  Snobs  !  "  writes  an  indignant  gentleman 
(who  spelt  elegant  Avith  two  Ts). — "  Show  up  the  Clerical  Snob," 
suggests  another. — "Being  at  Meurice's  Hotel,  Paris,  some  time 
since,"  some  wag  hints,  "  I  saw  Lord  B.  leaning  out  of  the  window 
with  his  boots  in  his  hand,  and  bawling  out,  '  Gar(^.on,  cirez-moi  ces 
bottes.'     Oughtn't  he  to  be  brought  in  among  the  Snobs  ? " 

No  ;  far  from  it.  If  liis  Lor(lshij)'s  boots  are  dirty,  it  is  because 
he  is  Lord  B.,  and  walks.  There  is  nothing  snobbish  in  having 
only  one  pair  of  boots,  or  a  faA^ourite  pair ;  and  certainly  nothing 
snobbish  in  desiring  to  have  them  cleaned.  Lord  B.,  in  so  doing, 
performed  a  perfectly  natural  and  gentlemanlike  action  ;  for  wjiich  I 
am  so  pleased  with  him  that  I  should  like  to  have  him  designed  in  a 
favourable  and  elegant  attitude,  and  put  at  the  head  of  this  Chapter 
in  the  place  of  honour.  No,  we  are  not  jiersonal  in  these  candid 
I'emarks.  As  Phidias  took  the  pick  of  a  score  of  beauties  before  he 
completed  a  Venus,  so  have  we  to  examine,  perhaps,  a  thousand 
Snobs,  before  one  is  expressed  upon  paper. 

Great  City  Snobs  are  the  next  in  the  hierarchy,  and  ought  to  be 
considered.  But  here  is  a  difficulty.  The  great  City  Snob  is 
commonly  most  difficult  of  access.  Unless  you  are  a  capitalist,  you 
cannot  visit  him  in  the  recesses  of  his  bank  parlour  in  Lombard 


GREAT    CITY    SNOBS  331 

Street.  Unless  you  are  a  sprig  of  nobility  there  is  little  hope  of 
seeing  him  at  home.  In  a  great  City  Snob  firm  there  is  generally 
one  jjartner  whose  name  is  down  for  charities,  and  who  frequents 
Exeter  Hall ;  you  may  catch  a  glimpse  of  another  (a  scientific  City 

Snob)  at  my  Lord  N 's  soirees,  or  the  lectures  of  the  London 

Institution  ;  of  a  third  (a  City  Snob  of  taste)  at  picture-auctions,  at 
private  views  of  exhibitions,  or  at  the  Opera  or  the  Philharmonic. 
But  intimacy  is  impossible,  in  most  cases,  with  this  grave,  pomj^ous, 
and  awful  being. 

A  mere  gentleman  may  hope  to  sit  at  almost  anybody's  table — 
to  take  his  place  at  my  Lord  Duke's  in  the  country — to  dance  a 
iquadrille  at  Buckingham  Palace  itself — (beloved  Lady  Wilhelmina 
Wagglewiggle  !  do  you  recollect  the  sensation  we  made  at  tlie  ball 
of  our  late  adored  Sovereign  Queen  Caroline,  at  Brandenburg 
House,  Hammersmith  ?)  but  the  City  Snob's  doors  are,  for  the 
most  part,  closed  to  him ;  and  hence  all  that  one  knows  of  this 
great  class  is  mostly  from  hearsay. 

In  other  countries  of  Europe,  the  Banking  Snob  is  more  ex- 
pansive and  communicative  than  with  us,  and  receives  all  the  world 
into  his  circle.  For  instance,  everybody  knows  the  princely  hospi- 
talities of  the  Scliarlaschild  family  at  Paris,  Naples,  Frankfort,  &c. 
They  entertain  all  the  world,  even  the  poor,  at  their /tfes.  Prince 
Polonia,  at  Rome,  and  his  brother,  the  Duke  of  Strachino,  are  also 
remarkable  for  their  hospitalities.  I  like  the  spirit  of  the  first- 
named  nobleman.  Titles  not  costing  much  in  the  Roman  territory, 
he  has  had  the  head  clerk  of  the  banking-house  made  a  Marquis, 
and  his  lordship  will  screw  a  bajocco  out  of  you  in  exchange  as 
dexterously  as  any  commoner  could  do.  It  is  a  comfort  to  be  able 
to  gratify  such  grandees  with  a  farthing  or  two  ;  it  makes  the 
poorest  man  feel  that  he  can  do  good.  The  Polonias  have  inter- 
married with  the  greatest  and  most  ancient  families  of  Rome,  and 
you  see  their  heraldic  cognisance  (a  mushroom  or  on  an  azure  field 
quartered  in  a  hundred  places  in  the  city  with  the  arms  of  the 
Colonnas  and  Dorias. 

Our  City  Snobs  have  the  same  mania  for  aristocratic  marriages. 
I  like  to  see  such.  I  am  of  a  savage  and  envious  nature, — I  like 
to  see  these  two  humbugs  which,  dividing,  as  they  do,  the  social 
empire  of  this  kingdom  Vjetween  them,  hate  each  other  naturally, 
making  truce  and  tmiting,  for  the  sordid  interests  of  either.  I  like 
to  see  an  old  aristocrat,  swelling  Avith  pride  of  race,  the  descendant 
of  illustrious  Norman  robbers,  wliose  blood  has  been  pure  for  cen- 
turies, and  who  looks  down  upon  common  Englishmen  as  a  free-born 
American  does  on  a  nigger, — I  like  to  see  old  StifFneck  obliged  to 
bow  dov/n  his  head  and  swallow  his  infernal  pride,  and  drink  tlie  cup 


332  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

(if  huiuiliatiou  jiourcd  out  by  Pump  and  Aldgate's  butler.  "  Pump 
and  Ald.uato,"  says  he,  "your  grandfatlicr  was  a  bricklayer,  and  his 
hod  is  still  kept  in  the  bank.  Your  pedigree  begins  in  a  work- 
house ;  mine  can  be  dated  from  all  the  Royal  palaces  of  Europe. 
I  came  over  witli  the  Conqueror ;  I  am  own  cousin  to  Charles 
Martel,  Orlando  Furioso,  Philip  Augustus,  Peter  the  Cruel,  and 
Frederick  Barbarossa.  I  cjuarter  the  Ptoyal  Arms  of  Brentford  in 
my  coat.  I  despise  you,  but  I  want  money ;  and  I  will  sell  you 
ray  beloved  daughter,  Blanche  Stiflneck,  for  a  hundred  thousand 
jiounds,  to  pay  off  my  mortgages.  Let  your  sou  marry  her,  and 
she  shall  become  Lady  Blanche  Pump  and  Aldgate." 

Old  Pump  and  Aldgate  clutches  at  the  bargain.  And  a  com- 
fortable thing  it  is  to  think  that  birth  can  be  bought  for  money. 
So  you  learn  to  value  it.  Why  should  we,  who  don't  possess  it, 
set  a  higher  store  on  it  than  those  who  do  1  Perhaps  the  best  use 
of  that  book,  the  "  Peerage,"  is  to  look  down  the  list,  and  see  how 
many  have  bought  and  sold  birth, — how  poor  sprigs  of  nobility 
somehow  sell  themselves  to  rich  City  Snobs'  daughters,  how  rich 
City  Snobs  purchase  noble  ladies — and  so  'to  admire  the  double 
baseness  of  the  bargain. 

Old  Pump  and  Aldgate  buys  the  article  and  jwys  the  money. 
The  sale  of  the  girl's  person  is  blessed  by  a  Bishop  at  St.  George's, 
Hanover  Square,  and  next  year  you  read,  "At  Roehampton,  on 
Saturday,  the  Lady  Blanche  Pump,  of  a  son  and  heir." 

After  this  interesting  event,  some  old  acquaintance,  wlio  saw 
young  Pump  in  the  parlour  at  the  bank  in  the  City,  said  to  him, 
fomiliarly,  "  How's  your  wife,  Pump,  my  boy  ? " 

Mr.  Pump  looked  exceedingly  puzzled  and  disgusted,  and  after 
a  pause,  said,  "  Ladp  Blanche  Piini])  is  pretty  well,  I  thank  you." 

"  Oh,  I  thought  she  tvas  your  wife  I  "  said  tlie  familiar  brute, 
Snooks,  wishing  him  good-bye ;  and  ten  minutes  after,  the  story 
was  all  over  the  Stock  Exchange,  where  it  is  told,  when  young 
Pump  appears,  to  this  very  day. 

We  can  imagine  tiie  weary  life  this  poor  Pump,  tliis  martyr  to 
Mammon,  is  compelled  to  undergo.  Fancy  the  domestic  enjoyments 
of  a  man  who  has  a  wife  who  scorns  liim  ;  Avho  cannot  see  his  own 
friends  in  his  own  house  ;  who  having  deserted  the  middle  rank 
of  life,  is  not  yet  admitted  to  the  higher  ;  but  who  is  resigned  to 
rebuffs  and  delay  and  Immiliation,  contented  to  think  that  his  son 
will  be  more,  fortunate. 

It  used  to  be  the  custom  of  some  very  old-fashioned  clubs  in 
this  city,  when  a  gentleman  asked  for  change  for  a  guinea,  always 
to  bring  it  to  him  in  imshed  diver :  that  which  had  passed  imme- 
diately out  of  the  hands  of  the  vulgar  being  considered  "as  too 


GREAT    CITY    SNOBS  333 

coarse  to  soil  a  gentleman's  fingers."  So,  wlicn  the  City  Snob's 
money  lias  been  washed  during  a  generation  or  so  ;  has  been  washed 
into  estates,  and  woods,  and  castles,  and  town-mansions,  it  is  allowed 
to  pass  current  as  real  aristocratic  coin.  Old  Pump  sweeps  a  shop, 
runs  of  messages,  becomes  a  confidential  clerk  and  partner.  Pump 
the  Second  becomes  chief  of  the  house,  spins  more  and  more  money, 
marries  his  son  to  an  Earl's  daugliter.  Pump  Tertius  goes  on  with 
the  bank  ;  but  his  chief  business  in  life  is  to  become  the  father  of 
Pump  Quartus,  who  comes  out  a  full-blown  aristocrat,  and  takes 
his  seat  as  Baron  Pumpington,  and  his  race  rules  hereditarily  over 
this  nation  of  Snobs. 


CHAPTER  IX 

ON  SOME  MILITARY  SXOBS 

AS  no  society  in  the  world  is  more  agreeable  than  that  of  well- 
bred  and  well-informed  military  gentlemen,  so,  likewise,  none 
^  is  more  insufferable  than  that  of  Military  Snobs.  They  are 
to  be  found  of  all  grades,  from  the  General  Officer,  whose  padded 
old  breast  twinkles  over  with  a  score  of  stars,  clas])s,  and  decorations, 
to  the  budding  cornet,  who  is  shaving  for  a  beard,  and  has  just  been 
appointed  to  the  Saxe-Coburg  Lancers. 

I  have  always  admired  that  dispensation  of  rank  in  our  country, 
which  sets  up  this  last-named  little  creature  (who  was  flogged  only 
last  week  because  he  could  not  spell)  to  command  great  whiskered 
warriors,  who  have  faced  all  dangers  of  climate  and  battle  ;  which, 
because  he  has  money  to  lodge  at  the  agent's,  will  place  him  over 
the  heads  of  men  who  have  a  tliousand  times  more  experience  and 
desert :  and  which,  in  the  course  of  time,  will  bring  him  all  the 
honours  of  his  profession,  when  the  veteran  soldier  he  commanded 
has  got  no  other  reward  for  his  bravery  than  a  berth  in  Chelsea 
Hospital,  and  the  veteran  otficer  he  superseded  has  slunk  into  shabby 
retirement,  and  ends  his  disappointed  life  on  a  tlireadbare  half-pay. 
"  Wlien  I  read  in  the  Gazette  such  announcements  as  "  Lieutenant 
and  Captain  Grig,  from  the  Bombardier  Guards,  to  be  Captain,  vice 
Grizzle,  who  retires,"  I  know  what  becomes  of  the  Peninsular  Grizzle; 
I  follow  him  in  spirit  to  the  humble  country  town,  where  he  takes 
up  liis  quarters,  and  occupies  himself  with  the  most  desperate  at- 
tempts to  live  like  a  gentleman,  on  the  stipend  of  half  a  tailor's 
foreman  ;  and  I  picture  to  myself  little  Grig  rising  from  rank  to 
rank,  skipping  from  one  regiment  to  another,  with  an  increased 
grade  in  each,  avoiding  disagreeable  foreign  service,  and  ranking  as 
a  colonel  at  thirty";— all  because  he  has  money,  and  Lord  Grigsby 
is  his  father,  who  had  the  same  luck  before  him.  Grig  nnist  blush 
at  first  to  give  his  orders  to  old  men  in  every  way  his  betters.  And 
as  it  is  very  difficult  for  a  spoiled  child  to  escape  being  selfish  and 
arrogant,  so  it  is  a  very  hard  task  indeed  for  this  spoiled  child  of 
fortune  not  to  be  a  Snob. 

It  nnist  have  often  been  a  matter  of  wonder  to  the  candid  reader, 


ON    SOME    MILITARY    SNOBS  335 

that  the  army,  the  most  enormous  job  of  all  our  political  institutions, 
should  yet  work  so  well  in  the  field ;  and  we  must  cheerfully  give 
Grig,  and  his  like,  the  credit  for  courage  which  thej'  display  Avhen- 
ever  occasion  calls  for  it.  The  Duke's  dandy  regiments  fought  as 
well  as  any  (they  said  better  than  any,  but  that  is  absurd).  The 
great  Duke  himself  Avas  a  dandy  once,  and  jobbed  on,  as  Marlborough 
did  before  him.  But  this  only  proves  that  dandies  are  brave  as 
well  as  other  Britons — as  all  Britons.  Let  us  concede  that  the 
high-born  Grig  rode  into  the  entrenchments  at  Sobraon  as  gallantly 
as  Corporal  "Wallop,  the  ex-ploughboy. 

The  times  of  war  are  more  favourable  to  him  than  the  periods 
of  peace.  Think  of  Grig's  life  in  the  Bombardier  Guards,  or  the 
Jack-boot  Guards ;  his  marches  from  Windsor  to  London,  from 
London  to  Windsor,  from  Knightsbridge  to  Regent's  Park  ;  the 
idiotic  services  he  has  to  perform,  which  consist  in  inspecting  the 
pipeclay  of  his  company,  or  the  horses  in  the  stable,  or  bellowing 
out  "  Shoulder  humps  !  Carry  humps  !  "  all  which  duties  the  very 
smallest  intellect  that  ever  belonged  to  mortal  man  would  suffice  to 
comi)rehend.  The  professional  duties  of  a  footman  are  quite  as 
difficult  and  various.  The  red-jackets  who  hold  gentlemen's  horses 
in  St.  James's  Street  could  do  the  work  just  as  well  as  those  vacuous, 
good-natured,  gentlemanlike,  rickety  little  lieutenants,  who  may  be 
seen  sauntering  about  Pall  Mall,  in  high-heeled  little  boots,  or  rally- 
ing round  the  standard  of  their  regiment  in  the  Palace  Court,  at 
eleven  o'clock,  when  the  l)and  plays.  Did  the  beloved  reader  ever 
see  one  of  the  young  fellows  staggering  under  the  flag,  or,  above  all, 
going  through  the  o|)cration  of  saluting  it  ?  It  is  worth  a  walk  to 
the  Palace  to  witness  that  magnificent  piece  of  tomfoolery. 

I  have  had  the  honour  of  meeting  once  or  twice  an  old  gentleman, 
whom  I  look  upon  to  be  a  specimen  of  army-training,  and  who  has 
served  in  crack  regiments,  or  commanded  them,  all  his  life.  I 
allude  to  Lieutenant-General  the  Honourable  Sir  George  Granby 
Tufto,  K.C.B.,  K.T.S.,  K.H.,  K.S.W.,  &c.  &c.  His  manners  are 
irreproachable  generally ;  in  society  he  is  a  perfect  gentleman,  and  a 
most  thorougli  Snob. 

A  man  can't  help  being  a  fool,  be  he  ever  so  old,  and  Sir  George 
is  a  greater  ass  at  sixty-eight  than  he  was  when  he  first  entered  the 
army  at  fifteen.  He  distinguished  himself  everywhere  :  his  name 
is  mentioned  with  jmiise  in  a  score  of  Gazettes :  he  is  the  man,  in 
fact,  whose  padded  breast,  twinkling  over  with  innumerable  decora- 
tions, has  already  been  introduced  to  the  reader.  It  is  difficult  to 
say  what  virtues  this  prosperous  gentleman  possesses.  He  never 
read  a  book  in  his  life,  and,  with  his  purple,  old  gouty  fingers,  still 
writes  a  schoolboy  hand.     He  has  reached  old  age  and  grey  hairs 


336  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

without  being  the.  least  venerable.  He  dresses  like  an  outrageously 
you!ig  man  to  the  ])resent  moment,  and  laces  and  ])a(ls  his  old 
carcass  as  if  lie  were  still  handsome  George  Tufto  of  IHOO.  He  is 
selfish,  brutal,  i)assionate,  and  a  glutton.  It  is  curious  to  mark  him 
at  table,  and  see  him  heaving  in  -his  waistband,  his  little  bloodshot 
eyes  gloating  over  his  meal.  He  swears  considerably  in  liis  talk, 
and  tells  filthy  garrison  stories  after  dinner.  On  account  of  his 
rank  and  his  services,  people  pay  the  bestarred  and  betitled  old 
brute  a  sort  of  reverence  ;  and  he  looks  down  upon  you  and  me, 
and  exhibits  his  contempt  for  us,  with  a  stupid  and  artless  candour 
which  is  quite  amusing  to  watch.  Perhaps,  had  he  been  bred  to 
another  profession,  he  would  not  have  been  the  disreputable  old 
creature  he  now  is.  But  what  other  1  He  was  fit  for  none :  too 
incorrigibly  idle  and  dull  for  any  trade  but  this,  in  which  he  has 
distinguished  himself  publicly  as  a  good  and  gallant  officer,  and 
privately  for  riding  races,  drinking  port,  fighting  duels,  and  seducing 
women.  He  believes  himself  to  be  one  of  the  most  honourable  and 
deserving  beings  in  the  world.  About  Waterloo  Place,  of  afternoons, 
you  may  see  him  tottering  in  his  varnished  boots,  and  leering  under 
the  bonnets  of  the  women  wlio  pass  by.  When  he  dies  of  apoplexy, 
the  Times  will  have  a  quarter  of  a  column  about  his  services  and 
battles — four  lines  of  print  will  be  wanted  to  describe  his  titles  and 
orders  alone — and  the  earth  will  cover  one  of  the  wickedest  and 
dullest  old  wretches  that  ever  strutted  over  it. 

Lest  it  should  be  imagined  that  I  am  of  soobstinate'a  misanthropic 
nature  as  to  be  satisfied  with  nothing,  I  beg  (for  the  comfort  of 
the  forces)  to  state  my  belief  that  the  army  is  not  composed  of  such 
persons  as  the  above.  He  has  only  been  selected  for  tlie  study  of 
civilians  and  the  military,  as  a  specimen  of  a  prosperous  and  bloatal 
Army  Snob.  No :  when  epaulets  are  not  sold ;  when  corporal 
punishments  are  abolished,  and  Corporal  Smith  has  a  chance  to 
have  his  gallantry  rewarded  as  well  as  that  of  Lieutenant  Grig ; 
vrhen  there  is  no  such  rank  as  ensign  and  lieutenant  (the  existence 
of  which  rank  is  an  absurd  anomaly,  and  an  insult  upon  all  the  rest 
of  the  army),  and  sliould  there  be  no  war,  I  should  not  be  disinclined 
to  be  a  major-general  myself 

I  have  a  little  slieaf  of  Army  Snobs  in  my  portfolio,  but  shall 
pause  in  my  attack  upon  the  forces  till  next  week. 


CHAPTER  X 

MILITARY   SXOBS 

WALKING  in  the  Park  yesterday,  with  my  young  friend 
Tagg,  and  discoursing  with  him  upon  the  "next  number 
of  the  Snob,  at  the  very  nick  of  time  who  should  pass 
us  but  two  very  good  specimens  of  Military  Snobs, — the  sporting 
Military  Snob,  Captain  Ptag,  and  the  "larking"  or  raffish  Military 
Snob,  Ensign  Famish  !  Intleed  you  are  fully  sure  to  meet  them 
lounging  on  horseback,  about  five  o'clock,  under  the  trees  by  the 
Serpentine,  examining  critically  the  inmates  of  the  flashy  broughams 
which  parade  up  and  down  "the  Lady's  Mile." 

Tagg  and  Rag  ai'e  very  well  acquainted,  and  so  the  former, 
with  that  candour  inseparable  from  intimate  friendship,  told  me 
his  dear  friend's  history.  Captain  Rag  is  a  small  dapper  North- 
country  man.  He  went  when  quite  a  boy  into  a  crack  light-cavalry 
regiment,  and  by  the  time  he  got  his  troop  had  cheated  all  his 
brother  officers  so  completely,  selling  them  lame  horses  for  sound 
ones,  and  winning  their  money  by  all  manner  of  strange  and 
ingenious  contrivances,  that  his  Colonel  advised  him  to  retire; 
which  he  did  without  much  reluctance,  accommodating  a  youngster, 
who  had  just  entered  the  regiment,  with  a  glandered  charger  at  an 
uncommonly  stiff  figui'e. 

He  has  since  devoted  his  time  to  billiards,  steeple-chasing,  and 
the  turf.  His  head-quarters  are  "Rummer's,"  in  Conduit  Street, 
wliere  he  keeps  liis  kit ;  but  he  is  ever  on  tlie  move  in  the  exercise 
of  his  vocation  as  a  gentleman-jockey  and  gentleman-leg. 

According  to  BelTs  Life,  he  is  an  invariable  attendant  at  all 
races,  and  an  actor  in  most  of  them.  He  rode  the  winner  at 
Leamington ;  he  was  left  for  dead  in  a  ditcli  a  fortnight  ago  at 
Harrow ;  and  yet  there  he  was,  last  week,  at  the  Croix  de  Berny, 
pale  and  determined  as  ever,  astonishing  the  hadmids  of  Paris  by 
the  elegance  of  his  seat  and  tlie  neatness  of  his  rig,  as  he  took  a 
preliminary  gallop  on  that  vicious  brute  "The  Disowned,"  before 
starting  for  "  the  French  Grand  National." 

He  is  a  regidar  attendant  at  the  Corner,  where  he  compiles 
a  limited  but  comfortable  libretto.     During  the  season  he  rides 


338  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

often  in  the  Park,  mounted  on  a  clever,  well-bred  pony.  He  is 
to  be  seen  escorting  that  celebrated  horsewoman,  Fanny  Highflyer, 
or  in  confidential  converse  with  Lord  Thimblerig,  the  eminent 
handica])i)er. 

He  carefully  avoids  decent  society,  and  would  rather  dine  off 
a  steak  at  the  "  One  Tun  "  with  Sam  Snaffle  the  jockey.  Captain 
O'Kourke,  and  two  or  three  other  notorious  turf  robbers,  than 
with  the  choicest  company  in  London.  He  likes  to  announc^e  at 
"  Rummer's  "  that  he  is  going  to  run  down  and  spend  his  Saturday 
and  Sunday  in  a  friendly  way  with  Hocus,  the  leg,  at  his  little 
box  near  Epsom  :  where,  if  report  si)eak  true,  many  "  rummish 
plants  "  are  concocted. 

He  does  not  play  billiards  often,  and  never  in  public  :  but  when 
he  does  play,  he  always  contrives  to  get  hold  of  a  good  flat,  and 
never  leaves  him  till  he  has  done  him  uncommonly  brown.  He  has 
lately  been  playing  a  good  deal  with  Famish. 

When  he  makes  his  appeai-ance  in  the  drawing-room,  which 
occasionally  ha]ipens  at  a  hunt-meeting  or  a  race-ball,  he  enjoys 
himself  extremely. 

His  young  friend  is  Ensign  Famish,  who  is  not  a  little  pleased 
to  be  seen  with  such  a  smart  fellow  as  Rag,  who  bows  to  the  best 
turf  company  in  the  Park.  Rag  lets  Famish  accompany  him  to 
Tattersall's,  and  sells  him  bargains  in  horse-flesh,  and  uses  Famish'a 
cab.  That  young  gentleman's  regiment  is  in  Lidia,  and  he  is  at 
home  on  sick  leave.  He  recruits  Ins  health  by  being  intoxicated 
every  night,  and  fortifies  his  lungs,  which  are  weak,  by  smoking 
cigars  all  day.  The  policemen  about  the  Hayraarket  know  the 
little  creature,  and  the  early  cabmen  salute  him.  The  closed  doors 
of  fish  and  lobster  shops  open  after  service,  and  vomit  out  little 
Famish,  who  is  either  tipsy  and  quarrelsome — when  he  wants  to 
fight  the  cabmen ;  or  drunk  and  helpless— when  some  kind  friend 
(in  yellow  satin)  takes  care  of  him.  AH  the  neighbourhood,  the 
cabmen,  the  police,  the  early  potato-men,  and  the  friends  in  yellow 
satin,  know  the  young  fellow,  and  he  is  called  Little  Bobby  by 
some  of  the  very  worst  reprobates  in  Europe, 

His  mother.  Lady  Fanny  Famish,  believes  devoutly  that  Robert 
is  in  London  solely  for  the  benefit  of  consulting  the  physician ;  is 
going  to  have  him  exchanged  into  a  dragoon  regiment,  which  doesn't 
go  to  that  odious  India ;  and  has  an  idea  that  his  chest  is  delicate, 
and  that  he  takes  gruel  every  evening,  when  he  puts  his  feet  in 
hot  water.  Her  Ladyship  resides  at  Cheltenham,  and  is  of  a 
serious  turn. 

Bobby  frequents  the  "Union-Jack  Club"  of  course:  where  he 
breakfasts  on  pale-ale  an<l  devilled  kidneys  at  three  o'clock  j  where 


MILITARY    SNOBS  339 

beardless  young  heroes  of  his  own  sort  congregate,  and  make  merry, 
and  give  each  other  dinners ;  where  you  may  see  lialf-a-dozen  of 
young  rakes  of  the  fourth  or  fiftli  order  lounging  and  smoking  on 
the  steps ;  where  you  behold  Slapper's  long-tailed  leggy  mare  in 
the  custody  of  a  red-jacket  until  the  Captain  is  primed  for  the 
Park  with  a  glass  of  cura^oa ;'  and  where  yon  see  Hobby,  of  the 
Highland  Bufts,  driving  up  with  Dobby,  of  the  Madras  Fusiliers, 
in  the  great  banging,  swinging  cab  which  the  latter  hires  from 
Rumble  of  Bond  Street. 

In  fact.  Military  Snobs  are  of  such  number  and  variety,  that 
a  hundred  weeks  of  Punch  would  not  suffice  to  give  an  audience 
to  them.  There  is,  besides  the  disreputable  old  Military  Snob 
who  has  seen  service,  the  respectable  old  Militaiy  Snob  who 
has  seen  none,  and  gives  himself  the  most  prodigious  martinet 
airs.  There  is  the  Medical-Military  Snob,  who  is  generally  more 
outrageously  military  in  his  conversation  than  the  greatest  sabreur 
in  the  army.  There  is  the  Heavy-Dragoon  Snob,  whom  young 
ladies  admire,  with  his  gi-eat  stupid  pink  face  and  yellow  moustaches 
— a  vacuous,  solemn,  foolish,  but  brave  and  honourable  Snob. 
There  is  the  Amateur-Military  Snob,  who  writes  Captain  on  his 
card  because  he  is  a  Lieutenant  in  the  Bungay  Militia.  There  is 
the  Lady-killing  Military  Snob ;  and  more,  who  need  not  be  named. 

But  let  no  man,  we  repeat,  charge  J/r.  Punch  with  (iisrespect 
for  the  Army  in  general — that  gallant  and  judicious  Army,  every 
man  of  which,  from  F.M.  the  Duke  of  WeUington,  &c.,  downwards 
— (with  the  exception  of  H.R.H.  Field-Marshal  Prince  Albert,  Avho, 
however,  can  hardly  count  as  a  military  man) — reads  Punch  in 
every  quarter  of  the  globe. 

Let  those  civilians  who  sneer  at  the  acquirements  of  the  Army 
read  Sir  Harry  Smith's  account  of  the  Battle  of  Aliwal.  A  noble 
deed  was  never  told  in  nobler  language.  And  you  A\ho  doubt  if 
chivalry  exists,  or  the  age  of  heroism  has  passed  by,  think  of 
Sir  Henry  Hardinge,  with  his  son,  "dear  little  Arthur,"  riding  in 
front  of  the  lines  at  Ferozeshah.  I  hope  no  English  painter  will 
endeavom-  to  illustrate  that  scene ;  for  who  is  there  to  do  justice 
to  it  1  Tlie  history  of  the  world  contains  no  more  brilliant  and 
heroic  picture.  No,  no  ;  the  men  who  perform  these  deeds  with 
such  l)rilliant  valour,  and  describe  them  witli  such  modest  manliness 
—  such  are  nttt  Snobs.  Tlieir  country  admires  them,  their  Sovereign 
rewards  them,  and  Punch,  tlie  universal  railer,  takes  off  his  hat 
and  says.  Heaven  save  them  ! 

24 


CHAPTER  XI 

ON    CLERICAL   SXOBS 

A  FTER  Snobs-Military,  Snobs-Clerical  suggest  themselves  quite 

/-X     naturally,  and  it  is  clear  that,  with  every  respect  for  the 

■'     ^    cloth,  yet   having  a  regartl   for  truth,   humanity,  and  the 

British  public,  such  a  vast  and  influential  class  must  not  be  omitted 

from  our  notices  of  the  great  Snob  world. 

Of  these  Clerics  there  are  some  whose  claim  to  snobbishness  is 
undoubted,  and  yet  it  cannot  be  discussed  here ;  for  the  same  reason 
that  Punch  would  not  set  up  his  shoAv  in  a  Cathedral,  out  of  respect 
for  the  solemn  service  celebrated  within.  There  are  some  places 
where  he  acknowledges  himself  not  privileged  to  make  a  noise,  and 
puts  away  his  show,  and  silences  his  drum,  and  takes  off  his  hat, 
and  holds  his  peace. 

And  I  know  this,  that  if  there  are  some  Clerics  who  ilo  wrong, 
there  are  straightway  a  thousand  newspapers  to  haul  up  those  un- 
fortunates, and  cry,  "  Fie  upon  them,  fie  upon  them  !  "  while,  though 
the  press  is  always  ready  to  yell  and  bellow  excommunication  against 
these  stray  delinquent  parsons,  it  somehow  takes  very  little  count 
of  the  many  good  ones — of  the  tens  of  thousands  of  honest  men, 
who  lead  Christian  lives,  who  give  to  the  poor  generously,  who  deny 
themselves  rigidly,  and  live  and  die  in  their  duty,  without  ever  a 
newspaper  paragraph  in  their  favour.  My  beloved  friend  and  reader, 
I  wish  you  and  I  could  do  the  same  :  and  let  me  whisper  my  belief, 
entre  nous,  that  of  those  eminent  philosophers  who  cry  out  against 
parsons  the  loudest,  there  are  not  many  who  have  got  their  know- 
ledge of  the  church  by  going  thither  often. 

But  you  who  have  ever  listened  to  village  bells,  or  have  walked 
to  church  as  children  on  sunny  Sabbath  mornings  ;  you  who  have 
ever  seen  the  parson's  wife  tending  the  poor  man's  bedside ;  or  the 
town  clergyman  threading  the  dirty  stairs  of  noxious  alleys  upon 
his  sacred  business  : — do  not  raise  a  shout  when  one  of  these  lalls 
away,  or  yell  with  the  mob  that  howls  after  him. 

Every  man  can  do  that.  When  old  Father  Noah  was  overtaken 
in  his  cups,  there  was  only  one  of  his  sous  that  dared  to  make  meny 


ON    CLERICAL    SNOBS  341 

at  his  disaster,  and  he  was  not  the  most  virtuous  of  the  familj'. 
Let  us  too  turn  away  silently,  nor  huzza  like  a  parcel  of  school- 
boys because  some  big  young  rebel  suddenly  starts  up  and  whops 
the  schoolmaster. 

I  confess,  though,  if  I  had  by  me  the  names  of  those  seven  or 
eight  Irish  bishops,  the  probates  of  whose  wills  were  mentioned  in 
last  year's  journals,  and  who  died  leaving  behind  them  some  two 
hundred  thousand  pounds  apiece — I  would  like  to  put  them  iip  as 
patrons  of  my  Clerical  Snobs,  and  operate  upon  them  as  successfully 
as  I  see  from  the  newspapers  Mr.  Eisenberg,  Chiropodist,  has  lately 
done  upon  "  His  Grace  the  Right  Reverend  Lord  Bishop  of  Tapioca." 

And  I  confess  that  when  those  Right  Reverend  Prelates  come 
up  to  the  gates  of  Paradise  with  their  probates  of  wills  in  their 
hands,  I  think  that  their  chance  is.  .  .  .  But  the  gates  of  Paradise 
is  a  far  way  to  follow  their  Lordships ;  so  let  us  trip  down  again, 
lest  awkward  questions  be  asked  there  about  our  own  fovourite 
vices  too. 

And  don't  let  us  give  way  to  the  vulgar  prejudice,  that  clergy- 
men are  an  overpaid  and  luxurious  body  of  men.  When  that 
eminent  ascetic,  the  late  Sydney  Smith — (by  the  way,  by  what 
law  of  nature  is  it  that  so  many  Smiths  in  this  world  are  called 
Sydney  Smith  ?) — lauded  the  system  of  great  prizes  in  the  Church, 
— without  which  he  said  gentlemen  would  not  be  induced  to  follow 
the  clerical  profession,  he  admitted  most  pathetically  that  the  clergy 
in  general  were  by  no  means  to  be  envied  for  their  worldly  pros- 
perity. From  reading  the  works  of  some  modern  writers  of  repute, 
you  would  fancy  that  a  parson's  life  was  passed  in  gorging  liim- 
self  with  plum-pudding  and  port-wine ;  and  that  his  Reverence's 
fat  chaps  were  always  gi'easy  with  the  crackling  of  tithe  pigs. 
Caricaturists  delight  to  represent  him  so :  round,  short-necked, 
pimple-faced,  apoplectic,  bursting  out  of  waistcoat,  like  a  black- 
pudding,  a  shovel-hatted  fuzz-wigged  Silenus.  Whereas,  if  you  take 
the  real  man,  the  poor  fellow's  flesh-pots  are  very  scantily  furnished 
with  meat.  He  labours  commonly  for  a  wage  that  a  tailor's  fore- 
man would  despise  :  he  has,  too,  such  claims  upon  his  dismal  income 
as  most  pliilosophers  would  rather  grumble  to  meet ;  many  tithes 
are  levied  ui)on  his  pocket,  let  it  be  remembered,  by  those  who 
grudge  him  his  means  of  livelihood.  He  has  to  dine  with  the 
Squire:  and  his  wife  must  dress  neatly;  and  he  must  "look  like 
a  gentleman,"  as  they  call  it,  and  bring  up  his  six  great  hun.gry 
sons  as  such.  Add  to  this,  if  he  does  his  duty,  he  has  such  tem])ta- 
tions  to  spend  his  money  as  no  mortal  man  could  withstand.     Yes ; 


342  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

you  who  can't  resist  i)urchasing  a  chest  of  cigars,  because  tliey  are 
so  good  :  or  an  ormolu  clock  at  Howell  and  James's,  because  it  is 
such  a  bargain  ;  or  a  box  at  the  Opera,  becausi;  Lablache  and  Grisi 
are  divine  in  the  Puritani  :  fancy  how  difficult  it  is  for  a  ])arson 
to  resist  spending  a  half-crown  when  John  Breakstone's  family  are 
without  a  loaf;  or  "standing"  a  bottle  of  port  for  poor  old  Polly 
Rabbits,  who  has  her  thirteenth  child  ;  or  treating  himself  to  a  suit 
of  corduroys  for  little  Bob  Scarecrow,  whose  breeches  are  sadly  out 
at  elbows.  Think  of  these  temptations,  brother  moralists  and  philo- 
sophers, and  don't  be  too  hard  on  the  parson. 

But  what  is  this?  Instead  of  "showing  up"  the  parsons, 
are  we  indulging  in  maudlin  praises  of  that  monstrous  black-coated 
race?  0  saintly  Francis,  lying  at  rest  under  the  turf;  0  Jimmy, 
and  Johimy,  and  Willy,  friends  of  my  youth  !  0  noble  and  dear  old 
Elias  !  how  should  he  who  knows  you  not  respect  you  and  your 
calling?  May  this  pen  never  write  a  pennyworth  again,  if  it  ever 
casts  ridicule  upon  either  ! 


CHAPTER  XII 

ON  CLERICAL  SNOBS  AND  SNOBBISHNESS 

DEAR  MR.  SNOB,"  an  amiable  young  correspondent  writes, 
wlio  signs  himself  Snobling,  "  ought  the  clergyman  who,  at 
the  request  of  a  noble  Duke,  lately  interrupted  a  marriage 
ceremony  between  two  persons  perfectly  authorised  to  marry,  to 
be  ranked  or  not  among  the  Clerical  Snobs  1 " 

This,  my  dear  young  friend,  is  not  a  feir  question.  One  of  the 
illustrated  weekly  papers  has  already  seized  hold  of  the  clergyman, 
anil  blackened  him  most  unmercifully,  by  representing  him  in  his 
cassock  performing  the  marriage  service.  Let  that  be  sufficient 
punishment,  and,  if  you  please,  do  not  press  the  query. 

It  is  very  likely  that  if  Miss  Smith  had  come  with  a  licence  to 
marry  Jones,  the  parson  in  question,  not  seeing  old  Smith  present, 
would  have  sent  otf  the  beadle  in  a  cab  to  let  the  old  gentleman 
know  what  was  going  on ;  and  would  have  delayed  the  service  until 
the  arrival  of  Smith  senior.  He  very  likely  thinks  it  his  duty  to 
ask  all  marriageable  young  ladies,  who  come  without  their  papa, 
why  their  parent  is  absent ;  and,  no  doubt,  ahvays  sends  off  the 
beadle  for  that  missing  governor. 

Or,  it  is  very  possible  tliat  the  Duke  of  Coeurdelion  was  Mr. 
What-d'ye-call-'im's  most  intimate  friend,  and  has  often  said  to  him, 
"  What  d'ye-call-'im,  my  boy,  my  daughter  must  never  marry  the 
Capting.  If  ever  they  try  at  your  church,  I  beseech  you,  consider- 
ing the  terms  of  intimacy  on  whicli  we  are,  to  send  off  Rattan  in  a 
hack-cab  to  fetch  me." 

In  either  of  which  cases,  you  see,  dear  Snobling,  that  though 
the  parson  would  not  have  been  authorised,  yet  he  miglit  have  been 
excused  from  interfering.  He  has  no  more  right  to  stop  my  marriage 
than  to  stop  my  dinner,  to  both  of  which,  as  a  free-born  Briton,  I 
am  entitled  by  law,  if  I  can  pay  for  them.  But,  consider  j^astoral 
solicitude,  a  deep  sense  of  the  duties  of  his  office,  and  pardon  this 
inconvenient,  but  genuine  zeal. 

But  if  tlie  clergyman  did  in  tlie  Duke's  case  what  he  would  not 
do  in  Smith's  ;  if  he  lias  no  more  acciuaintancc  with  the  Cceurdelion 
family  tlian  I  have  with  the  Royal  and  Serene  House  of  Saxe-Coburg- 


.S-i4  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

Gotlia, — then,  I  confess,  my  dear  Snobling,  your  question  might 
elicit  a  disagreeable  reply,  and  one  which  I  respectfully  decline  to 
give.  I  wonder  what  Sir  Geoi-ge  Tufto  would  say,  if  a  sentry  left 
his  post  because  a  noble  lord  (not  in  the  least  connected  with  the 
service)  begged  the  sentinel  not  to  do  his  duty  ! 

Alas  !  that  the  beadle  who  canes  little  boys  and  drives  them 
out,  cannot  drive  worldliness  out  too  ;  and  what  is  worldliness  but 
snobbishness  ?  When,  for  instance,  I  read  in  the  newspapers  that 
tlie  Eight  Reverend  tiie  Lord  Charles  James  admiiustered  tlie  rite 
of  confirmation  to  a  ■party  of  the  juvenile  nobility  at  the  Chapel 
Royal,— as  if  the  Chapel  Royal  were  a  sort  of  ecclesiastical  Almack's, 
and  young  peo])le  were  to  get  ready  for  the  next  world  in  little 
exclusive  genteel  knots  of  the  aristocracy,  who  were  not  to  be  dis- 
turbed in  their  journey  thither  by  the  company  of  the  vulgar : — 
when  I  read  such  a  paragraph  as  that  (and  one  or  two  such  gener- 
ally appear  during  the  jiresent  fashionable  season),  it  seems  to  me 
to  be  the  most  odious,  mean,  and  disgusting  part  of  that  odious, 
mean,  and  disgusting  publication,  the  Court  Circular ;  and  that 
snobbishness  is  therein  carried  to  quite  an  awful  pitch.  What, 
gentlemen,  can't  we  even  in  the  Church  acknowledge  a  republic  % 
There,  at  least,  the  Heralds'  College  itself  might  allow  that  we 
all  "of  us  have  the  same  pedigree,  and  are  direct  descendants  of  Eve 
and  Adam,  whose  inheritance  is  divided  amongst  us. 

I  hereby  call  upon  all  Dukes,  Earls,  Baronets,  and  other  poten- 
tates, not  to  lend  themselves  to  this  shameful  scandal  and  error,  and 
beseech  all  Bishops  who  read  this  pul)lication  to  take  the  matter 
into  consideration,  and  to  protest  against  the  continuance  of  the 
practice,  and  to  declare,  "  We  loon't  confirm  or  christen  Lord 
Tomnoddy,  or  Sir  Carnaby  Jenks,  to  the  exclusion  of  any  other 
young  Christian ; "  tlie  whicli  declaration  if  their  Lordships  are 
induced  to  make,  a  great  lapis  qffensionis  will  be  removed,  and  the 
Snob  Papers  will  not  have  been  written  in  vain, 

A  story  is  ciu'rent  of  a  celebrated  nouveau-riche,  who  having 
had  occasion  to  oblige  that  excellent  prelate  the  Bishop  of  Bullock- 
smithy,  asked  his  Lordship,  in  return,  to  confirm  his  children 
privately  in  his  Lordship's  own  chapel;  wiiich  ceremony  the  grateful 
prelate  accordingly  performed.  Can  satire  go  fiirther  than  this  1 
Is  there,  even  in  this  most  amusing  of  prints,  any  more  naive 
absurdity  1  '  It  is  as  if  a  man  wouldn't  go  to  heaven  unless  he  went 
in  a  special  train,  or  as  if  he  thought  (as  some  people  think  about 
vaccination)  Confirmation  more  effectual  when  administered  at  first 
hand.  When  tliat  eminent  person,  the  Begum  Sumroo,  died,  it  is 
said  she  left  ten  thousand  pounds  to  the  Pope,  and  ten  thousand 
to  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury, — so  that  there  sliould  be  no 


CLERICAL    SNOBS    AND    SNOBBISHNESS     345 

mistake, — so  as  to  make  sure  of  having  the  ecclesiastical  authorities 
on  her  side.  This  is  only  a  little  more  openly  and  undisguisedly 
snobbish  than  the  cases  before  alluded  to.  A  well-bred  Snob  is  just 
as  secretly  proud  of  his  riches  and  honours  as  a  jMrvenu  Snob  who 
makes  the  most  ludicrous  exhibition  of  them  ;  and  a  high-born 
Marchioness  or  Duchess  just  as  vain  of  herself  and  her  diamonds 
as  Queen  Quashyboo,  who  sews  a  pair  of  epaulets  on  to  her  skirt, 
and  turns  out  in  state  in  a  cocked  hat  and  feathers. 

It  is  not  out  of  disrespect  to  my  "  Peerage,"  which  I  love  and 
honour  (indeed,  have  I  not  said  before,  that  I  should  be  ready  to 
jump  out  of  my  skin  if  two  Dukes  would  walk  down  Pall  Mall  with 
me?) — it  is  not  out  of  disrespect  for  the  individuals  that  I  wish 
these  titles  had  never  been  invented ;  but,  consider,  if  there  were 
no  tree,  there  would  be  no  shadow ;  and  how  much  more  honest 
society  would  be,  and  how  much  more  serviceable  the  clergy  would 
be  (which  is  our  present  consideration),  if  these  temptations  of 
rank  and  continual  baits  of  worldliness  Avere  not  in  existence,  and 
perpetually  tlirown  out  to  lead  them  astray. 

I  have  seen  many  examples  of  their  falling  away.  When,  for 
instance,  Tom  Sniffle  first  went  into  the  country  as  Curate  for  Mr. 
Fuddleston  (Sir  Huddleston  Fuddleston's  brother),  who  resided  on 
some  other  living,  there  could  not  be  a  more  kind,  hardworking,  and 
excellent  creature  than  Tom.  He  had  his  aunt  to  live  with  him. 
His  conduct  to  his  poor  was  admirable.  He  wrote  anually  reams 
of  the  best-intentioued  and  m.ost  vapid  sermons.  When  Lord 
Brandyball's  family  first  came  down  into  the  country,  and  invited 
him  to  dine  at  Brandyball  Park,  Snifiie  was  so  agitated  that  he 
almost  forgot  how  to  say  grace,  and  upset  a  bowl  of  currant-jelly 
sauce  in  Lady  Fanny  Toffy's  lap. 

What  was  the  consequence  of  his  intimacy  with  that  noble 
family  1  He  quarrelled  with  his  aunt  for  dining  out  every  night. 
The  wretch  forgot  his  poor  altogether,  and  killed  his  old  nag  by 
always  riding  over  to  Brandyball,  where  he  revelled  in  the  maddest 
passion  for  Lady  Fanny.  He  ordered  the  neatest  new  clothes  and 
ecclesiastical  waistcoats  from  London ;  he  appeared  with  corazza- 
shirts,  lacquered  boots,  and  perfumery ;  he  bought  a  blood-horse 
from  Bob  Toffy  :  was  seen  at  archery  meetings,  public  breakfasts, 
—actually  at  cover;  and,  I  blush  to  say,  that  I  saw  him  in  a  stall  at 
the  Opera;  and  afterwards  riding  by  Lady  Fanny's  side  in  Rotten 
Row.  He  douhle-harrelled  his  name  (as  many  poor  Snobs  do), 
and,  instead  of  T.  Sniffle,  as  formerly,  came  out,  in  a  porcelain 
card,  as  Rev.  T.  D'Arcy  Sniffle,  Burlington  Hotel. 

The  end  of  all  this  may  be  imagined  :  when  the  Earl  of  Brandy- 
ball was  made  acquainted  with  the  curate's  love  for  Lady  Fanny, 


:U6  THE    BOOK   OF    SNOBS 

lie  had  that  fit  of  the  gout  whicli  so  nearly  carried  him  oft'  (to  the 
inexpressible  grief  of  his  son,  Lord  Alicompayne),  and  uttered  that 
remarkable  speech  to  Sniffle,  which  disposed  of  the  claims  of  the 
latter : — "  If  I  didn't  respect  the  Church,  sir,"  his  Lordship  said, 
"  by  Jove,  I'd  kick  you  downstairs."  His  Lordship  then  fell  back 
into  tlie  fit  aforesaid ;  and  Lady  Fanny,  as  we  all  know,  married 
General  Podagcr. 

As  for  poor  Tom,  he  was  over  head  and  cars  in  debt  as  well 
as  in  love  ;  his  creditors  came  down  upon  him.  Mr.  Hemp,  of 
Portugal  Street,  proclaimed  his  name  lately  as  a  reverend  outlaw ; 
and  he  has  been  seen  at  various  foreign  watering-places  ;  sometimes 
doing  duty ;  sometimes  "  coaching "  a  stray  gentleman's  son  at 
Carlsruhe  or  Kissingeu  ;  sometimes — must  we  say  it '? — lurking 
about  the  roulette-tables  with  a  tuft  to  his  chin. 

If  temptation  had  not  come  upon  this  unhappy  fellow  in  the 
shape  of  Lord  Brandyball,  he  might  still  have  been  following  his 
profession,  humbly  and  worthily.  He  might  have  married  his 
cousin  with  four  thousand  pounds,  the  wine-merchant's  daughter 
(the  old  gentleman  quarrelled  with  his  nephew  for  not  soliciting 
wine-orders  from  Lord  B.  for  him) :  he  might  have  had  seven 
children,  and  taken  private  pupils,  and  eked  out  his  income,  and 
lived  and  died  a  country  parson. 

Could  he  have  done  better?  You  who  want  to  know  how 
great,  and  good,  and  noble  such  a  character  may  be,  read  Stanley's 
"  Life  of  Doctor  Arnold." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

ON   CLERICAL    SNOBS 

A  MONG  the  varieties  of  tlie  Snob  Clerical,  the  University  Snob 
Z\  and  the  Scholastic  Snob  ought  never  to  be  forgotten  :  they 
-*     *■    form  a  very  strong  battalion  in  the  black-coated  army. 

The  wisdom  of  our  ancestors  (which  I  admire  more  and  more 
2 very  day)  seemed  to  have  determined  that  the  education  of  youth 
was  so  paltry  and  unimportant  a  matter,  that  almost  any  man, 
armed  with  a  birch  and  a  regulation  cassock  and  degree,  might 
undertake  the  charge  ;  and  many  an  honest  country  gentleman 
may  be  found  to  the  present  day,  who  takes  very  good  care  to  have 
a  character  with  his  butler  when  he  engages  him,  and  will  not 
purchase  a  horse  without  the  strongest  warranty  and  the  closest 
inspection;  but  sends  off  his  son,  young  John  Thomas,  to  school 
without  asking  any  questions  about  the  Schoolmaster,  and  places 
the  lad  at  Switchester  College,  under  Dr.  Block,  because  he  (the 
good  old  English  gentleman)  had  been  at  Switchester,  under  Dr. 
Buzwig,  forty  years  ago. 

We  have  a  love  for  all  little  boys  at  school ;  for  many  scores 
of  thousands  of  them  read  and  love  Punch : — may  he  never  write 
a  word  that  shall  not  be  honest  and  fit  for  them  to  read  !  He 
will  not  have  his  young  friends  to  be  Snobs  in  the  future,  or  to 
be  bullied  by  Snobs,  or  given  over  to  such  to  be  educated.  Our 
connection  with  the  youth  at  the  Universities  is  very  close  and 
aflfectionate.  The  candid  undergraduate  is  our  friend.  The  Pompous 
old  College  Don  trembles  in  his  common-room,  lest  we  should  attack 
him  and  show  him  up  as  a  Snob. 

When  raib'oads  were  tlireatening  to  invade  the  land  which  they 
have  since  conquered,  it  may  be  recollected  what  a  shrieking  and 
outcry  the  authorities  of  Oxford  and  Eton  made,  lest  the  iron 
abominations  sliould  come  near  those  seats  of  pure  learning,  and 
tempt  the  British  youth  astray.  The  supplications  were  in  vain ; 
the  railroad  is  in  upon  them,  and  the  old-world  institutions  are 
doomed.  I  felt  charmed  to  read  in  the  papers  the  other  day  a 
most  veracious  puffing  advertisement  headed,  "To  College  and  back 
for  Five  Shillings."     "  The  College  Gardens  (it  said)  will  be  thrown 


3kS  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

open  oil  tliis  occasion ;  tlie  College  youths  will  perform  a  regatta ; 
the  Chapel  of  King's  College  will  have  its  celebrated  music ; " — 
and  all  for  five  shillings !  The  Goths  have  got  into  Rome ; 
Napoleon  Stephenson  draws  his  republican  lines  round  the  sacred 
old  cities ;  and  the  ecclesiastical  big-wigs  who  garrison  them  must 
prej)arc  to  lay  down  key  and  crosier  before  the  iron  conqueror. 

If  you  consider,  dear  reader,  what  profound  snobbishness  the 
University  System  produced,  you  will  allow  that  it  is  time  to 
attack  some  of  those  feudal  middle-age  superstitions.  If  you  go 
down  for  five  shillings  to  look  at  the  "College  Youths,"  you 
may  see  one  sneaking  down  the  court  without  a  tassel  to  his 
cap ;  another  with  a  gold  or  silver  fringe  to  his  velvet  trencher ; 
a  third  lad  with  a  master's  gown  and  hat,  walking  at  ease  over 
the  sacred  College  grass-plats,  which  common  men  must  not 
tread  on. 

He  may  do  it  because  he  is  a  nobleman.  Because  a  lad  is  a 
lord,  the  University  gives  him  a  degree  at  the  end  of  two  yeai-s 
which  another  is  seA^en  in  acquiring.  Because  he  is  a  lord,  he  has 
no  call  to  go  through  an  examination.  Any  man  who  has  not  been 
to  College  and  back  for  five  shillings,  would  not  believe  in  such 
distinctions  in  a  place  of  education,  so  absurd  and  monstrous  do 
they  seem  to  be. 

The  lads  with  gold  and  silver  lace  are  sons  of  rich  gentlemen, 
'  and  called  Fellow  Commoners ;  they  are  privileged  to  feed  better 
than  the  pensioners,  and  to  have  wine  with  their  victuals,  which 
the  latter  can  only  get  in  their  rooms. 

The  unlucky  boys  who  have  no  tassels  to  their  caps,  are  called 
sizars — servitors  at  Oxford — (a  very  pretty  and  gentlemanlike 
title).  •  A  distinction  is  made  in  their  clothes  because  they  are 
poor ;  for  which  reason  they  wear  a  l^adge  of  poverty  and  are  not 
allow^ed  to  take  their  meals  with  their  fellow-students. 

When  this  wicked  and  shameful  distinction  was  set  up,  it  was 
of  a  piece  with  all  the  rest — a  part  of  the  brutal,  unchristian, 
blundering  feudal  system.  Distinctions  of  rank  were  then  so 
strongly  insisted  upon,  that  it  would  have  been  thought  blasphemy 
to  doubt  them,  as  blasphemous  as  it  is  in  parts  of  the  IJnited 
States  now  for  a  nigger  to  set  up  as  the  equal  of  a  white  man.  A 
rufiian  like  Henry  VIII.  talked  as  gravely  about  the  divine  powers 
vested  in  him,  as  if  he  had  been  an  inspired  prophet.  A  wretch 
like  James  I.  not  only  believed  that  there  was  in  himself  a  particular 
sanctity,  but  other  people  believed  him.  Government  regulated 
the  length  of  a  merchant's  shoes  as  well  as  meddled  with  his  trade, 
prices,  exports,  machinery.  It  thought  itself  justified  in  roasting  a 
man  for  his  religion,  or  pulling  a  Jew's  teeth  out  if  he  did  not  pay 


ON    CLERICAL   SNOBS  349 

a  contribution,  or  ordered  him  to  dress  in  a  yellow  gabardine,  and 
locked  him  in  a  particular  quarter. 

Now  a  merchant  may  wear  what  boots  he  pleases,  and  has  pretty 
nearly  acquired  the  privilege  of  buying  and  selling  without  the 
Government  laying  its  paws  upon  the  bargain.  The  stake  for 
heretics  is  gone ;  the  pillory  is  taken  dcuai ;  Bishops  are  even  found 
lifting  up  their  voices  against  the  remains  of  persecution,  and  ready 
to  do  away  with  the  last  Catholic  Disabilities.  Sir  Robert  Peel, 
though  he  wished  it '  ever  so  much,  has  no  power  over  Mr.  Ben- 
jamin DisraeU's  giinders,  or  any  means  of  violently  handling  that 
gentleman's  jaw.  Jews  are  not  called  upon  to  wear  badges  :  on  the 
contrary,  they  may  live  in  Piccadilly,  or  the  Minories,  according 
to  fancy  ;  they  may  dress  like  Christians,  and  do  sometimes  in  a 
most  elegant  and  fashionable  manner. 

Why  is  the  poor  College  servitor  to  wear  that  name  and  that 
badge  still?  Because  Universities  are  tlie  last  places  into  which 
reform  penetrates.  But  now  that  she  can  go  to  College  and  back 
for  five  shillings,  let  her  travel  down  thither. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

ON   UNIVERSITY  SNOBS 

A  LL  the  men  of  Saint  Boniface  will  recognise  Hugby  and  Crump 
l\  in  these  two  pictures.  They  were  tutors  in  our  time,  and 
■*  *-  Crump  is  since  advanced  to  be  President  of  the  College.  He 
was  formerly,  and  is  now,  a  rich  specimen  of  a  University  Snob. 

At  five-and-twenty,  Crump  invented  three  new  metres,  and 
published  an  edition  of  an  exceedingly  improper  Greek  Comedy,  with 
no  less  than  twenty  emendations  upon  the  German  text  of  Schnup- 
fenius  and  Schnapsius.  These  services  to  religion  instantly  pointed 
him  out  for  advancement  in  the  Church,  and  he  is  now  President  of 
Saint  Boniface,  and  very  narrowly  escaped  the  l)ench. 

Crump  thinks  Saint  Boniface  the  centre  of  the  world,  and  his 
position  as  President  the  highest  in  England.  He  expects  the 
fellows  and  tutors  to  pay  him  the  same  sort  of  service  that  Cardinals 
pay  to  the  Pope.  I  am  sure  Crawler  would  have  no  objection  to 
carry  his  trencher,  or  Page  to  hold  up  the  skirts  of  his  gown  as  he 
stalks  into  chapel.  He  roars  out  tlie  responses  there  as  if  it  were 
an  honour  to  heaven  that  the  President  of  Saint  Boniface  should 
take  a  part  in  the  service,  and  in  his  own  lodge  and  college  acknow- 
ledges the  Sovereign  only  as  his  superior. 

When  the  allied  monarchs  came  down,  and  were  made  Doctors 
of  the  University,  a  breakfast  was  given  at  Saint  Boniface  ;  on  which 
occasion  Crump  allowed  the  Emperor  Alexander  to  walk  before  liim, 
but  took  the  jms  himself  of  the  King  of  Prussia  and  Prince  Blucher. 
He  was -going  to  put  the  Hetman  Platoff  to  breakfast  at  a  side-table 
with  the  under  college  tutors ;  but  he  was  induced  to  relent,  and 
merely  entertained  that  distinguished  Cossack  with  a  discourse  on 
his  own  language,  in  which  he  showed  that  the  Hetman  knew 
nothing  about  it. 

As  for  us  undergraduates,  we  scarcely  knew  more  about  Crump 
than  about  the  Grand  Llama.  A  few  fevoured  youths  are  asked 
occasionally  to  tea  at  the  lodge ;  but  they  do  not  speak  unless  first 
addressed  by  the  Doctor ;  and  if  they  venture  to  sit  down.  Crump's 
follower,  Mr.  Toady,  whispers,  "Gentlemen,  will  you  have  the 
kindness  to  get  up '?— The  President  is  passing  ;  "  or  "  Gentlemen, 


ON    UNIVERSITY    SNOBS  351 

the  President  prefers  that  undergraduates  should  not  sit  down ; " 
or  words  to  a  similar  effect. 

To  do  Crump  justice,  he  does  not  cringe  now  to  great  people. 
He  rather  patronises  them  than  otherwise ;  and,  in  London,  speaks 
quite  alfably  to  a  Duke  who  ha^  been  brought  up  at  his  college, 
or  holds  out  a  finger  to  a  Marquis.  He  does  not  disguise  his  own 
origin,  but  brags  of  it  with  considerable  self-gratulation  :  "  I  was 
a  Charity-boy,"  says  he ;  "  see  what  I  am  now  :  the  greatest  Greek 
scholar  of  the  greatest  College  of  the  greatest  University  of  the 
greatest  Empire  in  the  world."  The  argument  being,  that  this  is 
a  capital  world  for  beggai-s,  because  he,  being  a  beggar,  has  managed 
to  get  on  horseback. 

Hugby  owes  his  eniincnoe  to  patient  merit  and  agreeable  per- 
severance. He  is  a  meek,  mild,  inoffensive  creature,  with  just 
enough  of  scholarship  to  fit  him  to  hold  a  lecture,  or  set  an 
examination  paper.  He  rose  by  kindness  to  the  aristocracy.  It 
was  wonderful  to  see  the  way  in  which  that  poor  creature  grovelled 
before  a  nobleman  or  a  lord's  nephew,  or  even  some  noisy  and  dis- 
reputable commoner,  the  friend  of  a  lord.  He  used  to  give  the 
young  noblemen  the  most  painful  and  elaborate  breakfasts,  and 
adoY)t  a  jaunty  genteel  air,  and  talk  with  them  (although  he  was 
decidedly  serious)  about  the  opera,  or  the  last  run  with  the  hounds. 
It  was  good  to  watch  him  in  the  midst  of  a  circle  of  young  tufts, 
with  his  mean,  smiling,  eager,  uneasy  familiarity.  He  used  to  write 
home  confidential  letters  to  their  parents,  and  made  it  his  duty  to 
call  upon  them  wlien  in  town,  to  condole  or  rejoice  with  them  when 
a  death,  birth,  or  marriage  took  place  in  their  family  ;  and  to  feast 
them  whenever  they  came  to  the  University.  I  recollect  a  letter 
lying  on  a  desk  in  his  lecture-room  for  a  whole  term,  beginning, 
"My  Lord  Duke."  It  was  to  show  us  that  lie  corresponded  with 
such  dignities. 

"When  the  late  lamented  Lord  Glenlivat,  who  broke  his  neck  at 
a  hurdle-race,  at  the  i)remature  age  of  twenty-four,  was  at  the 
University,  the  amiable  younji  fellow,  passing  to  his  rooms  in  the 
early  morning,  and  seeing  Hugby's  boots  at  his  door,  on  the  same 
staircase,  playfully  wadded  the  insides  of  the  boots  with  cobbler's 
wax,  which  caused  excruciating  pains  to  the  Reverend  Mr.  Hugby, 
when  he  came  to  take  them  off  the  same  evening,  before  dining 
with  the  Master  of  St.  Crispin's. 

Everybody  gave  tlic  credit  of  this  admirable  piece  of  fun  to 
Lord  Glenlivat's  friend.  Bob  Tizzy,  who  was  famous  for  such  feats, 
and  who  had  already  made  away  with  the  college  pump-handle  ; 
filed  St.  Boniface's  n<isc  smooth  with  his  face  :  carried  off  four 
images  of  nigger-lxjys   from   the   toba^;conists ;   paintwl   the  senior 


352  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

proctor's  horse  pea-green,  &c.  &c. ;  and  Bob  (wlio  was  of  tlie  party 
certainly,  and  would  not  peach)  was  just  on  the  point  of  incurring 
expulsion,  and  so  losing  the  family  living  which  was  in  store  for 
him,  when  Glenlivat  nobly  stepped  forward,  owned  himself  to  be  the 
author  of  the  delightful  jeu-d'esprit,  apologised  to  the  tutor,  and 
accepted  the  rustication. 

Hugby  cried  when  Glenlivat  apologised  :  if  the  young  nobleman 
had  kicked  him  round  the  court,  I  believe  the  tutor  would  have 
been  happy,  so  that  an  apology  and  a  reconciliation  might  subse- 
quently ensue.  "  My  Lord,"  said  he,  "  in  your  conduct  on  this  and 
all  other  occasions,  you  have  acted  as  becomes  a  gentleman ;  you 
have  been  an  honour  to  the  University,  as  you  will  be  to  the 
peerage,  I  am  sure,  when  the  amiable  vivacity  of  youth  is  calmed 
down,  and  you  are  called  upon  to  take  your  proper  share  in  the 
government  of  the  nation."  And  when  his  Lordship  took  leave  of 
the  University,  Hugby  presented  him  with  a  copy  of  his  "  Sermons 
to  a  Nobleman's  Family "  (Hugby  was  once  private  tutor  to  tlie 
sons  of  the  Earl  of  Muffborough),  which  Glenlivat  i)resented  in 
return  to  Mr.  William  Ramm,  known  to  the  fancy  as  the  Tutbury 
Pet,  and  the  sermons  now  flgiu-e  on  the  boudoir-table  of  Mrs.  Ramm, 
behind  the  bar  of  her  house  of  entertahiment,  "The  Game  Cock 
and  Spiu-s,"  near  Woodstock,  Oxon. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  long  vacation,  Hugby  comes  to  town, 
and  puts  up  in  handsome  lodgings  near  St.  James's  Square ;  rides 
in  the  Park  in  the  afternoon ;  and  is  delighted  to  read  his  name  in 
the  morning  papers  among  the  list  of  persons  present  at  Muffborough 
House,  and  the  Marquis  of  Farintosh's  evening  parties.  He  is  a 
member  of  Sydney  Scraper's  Club,  where,  however,  he  drinks  his 
pint  of  claret. 

Sometimes  you  may  see  him  on  Sundays,  at  the  hour  when 
tavern  doors  open,  whence  issue  little  girls  with  great  jugs  of 
porter;  when  charity-boys  walk  the  streets,  bearing  brown  dishes 
of  smoking  shoulders  of  nmtton  and  baked  'taturs ;  when  Sheeny 
and  Moses  are  seen  smoking  their  pipes  before  their  lazy  shutters  in 
Seven  Dials ;  when  a  crowd  of  smiling  persons  in  clean  outlandish 
dresses,  in  monstrous  bonnets  and  flaring  printed  gowns,  or  in 
crumpled  glossy  coats  and  silks  that  bear  the  creases  of  the  drawers 
where  they  have  lain  all  the  week,  file  down  High  Street, — some- 
times, I  say,  you  may  see  Hugby  coming  out  of  the  Church  of  St. 
Giles-in-the-Fields,  with  a  stout  gentlewoman  leaning  on  his  arm, 
whose  old  face  bears  an  expression  of  supreme  pride  and  happiness 
as  she  glances  round  at  all  the  neighbours,  and  who  faces  the  curate 
himself,  and  marches  into  Holborn,  where  she  pulls  the  bell  of  a 


ON    UNIVERSITY    SNOBS  353 

house  over  which  is  inscribed,  "  Hugby,  Haberdasher."  It  is  the 
mother  of  the  Rev.  F.  Hugby,  as  proud  of  her  son  in  his  white 
choker  as  Cornelia  of  her  jewels  at  Rome.  That  is  old  Hugby 
bringing  up  the  rear  with  the  Prayer-books,  and  Betsy  Hugby  the 
old  maid,  his  daughter, — old  Hugby,  Haberdasher  and  Church- 
warden. 

In  the  front  room  upstairs,  where  the  dinner  is  laid  out,  there  is 
a  picture  of  Muffborough  Castle;  of  the  Earl  of  Muffborough,  K.X., 
Lord-Lieutenant  for  Diddlesex ;  an  engraving,  from  an  almanac, 
of  Saint  Boniface  College,  Oxon ;  and  a  sticking-plaster  portrait 
of  Hugby  when  young,  in  a  cap  and  gown.  A  copy  of  his 
"Sermons  to  a  Nobleman's  Family"  is  on  the  book-shelf,  by  the 
"Whole  Duty  of  Man,"  the  Reports  of  the  Missionary  Societies, 
and  the  "Oxford  University  Calendar."  Old  Hugby  knows  part 
of  this  by  heart ;  every  living  belonging  to  Saint  Boniface,  and  the 
name  of  every  tutor,  fellow,  nobleman,  and  imdergraduate. 

He  used  to  go  to  meeting  and  ])reach  himself,  until  his  son  took 
orders ;  but  of  late  the  old  gentleman  has  been  accused  of  Puseyism, 
and  is  quite  pitiless  against  the  Dissenters. 


CHAPTER    XV 

O.V    UNIVERSITY  SNOBS 

I  SHOULD  like  to  fill  several  volumes  with  accounts  of  various 
University  Snobs ;  so  fond  are  my  reminiscences  of  them,  and 
so  numerous  are  they.  I  should  like  to  speak,  above  all,  of  the 
wives  and  daughters  of  some  of  the  Professor-Snobs :  their  amuse- 
ments, habits,  jealousies;  their  innocent  artifices  to  entrap  young 
men ;  their  picnics,  concerts,  and  evening  parties.  I  wonder  what 
has  become  of  Emily  Blades,  daughter  of  Blades,  the  Professor  of 
the  Mandingo  language  ?  I  remember  her  shoulders  to  this  day,  as 
she  sat  in  the  midst  of  a  crowd  of  about  seventy  young  gentlemen, 
from  Corpus  and  Catherine  Hall,  entertaining  them  w^ith  ogles  and 
French  songs  on  the  guitar.  Are  you  married,  fair  Emily  of  the 
shoulders  1  What  beautiful  ringlets  those  were  that  used  to  dribble 
over  them  ! — what  a  waist ! — what  a  killing  sea-green  shot-silk 
gown  ! — what  a  cameo,  the  size  of  a  mutfin  !  There  were  tliirty-six 
young  men  of  the  University  in  love  at  one  time  with  Emily  Blades  : 
and  no  words  are  sufficient  to  describe  tlie  pity,  the  sorrow,  the  deep, 
deep  commiseration — the  rage,  fury,  and  uncharitableness,  in  other 
words— with  which  the  Miss  Trumps  (daughters  of  Trumps,  the 
Professor  of  Phlebotomy)  regarded  her,  because  she  didn't  squint, 
and  because  she  wasn't  marked  with  the  smallpox. 

As  for  the  young  University  Snobs,  I  am  getting  too  old,  now, 
to  speak  of  such  very  familiarly.  My  recollections  of  them  lie  in 
the  far,  far  past — almost  as  far  back  as  Pelham's  time. 

We  then  used  to  consider  Snobs  raw-looking  lads,  who  never 
missed  chapel ;  wlio  wore  highlows  and  no  straps  ;  who  walked  two 
hours  on  the  Trumpingtou  road  every  day  of  their  lives  ;  who  carried 
off  the  college  scholarships,  and  who  overrated  themselves  in  hall. 
We  were  premature  in  pronouncing  our  verdict  of  youthful  Snobbish- 
ness. The  man  without  straps  fulfilled  his  destiny  and  duty.  He 
eased  his  old  governor,  the  curate  in  Westmoreland,  or  helped  his 
sisters  to  set  up  the  Ladies'  School.  He  wrote  a  "Dictionary,"  or 
a  "  Treatise  on  Conic  Sections,"  as  his  nature  and  genius  prompted. 
He  got  a  fellowship  :  and  then  took  to  himself  a  wife,  and  a  living. 
He  presides  over  a  parish  now,  and  thinks  it  rather  a  dashing  thing 


ON    UNIVERSITY    SNOBS  355 

to  belong  to  the  "Oxford  and  Cambridge  Club";  and  his  par- 
ishioners love  him,  and  snore  under  his  sermons.  No,  no,  he  is  not 
a  Snob.  It  is  not  straps  that  make  the  gentleman,  or  highlows 
that  unmake  him,  be  they  ever  so  thick.  My  son,  it  is  you  who  are 
the  Snob  if  you  lightly  despise  a  man  for  doing  his  duty,  and  refuse 
to  sliake  an  honest  man's  hand  because  it  wears  a  Berlin  glove. 

We  then  used  to  consider  it  not  the  least  vulgar  for  a  parcel  of 
lads  who  had  been  whipped  three  months  previous,  and  were  not 
allowed  more  than  three  glasses  of  port  at  home,  to  sit  down  to 
pineapples  and  ices  at  each  otlier's  rooms,  and  fuddle  themselves 
with  champagne  and  claret. 

One  looks  back  to  what  was  called  a  "wine-party"  with  a  sort 
of  wonder.  Thirty  lads  round  a  table  covCTed  with  bad  sweetmeats, 
drinking  bad  wines,  telling  bad  stories,  singing  bad  songs  over  and 
over  again.  Milk  punch — smoking— ghastly  headache — frightful 
spectacle  of  dessert-table  next  morning,  and  smell  of  tobacco — your 
guardian,  the  clergyman,  dropping  in  in  the  midst  of  this — expect- 
ing to  find  you  deep  in  Algebra,  and  discovering  the  gyp  administer- 
ing soda-water. 

Tliere  were  young  men  who  despised  the  latls  who  indulged  in 
the  coarse  hospitalities  of  wine-parties,  who  prided  themselves  in 
giving  recherche  little  French  dinners.  Both  wine-party-givers  and 
dinner-givers  were  Snobs. 

There  were  what  used  to  be  called  "dressy"  Snobs: — Jimmy, 
who  might  be  seen  at  five  o'clock  elaborately  rigged  out,  with  a 
camellia  in  his  button-hole,  glazed  boots,  and  fresh  kid-gloves  twice  a 
day  ;— -Jessamy,  who  was  conspicuous  for  his  "jewellery," — a  young 
donkey,  glittering  all  over  with  chains,  rings,  and  shirt-studs ; — 
Jacky,  who  rode  every  day  solenudy  on  the  Blenheim  Road,  in 
pumps  and  white  silk  stockings,  with  his  hair  curled, — all  three  of 
whom  flattered  themselves  they  gave  laws  to  the  University  about 
dress — all  three  most  odious  varieties  of  Snobs. 

Sporting  Snobs  of  course  there  were,  and  are  always — those 
liappy  beings  in  whom  Nature  has  implanted  a  love  of  slang : 
who  loitered  about  the  horsekeeper's  stables,  and  drove  the  London 
coaches— a  stage  in  and  out — and  might  be  seen  swaggering  through 
the  courts  in  pink  of  early  mornuigs,  and  indulged  in  dice  and  blind- 
hookey  at  nights,  and  never  missed  a  race  or  a  boxing-match  ;  and 
rode  flat-races,  and  kept  bull-terriers.  Worse  Snobs  even  than  these 
were  poor  miserable  wretches  who  did  not  like  hunting  at  all,  and 
could  not  aff()rd  it,  and  were  in  mortal  fear  at  a  two-feet  ditch  ;  but 
who  hunted  because  Glenlivat  and  Cincjljars  hunted.  The  Billiard 
Snob  and  the  Boating  Snob  were  varieties  of  these,  and  are  to  be 
found  elsewhere  tlian  in  universities. 
25 


.'J.lfi  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

Then  tliere  were  Pliilosuphi(;al  Suob-s,  who  used  to  ape  statesmen 
at  the  spouting-chibs,  and  who  believed  as  a  fact  that  Government 
always  had  an  eye  on  the  University  for  the  selection  of  orators  for 
the  House  of  Commons.  There  were  audacious  young  free-thinkers, 
who  adored  nobody  or  nothing,  except  perhaps  Robespierre  and  the 
Koran,  and  panted  for  the  day  when  tlie  jjalc  name  of  priest  should 
slirink  and  dwindle  away  liefore  the  indignation  of  an  enlightened 
world. 

But  the  worst  of  all  University  Snolis  are  those  unfortunates 
who  go  to  rack  and  ruin  from  their  desire  to  ape  their  betters. 
Smith  becomes  a(;quainted  with  great  people  at  college,  and  is 
ashamed  of  his  father  the  tradesman.  Jones  has  fine  acquaintances, 
and  lives  after  their  fashion  like  a  gay  free-hearted  fellow  as  he  is, 
and  ruins  his  father,  and  robs  his  sister's  portion,  and  cripples  his 
younger  brother's  outset  in  life,  for  the  pleasure  of  entertaining  my 
lord,  and  riding  by  the  side  of  Sir  John.  And  though  it  may  be 
very  good  fun  for  Robinson  to  fuddle  himself  at  home  as  he  does  at 
College,  and  to  be  brought  home  by  the  policeman  he  has  just  been 
trying  to  knock  down — think  what  fun  it  is  for  the  poor  old  soul 
his  mother  ! — the  half-pay  captain's  widow,  who  has  been  pinching 
herself  all  her  life  long,  in  onler  that  that  jolly  young  fellow  might 
have  a  University  education. 


CHAPTER    XVI 

ON   LITERARY    SNOBS 

WHAT  Avill  he  say  about  Literary  Snobs?  has  been  a 
question,  I  make  no  doubt,  often  asked  by  the  public. 
How  can  he  let  off  his  own  jirofessiou  1  Will  that  trucu- 
lent and  unsparing  monster  who  attacks  the  nobility,  the  clergy,  the 
army,  and  the  ladies,  indiscriminately,  hesitate  when  the  turn  conies 
to  egorger  his  own  tiesh  and  blood  % 

My  dear  and  excellent  querist,  wliom  does  the  schoolmaster  flog 
so  resolutely  as  his  own  son  %  Didn't  Brutus  chop  his  oft'spring's 
head  off?  You  have  a  very  bad  opinion  indeed  of  the  present  state 
of  literature  and  of  literary  men,  if  you  fancy  that  any  one  of  us 
would  hesitate  to  stick  a  knife  into  his  neighbour  penman,  if  the 
latter's  death  could  do  the  State  any  service. 

But  the  fiict  is,  that  in  the  literary  profession  theke  are  no 
Snobs.  Look  round  at  the  whole  body  of  Britisli  men  of  letters, 
and  I  defy  you  to  point  out  among  them  a  single  instance  of 
vulgarity,  or  envy,  or  assumption. 

Men  and  women,  as  far  as  I  have  known  them,  they  are  all 
modest  in  tlieir  demeanour,  elegant  in  their  manners,  spotless  in 
their  lives,  and  honourable  in  their  conduct  to  the  world  and  to  each 
other.  You  may  occasionally,  it  is  true,  hear  one  literary  man 
abusing  his  brother :  but  why  ?  Not  in  the  least  out  of  malice ; 
not  at  all  from  envy  ;  merely  from  a  sense  of  truth  and  public  duty. 
Suppose,  for  instance,  I  good-naturedly  point  out  a  blemish  in  my 
friend  Mr.  Fundi  s  person,  and  say,  Mr.  F.  has  a  hump-back,  and 
his  nose  and  chin  are  more  crooked  than  those  features  in  the  Apollo 
or  Antinous,  which  Ave  are  accustomed  to  consider  as  our  standards 
of  beauty  :  docs  this  argue  malice  on  my  part  towards  Mr.  Funch  ? 
Not  in  the  least.  It  is  the  critic's  duty  to  point  out  defects  as 
well  as  merits,  and  he  invariably  docs  his  duty  with  the  utmost 
gentleness  and  candour. 

An  intelligent  foreigner's  testimony  about  our  manners  is  always 
worth  liaving,  and  I  think,  in  this  respect,  the  work  of  an  eminent 
American,  Mr.  N.  P.  AVillis,  is  eminently  valuable  and  impartial. 
In   his    "History   of  Ernest   Clay,"   a  (;rack   magazine-writer,  the 


358  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

reader  Avill  get  an  exact  account  of  tlie  life  of  a  popular  man  of 
letters  in  England.     He  is  always  the  great  lion  of  ^ciety. 

He  takes  the  2><is  of  dukes  and  earls ;  all  the  nobility  crowd  to 
see  him :  I  forget  how  many  baronesses  and  duchesses  fall  in  love 
with  him.  But  on  this  subject  let  us  hold  oiu-  tongues.  Modesty 
forbids  that  we  should  reveal  the  names  of  the  heartbroken  coun- 
tesses and  dear  marchionesses  who  are  pining  for  every  one  of  the 
contributors  in  Punch. 

If  anybody  wants  to  know  how  intimately  authors  are  connected 
with  the  fashionable  world,  they  have  but  to  read  the  genteel  novels. 
What  refinement  and  delicacy  pervades  the  works  of  Mrs.  Barnaby  ! 
What  delightful  good  company  do  you  meet  with  in  Mrs.  Armytage ! 
She  seldom  introduces  you  to  anybody  under  a  marquis !  I  don't 
know  anything  more  delicious  than  the  pictures  of  genteel  life  in 
"Ten  Thousand  a  Year,"  except  perhaps  the  "Young  Duke,"  and 
"  Coningsby."  There's  a  modest  grace  about  them,  and  an  air  of 
easy  high  fashion,  which  only  belongs  to  blood,  my  dear  sir — to 
true  blood. 

And  what  linguists  many  of  our  writers  are  !  Lady  Bulwer, 
Lady  Londonderry,  Sir  Edward  himself— they  write  the  French 
language  with  a  luxurious  elegance  and  ease  which  sets  them  far 
above  their  continental  rivals,  of  whom  not  one  (except  Paul  de 
Kock)  knows  a  word  of  English. 

And  what  Briton  can  read  without  enjoyment  the  works  of 
James,  so  admirable  for  terseness ;  and  the  playful  humour  and 
dazzhng  off-hand  lightness  of  Ainsworth  1  Among  other  humourists, 
one  might  glance  at  a  Jerrold,  the  chivalrous  advocate  of  Toryism 
and  Church  and  State ;  an  k  Beckett,  with  a  lightsome  pen,  but  a 
savage  earnestness  of  purpose ;  a  Jeames,  Avhose  pure  style,  and  wit 
unmingled  with  buffoonery,  was  relished  by  a  congenial  public. 

Speaking  of  critics,  perhaps  there  never  was  a  review  that  has 
done  so  much  for  literature  as  the  admirable  Quarterhj.  It  has  its 
prejudices,  to  be  sure,  as  which  of  us  has  not  1  It  goes  out  of  its 
way  to  abuse  a  great  man,  or  lays  mercilessly  on  to  such  pretenders 
as  Keats  and  Tennyson;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  the  friend  of  all 
young  authors,  and  has  marked  and  nurtured  all  the  rising  talent  of 
the  country.  It  is  loved  by  everybody.  There,  again,  is  Black- 
wood's  Magazine — conspicuous  for  modest  elegance  and  amiable 
satire ;  that  review  never  passes  the  bounds  of  politeness  in  a  joke. 
It  is  the  arbiter  of  manners ;  and,  while  gently  exposing  the  foibles 
of  Londoners  (for  whom  the  beaux  esprits  of  Edinburgh  entertain 
a  justifiable  contempt),  it  is  never  coarse  in  its  fun.  The  fiery 
enthusiasm  of  the  Athenceum  is  well  known;  and  the  bitter  wit 
of  the  too  difficult  Literary  Gazette.     The  Examiner  is  perhaps 


ON    LITERARY    SNOBS  359 

too  timid,  and  the  Spectator  too  boisterous  in  its  praise — but  who 
can  carp  at  these  minor  faults  %  No,  no ;  the  critics  of  England 
and  the  autliors  of  England  are  unrivalled  as  a  body ;  and  hence 
it  becomes  impossible  for  us  to  find  fault  with  them. 

Above  all,  I  never  knew  a  man  of  letters  ashamed  of  his  jiro- 
fession.  Those  who  know  us,'  know  what  an  affectionate  and 
brotherly  spirit  there  is  among  us  all.  Sometimes  one  of  us  rises 
in  the  world :  we  never  attack  him  or  sneer  at  him  under  those 
circumstances,  but  rejoice  to  a  man  at  his  success.  If  Jones  dines 
with  a  lord,  Smith  never  says  Jones  is  a  courtier  and  cringer.  Nor, 
on  the  other  hand,  docs  Jones,  who  is  in  the  habit  of  frequenting 
the  society  of  great  people,  give  himself  any  airs  on  account  of  the 
company  he  keeps ;  but  will  leave  a  duke's  arm  in  Pall  Mall  to 
come  over  and  speak  to  poor  Brown,  the  young  penny-a-liner. 

That  sense  of  equality  and  fraternity  amongst  authors  has  always 
struck  me  as  one  of  the  most  amiable  characteristics  of  the  class. 
It  is  because  we  know  and  respect  each  other,  that  the  world 
respects  us  so  much  ;  that  we  hold  such  a  good  position  in  society, 
and  demean  ourselves  so  irreproachably  when  there. 

Literary  persons  are  held  in  sucli  esteem  by  the  nation,  that 
about  two  of  them  have  been  absolutely  invited  to  Court  during  the 
present  reign ;  and  it  is  probable  that  towards  the  end  of  the  season 
one  or  two  will  be  asked  to  dinner  by  Sir  Robert  Peel. 

They  are  such  favourites  with  the  public,  that  they  are  con- 
tinually obliged  to  have  their  pictures  taken  and  published ;  and 
one  or  two  could  be  pointed  out,  of  whom  the  nation  insists  upon 
having  a  fresh  portrait  every  year.  Nothing  can  be  more  gratifying 
than  this  proof  of  the  affectionate  regard  which  the  people  has  for 
its  instructors. 

Literature  is  held  in  such  honour  in  England,  that  there  is  a 
sum  of  near  twelve  hundred  pounds  per  annum  set  apart  to  pension 
deserving  persons  following  that  profession.  And  a  great  compli- 
ment this  is,  too,  to  the  professors,  and  a  proof  of  their  generally 
prosperous  and  flourishing  condition.  They  are  generally  so  rich 
and  thrifty,  that  scarcely  any  money  is  wanted  to  help  them. 

If  every  word  of  this  is  true,  how,  I  should  like  to  know,  am  I 
to  write  about  Literary  Snobs  ? 


CHAPTER  XVII 

A  LITTLE  ABOUT  IRISH  SNOBS 

YOU  do  not,  to  be  sure,  imagine  tliat  there  are  no  other  Snobs 
in  Ireland  than  those  of  the  amiable  party  who  wish  to  make 
pikes  of  iron  railroads  (it's  a  fine  Irish  economy),  and  to  cut 
the  throats  of  the  Saxon  invaders.  These  are  of  the  venomous  sort; 
and  had  they  been  invented  in  his  time,  St.  Patrick  would  have 
banished  them  out  of  the  kingdom  along  with  the  otlier  dangerous 
reptiles. 

I  think  it  is  the  Four  Masters,  or  else  it's  Glaus  Magnus,  or 
else  it's  certainly  O'jSTeill  Daunt,  in  the  "Catechism  of  Irish 
History,"  who  relates  that  when  Richard  the  Second  came  to 
Ireland,  and  the  Irish  chiefs  did  homage  to  him,  going  down  on 
their  knees — the  poor  simple  creatures ! — and  worshipping  and 
wondering  before  the  English  king  and  the  dandies  of  his  Court, 
my  lords  the  English  noblemen  mocked  and  jeered  at  their  uncouth 
Irish  admirers,  mimicked  their  talk  and  gestures,  pulled  their  poor 
old  beards,  and  laughed  at  the  strange  fashion  of  their  garments. 

The  Englisli  Snob  rampant  always  does  this  to  the  present  day. 
There  is  no  Snob  in  existence,  perhaps,  that  has  such  an  indomitable 
belief  in  himself:  that  sneers  you  down  all  the  rest  of  the  world 
besides,  and  has  such  an  insufferable,  admirable,  stupid  contempt  for 
all  people  but  his  own — nay,  for  all  sets  but  his  own.  "Gwacious 
Gad  ! "  what  stories  about  "  the  Iwish  "  these  young  dandies  ac- 
companying King  Richard  must  have  had  to  tell,  when  they  returned 
to  Pall  Mall,  and  smoked  their  cigars  upon  the  steps  of  "  White's  "  ! 

The  Irish  snobbisliness  develops  itself  not  in  pride  so  much  as 
in  servility  and  mean  admirations,  and  trumpery  imitations  of  their 
neighbours.  And  I  wonder  De  Tocqueville  and  De  Beaumont,  and 
the  Times  Commissioner,  did  not  explain  the  Snobbishness  of 
Ireland  as  contrasted  with  our  own.  Ours  is  that  of  Richard's 
Xorman  Kniglits,— haughty,  brutal,  stupid,  and  perfectly  self-con- 
fident ; — theirs,  of  the  poor,  wondering,  kneeling,  simple  chieftains. 
They  are  on  their  knees  still  before  English  fashion — these  simple, 
wild  people;  and  indeed  it  is  hard  not  to  grin  at  some  of  their 
naive  exhibitions. 


A    LITTLE    ABOUT    IRLSH    SNOBS  361 

Some  years  since,  wlien  a  certain  great  orator  was  Lord  Mayor 
of  Dublin,  he  used  to  wear  a  red  gown  and  a  cocked  hat,  the 
splendour  of  which  delighted  him  as  much  as  a  new  curtain-ring  in 
her  nose  or  a  string  of  glass-beads  round  her  neck  charms  Queen 
Quasheeneaboo.  He  used  to  pay  visits  to  people  in  this  dress ;  to' 
appear  at  meetings  hundreds  of  miles  off  in  the  red  velvet  gown. 
And  to  hear  the  people  crying,  "  Yes,  me  Lard  ! "  and  "  No,  me 
Lard  I  "  and  to  read  the  prodigious  accounts  of  his  Lordship  in  the 
papers  :  it  seemed  as  if  tlie  people  and  he  liked  to  be  taken  in  by 
this  twopenny  splendour.  Twopenny  magnificence,  indeed,  exists 
all  over  Ireland,  and  may  be  considered  as  the  great  characteristic 
of  the  Snobbishness  of  that  country. 

When  Mrs.  Mulholligan,  the  grocer's  lady,  retires  to  Kingstown, 
she  has  "  Mulholliganville  "  i)ainted  over  the  gate  of  her  villa ;  and 
receives  you  at  a  door  that  won't  shut,  or  gazes  at  you  out  of  a 
window  that  is  glazed  with  an  old  petticoat. 

Be  it  ever  so  shabby  and  dismal,  nobody  ever  owns  to  keeping 
a  shop.  A  fellow  whose  stock  in  trade  is  a  penny  roll  or  a  tumbler 
of  lollipops,  calls  his  cabin  the  '"American  Flour  Stores,"  or  the 
"  Depository  for  Colonial  Produce,"  or  some  such  name. 

As  for  Inns,  there  are  none  in  the  country ;  Hotels  abound,  as 
well  furnished  as  Mulholliganville  ;  but  again  there  are  no  such 
peojjle  as  landlords  and  landladies  :  the  landlord  is  out  with  the 
hounds,  and  my  Lady  in  the  parlour  talking  with  the  Captain  or 
playing  the  piano. 

If  a  gentleman  has  a  hundred  a  year  to  leave  to  his  family  they 
all  become  gentlemen,  all  keep  a  nag,  ride  to  hounds,  and  swagger 
about  in  the  "  Phaynix,"  and  grow  tufts  to  tlieir  ciiins  like  so  many 
real  aristocrats. 

A  friend  of  mine  has  taken  to  be  a  painter,  and  lives  out  of 
Ireland,  where  he  is  considered  to  have  disgraced  the  family  by 
choosing  such  a  profession.  His  father  is  a  wine-merchant ;  and 
his  elder  brother  an  apothecary. 

The  number  of  men  one  meets  in  London  and  on  the  Continent 
who  have  a  pretty  little  jiroperty  of  five-and-twenty  hundred  a  year 
in  Ireland  is  jirodigious  :  those  who  will  have  nine  thousand  a  year 
in  land  when  somebody  dies  are  still  more  numerous.  I  myself 
have  met  as  many  descendants  from  Irish  kings  as  would  form  a 
brigade. 

And  who  has  not  met  the  Irishman  who  apes  the  Englishman, 
and  who  forgets  his  country,  and  tries  to  forget  his  accent,  or  to 
smother  the  taste  of  it,  as  it  were  ?  "  Come,  dine  with  me,  my 
boy,"  says  O'Dowd,  of  O'Dowdstown  :  "  you'll  Jind  tis  all  Enc/lish 
there ;  "  which  he  tells  you  with  a  brogue  as  broad  as  from  here  to 


362  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

Kiiiiistnwii  Pier.  And  did  you  never  hear  Mrs.  Captain  Macmanus 
talk  about  "  I-ah-land,"  and  her  account  of  her  "fawtlier's  esteet  "  ? 
Very  few  men  have  rubbed  through  the  world  witliout  hearing  and 
witnessing  some  of  these  Hibernian  phenomena— these  twopenny 
splendours. 

And  what  say  you  to  the  summit  of  society— the  Castle — witli 
sham  king,  and  sham  lords-in-waiting,  and  sham  loyalty,  and  a  sham 
Haroun  Alraschid,  to  go  about  in  a  sham  disguise,  making  believt- 
to  be  affable  and  splendid  1  That  Castle  is  the  pink  and  pride  of 
Snobbishness.  A  Cou?-t  Circular  is  bad  enough,  with  two  columns 
of  print  about  a  little  baby  that's  christened— but  think  of  people 
liking  a  sham  Court  Circular  ! 

I  think  tlie  shams  of  Ireland  are  more  outrageous  than  those  of 
any  country.  A  fellow  shows  you  a  hill  and  says,  "  That's  the 
highest  mountain  in  all  Ireland ; "  or  a  gentleman  tells  you  he  is 
descended  from  Brian  Boroo,  and  has  his  five-and-thirty  hundred 
a  year ;  or  Mrs.  Macmanus  describes  her  fawtlier's  esteet ;  or  ould 
Dan  rises  and  says  the  Irish  women  are  the  loveliest,  the  Irish  men 
the  bravest,  the  Irish  land  the  most  fertile  in  the  world :  and 
nobody  believes  anybody— the  latter  doesn't  believe  his  story  nor 
the  hearer : — but  they  make-believe  to  believe,  and  solemnly  do 
honour  to  humbug. 

0  Ireland  !  0  my  country  !  (for  I  make  little  doubt  that  I  am 
descended  from  Brian  Boroo  too)  when  will  you  acknowledge  that 
two  and  two  make  four,  and  call  a  pikestaff  a  pikestaft"? — that  is 
the  very  best  use  you  can  make  of  the  latter.  Irish  snobs  will 
dwindle  away  then,  and  we  shall  never  hear  tell  of  Hereditary 
Bondsmen. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

PARTY-GIVING    SNOBS 

OUR  selection  of  Suobs  has  lately  been  too  exclusively  of  a 
political  character.  "  Give  us  private  Snobs,"  cry  the  dear 
ladies.  (I  have  before  me  the  letter  of  one  fair  correspond- 
ent of  the  fishing  village  of  Brighthelmstoue  in  Sussex,  and  could 
her  commands  ever  be  disobeyed  ?)  "  Tell  us  more,  dear  Mr.  Snob, 
about  your  experience  of  Snobs  in  society."  Heaven  bless  the  dear 
souls  ! — they  are  accustomed  to  the  word  now — the  odious,  vulgar, 
horrid,  unpronounceable  word  slips  out  of  their  lips  with  the  prettiest 
glibuess  possible.  I  should  not  wonder  if  it  were  used  at  Court 
amongst  the  Maids  of  Honoiu".  In  the  very  best  society  I  know 
it  is.  And  why  not  1  Snobbishness  is  vulgar — the  mere  words  are 
not :  that  which  we  call  a  Snob,  by  any  other  name  would  still  be 
Snobbish. 

Well,  then.  As  the  season  is  drawing  to  a  close  :  as  many 
hundreds  of  kind  souls,  snobbish  or  otherwise,  have  quitted  London  ; 
as  many  hospitable  carpets  are  taken  up ;  and  window- blinds  are 
pitilessly  papered  with  the  Morning  Herald;  and  mansions  once 
inhabited  by  cheerful  owners  are  now  consigned  to  the  care  of  the 
housekeeper's  dreary  locum  tenens — some  mouldy  old  woman  who, 
in  reply  to  the  hopeless  clanging  of  the  bell,  peers  at  you  for  a 
moment  from  the  area,  and  then  slowly  unbolting  the  great  hall- 
door,  informs  you  my  Lady  has  left  town,  or  that  "  the  family's  in 
the  country,"  or  "gone  up  the  Rind," — -or  what  not :  as  the  season 
and  parties  are  over,  why  not  consider  Party-giving  Snobs  for  a 
while,  and  review  the  conduct  of  some  of  those  individuals  who 
have  quitted  the  town  for  six  months  ? 

Some  of  those  worthy  Snobs  are  making-believe  to  go  yachting, 
and,  dressed  in  telescopes  and  pea-jackets,  are  passing  their  time 
between  Cherbourg  and  Cowes ;  some  living  higgledy-piggledy  in 
dismal  little  huts  in  Scotland,  provisioned  with  canisters  of  portable 
soup,  and  fricandeaux  hermetically  sealed  in  tin,  are  passing  their 
days  slaughtering  grouse  on  the  moors  ;  some  are  dozing  and  bathing 
away  the  effects  of  the  season  at  Kissingen,  or  watching  the  ingenious 
game  of  trcnte-et-qiiarante  at  Hombourg  and  Ems.     Wc  can  afford 


3(U  THE    BOOK    OF  SNOBS 

to  be  very  bitter  upon  them  now  they  are  all  gone.  Now  there  are 
no  more  parties,  let  us  have  at  the  Party-giving  Snobs.  The  dinner- 
giving,  the  ball-giving,  the  dejeutier-giy'mg,  the  conversaztonc-giv'mg 
Snobs — Lord  !  Lord !  what  havoc  might  have  been  made  amongst 
them  had  we  attacked  them  during  the  plethora  of  the  season  !  I 
sliould  have  been  obliged  to  have  a  guard  to  defend  me  from  fiddlers 
and  pastrycooks,  indignant  at  the  abuse  of  their  i)atroiis.  Already 
I'm  told  that,  from  some  flippant  and  unguarded  exi)ressions  con- 
sidered derogatory  to  Baker  Street  and  Harley  Street,  rents  have 
fallen  in  these  resjjectable  quarters ;  and  orders  have  been  issued 
that  at  least  Mr,  Snob  shall  be  asked  to  parties  there  no  more. 
Well,  then — now  they  are  all  away,  let  us  frisk  at  our  ease,  and 
have  at  everything,  like  the  bull  in  the  china-shop.  They  mayn't 
hear  of  what  is  going  on  in  their  absence,  and,  if  they  do,  they  can't 
bear  malice  for  six  months.  We  will  begin  to  make  it  up  with  them 
about  next  February,  and  let  next  year  take  care  of  itself.  We 
sliall  have  no  more  dinners  from  the  dinner-giving  Snobs  :  no  more 
balls  from  the  ball-givers :  no  more  conversaziones  (thank  Mussy  ! 
as  Jeames  says)  from  the  Conversazione  Snob :  and  what  is  to 
prevent  us  from  telling  the  truth  ■? 

The  snobbishness  of  Conversazione  Snobs  is  very  soon  disposed 
of:  as  soon  as  that  cup  of  washy  bohea  that  is  handed  to  you  in 
the  tea-room ;  or  the  muddy  remnant  of  ice  that  you  grasp  in  the 
suffocating  scufiie  of  the  assembly  upstairs. 

Good  heavens  !  What  do  people  mean  by  going  there  ?  What 
is  done  there,  that  everybody  throngs  into  those  three  little  rooms  ? 
Was  the  Black  Hole  considered  to  l^e  an  agreeable  reunion,  that 
Britons  in  the  dog-days  here  seek  to  imitate  if?  After  being 
rammed  to  a  jelly  in  a  doorway  (where  you  feel  your  feet  going 
through  Lady  Barbara  Macbeth's  lace  flounces,  and  get  a  look  from 
that  haggard  and  painted  old  harpy,  compared  to  which  the  gaze  of 
Ugolino  is  quite  cheerful) ;  after  withdrawing  your  elbow  out  of  poor 
gasping  Bob  Guttleton's  white  waistcoat,  from  which  cushion  it  was 
impossible  to  remove  it,  though  you  knew  you  were  squeezing  poor 
Bob  into  an  apoplexy — you  find  yourself  at  last  in  the  reception- 
room,  and  try  to  catcli  the  eye  of  Mrs,  Botibol,  the  conversazione- 
giver.  When  you  catch  her  eye  you  are  expected  to  grin,  and  she 
smiles  too,  for  the  four  hundredth  time  that  night ;  and,  if  she's 
very  glad  to  see  you,  waggles  her  little  hand  before  her  face  as  if  to 
blow  you  a  kiss,  as  the  ])!n-ase  is. 

Why  the  deuce  should  Mrs.  Botibol  blow  me  a  kiss  1  I  wouldn't 
kiss  her  for  the  world.  Why  do  I  grin  when  I  see  her,  as  if  I  was 
delighted ?  Am  II  I  don't  care  a  straw  for  ]Mrs.  Botibol.  I  know 
what  .she  thinks  about  me,     I  know  what  she  said  about  my  last 


PARTY-GIVING    SNOBS  S65 

volume  !•)£  poems  (I  had  it  from  a  dear  mutual  friend).  Why,  I 
say  in  a  word,  are  vre  goiug  on  ogling  and  telegraphing  each  other 
in  this  insane  way? — Because  we  are  both  performing  the  cere- 
monies demanded  by  the  Great  Snob  Society  ;  whose  dictates  we  all 
of  us  obey. 

Well :  the  recognition  is  over — my  jaws  hare  returned  to  their 
usual  English  expression  of  subdued  agony  and  intense  gloom,  and 
the  Botibol  is  grinning  and  kissing  her  fingers  to  somebody  else,  who 
is  squeezing  througii  the  aperture  by  which  we  have  just  entered. 
It  is  Lady  Ann  Clutterbuck,  who  has  her  Friday  evenings,  as 
Botibol  (Botty,  we  call  her)  has  her  AVednesdays.  That  is  Miss 
Clementina  Clutterbuck,  the  cadaverous  young  woman  in  green, 
with  florid  auburn  hair,  who  has  published  her  volume  of  poems 
("The  Death-Shriek;"  "Damiens;"  "The  Faggot  of  Joan  of 
Arc;"  and  "Translations  from  the  German" — of  course).  The 
conversazione-women  salute  each  other,  calling  each  other  "My 
dear  Lady  Ann  "  and  "  My  dear  good  Eliza,"  and  hating  each  other, 
as  women  hate  who  give  parties  on  Wednesdays  and  Fridays, 
With  inexpressible  pain  dear  good  Eliza  sees  Ami  go  up  and  coax 
and  wheedle  Abou  Gosh,  who  has  just  anived  from  Syria,  and 
beg  him  to  patronise  her  Fridays. 

All  this  while,  amidst  the  crowd  and  the  scutfle,  and  a  perpetual 
buzz  and  chatter,  and  the  flare  of  the  wax-candles,  and  an  intoler- 
able smell  of  musk — -what  the  poor  Snobs  who  write  foshionable 
romances  call  "  the  gleam  of  gems,  the  odour  of  perfumes,  the  blaze 
of  countless  lamps  " — a  scrubby -looking,  yellow-faced  foreigner,  with 
cleaned  gloves,  is  warbling  inaudibly  in  a  corner,  to  the  accompani- 
ment of  another.  "The  Great  Cacafogo,"  Mrs.  Botibol  whispers, 
as  she  passes  you  by,  "  A  great  creature,  Thumpenstrumpff,  is  at 
the  instrument — the  Hetmau  Platoft's  pianist,  you  know." 

To  hear  this  Cacafogo  and  Thumpenstrumpff,  a  hundred  people 
arc  gathered  together — a  bevy  of  dowagers,  stout  or  scraggy ;  a 
faint  sprinkling  of  misses  ;  six  moody-looking  Lords,  perfectly  meek 
and  solemn ;  wonderful  foreign  Counts,  with  bushy  whiskers  and 
yellow  faces,  and  a  great  deal  of  dubious  jewellery ;  young  dandies 
with  slim  waists  and  open  necks,  and  self-satisfied  simpers,  and 
flowers  in  their  buttons ;  the  old,  stift',  stout,  bald-headed  conver- 
sazione roms,  whom  you  meet  everywhere — who  never  miss  a  night 
of  this  delicious  enjoyment ;  the  three  last-cauglit  lions  of  the  season 
— Higgs  the  traveller,  Biggs  the  novelist,  and  Toffey,  who  has  come 
out  so  on  the  Sugar  question ;  Captain  Flash,  who  is  invited  on 
account  of  his  pretty  wife ;  and  Lord  Ogleby,  who  goes  wherever 
she  goes.  Q%lc  scais-je  ?  Who  are  the  owners  of  all  those  showy 
scarfs  and  white  neckcloths  ?— Ask  little  Tom  Prig,  who  is  there 


366  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

ill  all  his  ylory,  knows  everybody,  has  a  story  about  every  one  ;  and, 
as  he  trii)s  home  to  his  lodgings  in  Jerniyn  Street,  with  his  gibus- 
hat  and  his  little  glazed  pumps,  thinks  he  is  the  fashionablest  young 
fellow  ill  town,  and  that  he  really  has  passed  a  night  of  ex(i[uisit(i 
enjoyment. 

You  go  \\\)  (with  your  usual  easy  elegance  of  manner)  and  talk 
to  Miss  Smith  in  a  corner.  "  Oh,  Mr.  Snoli,  I'm  afraid  you're  sadly 
satirical." 

That's  all  she  says.  If  you  say  it's  fine  weather,  she  bursts  out 
laughing ;  or  hint  that  it's  very  hot,  she  vows  you  are  the  drollest 
wretch  !  Meanwhile  Mrs.  Botibol  is  simpering  on  fresh  arrivals  ; 
the  individual  at  the  door  is  roaring  out  their  names  ;  jioor  Cacafogo 
is  quavering  away  in  the  music-room,  under  the  impression  that  he 
will  be  lance  in  the  world  by  singing  inaudibly  here.  And  what  a 
blessing  it  is  to  squeeze  out  of  the  door,  and  into  the  street,  where 
a  half-hnndred  of  carriages  are  in  waiting ;  and  where  the  link-boy, 
with  that  unnecessary  lantern  of  his,  pounces  upon  all  who  issue  out, 
and  will  insist  upon  getting  your  noble  honour's  Lordship's  cab. 

And  to  think  that  there  are  peo|)le  who,  after  having  been  to 
Botibol  on  Wednesday,  will  go  to  Clutterbuck  on  Friday ! 


CHAPTER  XIX 

DINING-OUT   SNOBS 

IN  England  Dinner-giving  Snobs  occupy  a  very  important  place  iu 
society,  and  the  task  of  describing  them  is  tremendous.  There 
was  a  time  in  my  life  when  the  consciousness  of  having  eaten  a 
man's  salt  rendered  me  dumb  regarding  his  demerits,  and  I  thought 
it  a  wicked  act  and  a  breach  of  hospitality  to  speak  ill  of  him. 

But  why  should  a  saddle-of-mutton  blind  you,  or  a  turbot  and 
lobster-sauce  shut  your  mouth  for  ever?  With  advancing  age,  men 
see  their  duties  more  clearly.  I  am  not  to  be  hoodwinked  any 
longer  by  a  slice  of  venison,  be  it  ever  so  ftit ;  and  as  for  being 
dumb  on  account  of  turbot  and  lobster-sauce — of  course  I  am  : 
good  manners  ordain  that  I  should  be  so,  until  I  have  swallowed 
the  compound — but  not  afterwards ;  directly  the  victuals  are  dis- 
cussed, and  John  takes  away  the  plate,  my  tongue  begins  to  wag. 
Does  not  yours,  if  you  have  a  pleasant  neighbour'?- — a  lovely 
creature,  say,  of  some  five-and-thirty,  whose  daughters  have  not 
yet  quite  come  out — they  are  the  best  talkers.'  As  for  your  young 
misses,  they  are  only  put  about  the  table  to  look  at— like  the 
flowers  in  the  centre-piece.  Their  blushing  youth  and  natural 
modesty  preclude  them  from  that  easy,  confidential,  conversational 
abandon  which  forms  the  delight  of  the  intercourse  with  their  dear 
mothers.  It  is  to  these,  if  he  would  prosper  in  his  profession,  that 
the  Dining-out  Snob  should  address  himself.  Suppose  you  sit  next 
to  one  of  these,  how  pleasant  it  is,  in  the  intervals  of  the  banquet, 
actually  to  abuse  the  victuals  and  the  giver  of  the  entertainment ! 
It's  twice  as  jnquant  to  make  fun  of  a  man  under  his  very  nose. 

"  What  is  a  Dinner-giving  Snob  1 "  some  innocent  youth,  who 
is  not  y^ipandu  in  the  world,  may  ask — or  some  simple  reader  who 
has  not  the  benefits  of  London  experience. 

My  dear  sir,  I  will  show  you — not  all,  for  that  is  impossible 
— but  several  kinds  of  Dinner-giving  Snobs.  For  instance,  suppose 
you,  in  the  middle  rank  of  life,  accustomed  to  Mutton,  roast  on 
Tuesday,  cold  on  Wednesday,  hashed  on  Thursday,  &c.,  with  small 
means  and  a  small  establishment,  choose  to  waste  the  former  and 
set  the  latter   topsy-turvy  by  giving  entertainments   unnaturally 


36s  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

costly, — you  come  into  the  Duuier-<,dving  Snob  class  at  once.  Sup- 
pose you  get  in  cheap  made-dishes  from  the  pastrycook's,  and  liire 
a  couple  of  greengrocers,  or  carpet-heaters,  to  figure  as  footmen, 
dismissing  honest  Molly,  who  waits  on  common  days,  and  bedizening 
your  table  (ordinarily  ornamented  with  willow-pattern  crockery)  with 
twopenny-halfpenny  Birmingliam  ])late.  Suppose  you  pretend  to 
be  richer  and  grander  than  you  ought  to  be — you  are  a  Dinner- 
giving  Snob.  And  ol),  I  tremble  to  think  how  many  and  many 
a  one  will  read  this  ! 

A  man  who  entertains  in  this  way — and,  alas,  how  few  do  not  ! 
— is  like  a  fellow  who  would  borrow  his  neighbour's  coat  to  make  a 
show  in,  or  a  lady  who  flaunts  in  the  diamonds  from  next  door — 
a  humbug,  in  a  word,  and  amongst  the  Snobs  he  must  be  set  down. 

A  man  who  goes  out  of  his  natural  sphere  of  society  to  ask 
Lords,  Generals,  Aldermen,  and  otlier  persons  of  fashion,  but  i& 
niggardly  of  his  hospitality  towards  his  own  equals,  is  a  Dinner- 
giving  Snob.  My  dear  friend,  Jack  Tufthunt,  for  example,  knows  one 
Lord  whom  he  met  at  a  watering-place  :  old  Lord  Mumble,  w)io  is  as. 
toothless  as  a  three-months-old-baby,  and  as  mum  as  an  undertaker, 
and  as  dull  as — well,  wc  will  not  particularise.  Tufthunt  never  has 
a  dinner  now  but  you  see  this  solemn  old  toothless  jtatrician  at  the 
right-hand  of  Mrs.  Tufthunt — Tufthunt  is  a  Dinner-giving  Snob. 

Old  Livermore,  old  Soy,  old  Chutney,  the  East  Lidian  Director, 
old  Cutler  the  Surgeon,  &c., — that  society  of  old  fogies,  in  fine, 
who  give  each  other  dinners  round  and  round,  and  dine  for  the 
mere  purpose  of  guttling — these,  again,  are  Dinner-giving  Snobs. 

Again,  my  friend  Lady  MacScrew,  who  has  three  grenadier 
flunkeys  in  lace  round  the  table,  and  serves  up  a  scrag-of-nuitton 
on  silver,  and  dribbles  you  out  bad  sherry  and  port  by  thimblefuls 
is  -a  Dinner-giving  Snob  of  the  other  sort ;  and  I  confess,  for  my 
part,  I  would  rather  dine  with  old  Livermore  or  old  Soy  than  with 
hur  Ladyship. 

Stinginess  is  snobbish.  Ostentation  is  snobbish.  Too  great 
profusion  is  snobbish.  Tuft-hunting  is  snobbish.  But  I  own  there 
are  people  more  snobbish  than  all  those  wdiose  defects  are  above 
mentioned  :  viz.,  those  individuals  who  can,  and  don't  give  dinners  at 
all.  The  man  without  hospitality  sliall  never  sit  sub  iisdern  tra- 
bibus  with  me.     Let  the  sordid  wretch  go  mumble  his  bone  alone  ! 

What,  again,  is  true  hospitality  1  Alas,  my  dear  friends  and 
brother  Snobs  !  how  little  do  we  meet  of  it  after  all !  Are  the 
motives  pure  which  induce  your  friends  to  ask  you  to  dinner? 
This  has  often  come  across  me.  Does  your  entertainer  want  some- 
thing from  you  1  ^ox  instance,  I  am  not  of  a  suspicious  turn  : 
but  it  is  a  fact  that  wdicn  Hookev  is  bringing  out  a  new  work,  he 


DINING-OUT    SNOBS  36() 

asks  the  critics  all  round  to  dinner ;  that  when  Walker  has  got 
his  picture  ready  for  the  exhibition,  he  somehow  grows  exceedingly 
hospitable,  and  has  his  friends  of  the  press  to  a  quiet  cutlet  and 
a  glass  of  Sillery.  Old  Hunks,  the  miser,  who  died  lately  (leaving 
his  money  to  his  housekeeper)  lived  many  years  on  the  fat  of  the 
land,  by  simply  taking  down,*  at  all  his  friends',  the  names  and 
Christian  names  of  all  the  children.  But  though  you  may  have 
your  own  opinion  about  the  hospitality  of  your  acquaintances  ;  and 
though  men  who  ask  you  from  sordid  motives  are  most  decidedly 
Dinner-giving  Snobs,  it  is  best  not  to  inquire  into  their  motives  too 
keenly.  Be  not  too  curious  about  the  mouth  of  a  gift-horse.  After 
all,  a  man  does  not  intend  to  insult  you  by  asking  you  to  dinner. 

Though,  for  that  matter,  I  know  some  characters  about  town 
who  actually  consider  themselves  injured  and  insulted  if  the  dinner 
or  the  company  is  not  to  their  liking.  There  is  Guttletou,  who 
dines  at  home  off  a  shilling's-worth  of  beef  from  the  cookshop ; 
but  if  he  is  asked  to  dine  at  a  house  where  there  are  not  peas  at  the 
end  of  May,  or  cucumbers  in  March  along  with  the  turbot,  thinks 
himself  insulted  by  being  invited.  "  Good  Ged  !  "  says  he,  "  what 
the  deuce  do  the  Forkers  mean  by  asking  me  to  a  family  dinner  ? 
I  can  get  mutton  at  home ; "  or,  "  What  infernal  impertinence  it 
is  of  the  Spooners  to  get  entrees  from  the  pastrycook's,  and  fancy 
that  /  am  to  be  deceived  with  their  stories  about  their  French 
cook ! "  Then,  again,  there  is  Jack  Puddingtou- — I  saw  that 
honest  fellow  t'other  day  quite  in  a  rage,  because,  as  chance  would 
have  it,  Sir  John  Carver  asked  him  to  meet  the  very  same  party 
he  had  met  at  Colonel  Cramley's  the  day  before,  and  he  had  not 
got  up  a  new  set  of  stories  to  entertain  them.  Poor  Dinner-giving 
Snobs  !  you  don't  know  what  small  thanks  you  get  for  all  your 
pains  and  money  !  How  Ave  Dining-out  Snobs  sneer  at  your  cookery, 
and  pooh-pooh  your  old  hock,  and  are  incredulous  about  your  four- 
and-sixpenny  champagne,  and  know  that  the  side-dishes  of  to-day 
are  rechauffe's  from  the  dinner  of  yesterday,  and  mark  how  certain 
dishes  are  whisked  off  the  table  untasted,  so  that  they  may  figure 
at  the  banquet  to-morrow.  Whenever,  for  my  part,  I  see  th(^ 
head  man  jjarticularly  anxious  to  escamoter  a  fricandcau  or  a  blanc- 
manger,  I  always  call  out,  and  insist  upon  massacring  it  with  a 
spoon.  All  this  sort  of  conduct  makes  one  popular  with  the 
Dinner-giving  Snob.  One  friend  of  mine,  I  know,  has  made  a 
prodigious  sensation  in  good  society,  by  announcing  a  2'>'>'opos  of 
certain  dislies  when  offered  to  him,  that  he  never  eats  aspic  except 
at  Lord  Tittup's,  and  that  Lady  Jiminy's  chef  is  the  only  man 
in  Lond)n  who  knows  how  to  dress — Filet  en  serj^enteaxi — or 
Supreme  de  volaille  aux  truffes. 


CHAPTER   XX 

DINNER-GIVING  SNOBS  FURTHER  CONSIDERED 

IF  my  friends  would  but  follow  the  present  prevailing  fashion, 
I  think  they  ought  to  give  nie  a  testimonial  for  the  paper  on 
Dinner-giving  Snobs,  which  I  am  now  writing.  What  do  you 
say  now  to  a  handsome  comfortable  dinner-service  of  plate  {not 
including  plates,  for  I  hold  silver  plates  to  be  sheer  wantonness, 
and  would  almost  as  soon  think  of  silver  tea-cups),  a  couple  of  neat 
teapots,  a  coffee-pot,  trays,  &c.,  with  a  little  inscription  to  my 
wife,  Mrs.  Snob ;  and  a  half-score  of  silver  tankards  for  the  little 
Suoblings,  to  glitter  on  the  homely  table  where  they  partake  of 
their  quotidian  mutton  ? 

If  I  had  my  way,  and  my  plans  could  be  carried  out,  dinner- 
giving  would  increase  as  much  on  the  one  hand  as  dinner-giving 
Snobbishness  would  diminish  : — to  my  mind  the  most  amiable  part 
of  the  work  lately  published  by  my  esteemed  friend  (if  upon  a  very 
brief  acquaintance  he  will  allow  me  to  call  him  so),  Alexis  Soyer, 
the  Regenerator— what  he  (in  his  noble  style)  would  call  the  most 
succulent,  savoury,  and  elegant  passages— are  those  which  relate, 
not  to  tlie  grand  banquets  and  ceremonial  dinners,  but  to  his 
"dinners  at  home." 

The  "  dinner  at  home "  ought  to  be  the  centre  of  the  whole 
system  of  dinner-giving.  Your  usual  style  of  meal — that  is, 
plenteous,  comfortable,  and  in  its  perfection — should  be  that  to 
which  you  welcome  your  friends,  as  it  is  that  of  which  you  partake 
yourself. 

For,  towards  what  woman  in  the  world  do  I  entertain  a  higher 
regard  than  towards  tlie  beloved  partner  of  my  existence,  Mrs. 
Snob  1  Who  should  have  a  greater  place  in  my  affections  than  her 
six  brothers  (three  or  four  of  whom  we  are  pretty  sure  will  favour 
us  witli  their  company  at  seven  o'clock),  or  her  angelic  mother,  my 
own  valued  mother-in-law? — for  whom,  finally,  would  I  wish  to 
cater  more  generously  than  for  your  very  hundile  servant,  the 
present  writer  1  Now,  nobody  supposes  that  the  Birmingham  plate 
is  had  out,  the  disguised  carpet-beaters  introduced  to  the  exclusion 
of  the  neat  parlour-maid,  the  miserable  entrees  from  the  pastrycook's 


DINNER-GIVING    SNOBS  371 

ordered  in,  and  the  children  packed  off  (as  it  is  supposed)  to  the 
nursery,  but  really  only  to  the  staircase,  down  which  they  slide 
during  the  dinner-time,  waylaying  the  dishes  as  they  come  out,  and 
fingering  the  round  bumps  on  the  jellies,  and  the  forced-meat  balls 
in  the  soup, — nobody,  I  say,  supposes  that  a  dinner  at  home  is 
characterised  by  the  horrible  ceremony,  the  foolish  makeshifts,  the 
mean  pomp  and  ostentation,  which  distinguish  our  banquets  on 
grand  field-days. 

Such  a  notion  is  monstrous.  I  would  as  soon  think  of  having 
my  dearest  Bessy  sitting  opposite  me  in  a  turban  and  bird  of 
paradise,  and  showing  her  jolly  mottled  arms  out  of  blond  sleeves 
in  her  famous  red  satin  gown  :  ay,  or  of  having  Mr.  Toole  every 
day,  in  a  white  waistcoat,  at  my  back,  shouting  "  Silence  fato 
the  chair ! " 

Now,  if  this  be  the  case ;  if  the  Brummagem-plate  pomp  and 
the  processions  of  disguised  footmen  are  odious  and  foolish  in 
everyday  life,  why  not  always  %  Why  should  Jones  and  I,  who 
are  in  the  middle  rank,  alter  the  modes  of  our  being  to  assume  an 
dclat  which  does  not  belong  to  us — to  entertain  our  friends,  who 
(if  we  are  worth  anything  and  honest  fellows  at  bottom)  are  men 
of  the  middle  rank  too,  who  are  not  in  the  least  deceived  by  our 
temporary  splendour,  and  who  play  off"  exactly  the  same  absurd 
trick  upon  us  when  they  ask  us  to  dine  % 

If  it  be  pleasant  to  dine  with  your  friends,  as  all  persons  with 
good  stomachs  and  kindly  hearts  will,  I  presume,  allow  it  to  be, 
it  is  better  to  dine  twice  than  to  dine  once.  It  is  impossible  for 
men  of  small  means  to  be  continually  spending  five-and-twenty  or 
thirty  shillings  on  each  friend  who  sits  down  to  their  table.  People 
dine  for  less.  I  myself  have  seen,  at  my  fovourite  Club  (the  Senior 
United  Service),  his  Grace  the  Duke  of  Wellington  quite  contented 
with  the  joint — one-and-three,  and  half-pint  of  sherry  wine — nine  ; 
and  if  his  Grace,  why  not  you  and  I  % 

This  rule  I  have  made,  and  found  the  benefit  of.  Whenever 
I  ask  a  couple  of  Dukes  and  a  Marquis  or  so  to  dine  with  me,  I 
set  them  down  to  a  piece  of  beef,  or  a  leg-ot-mutton  and  trimmings. 
The  grandees  thank  you  for  this  simplicity,  and  appreciate  the 
same.  My  dear  Jones,  ask  any  of  those  whom  you  have  the 
honour  of  knowing,  if  such  be  not  the  case. 

I  am  far  from  wishing  that  their  Graces  should  treat  me  in  a 
similar  fasliifju.  Splendour  is  a  part  of  their  station,  as  decent 
comfort  (let  us  trust),  of  yours  and  mine.  Fate  has  comfortably 
appointed  gold  ])late  for  some,  and  has  bidden  others  contentedly 
to  wear  the  willow  pattern.  And  being  perfectly  contented  (indeed 
humbly  thankful — for  look  around,  0  Jones,  and  see  the  myriads 
2 


372  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

who  are  not  so  fortunate),  to  wear  honest  hnen,  while  inagnilieos 
of  the  worM  are  adorned  with  cambric  and  pointdace,  surely  we 
ought  to  hold  as  miserable,  envious  fools,  those  wretched  Beaux 
Tibbses  of  society,  who  sport  a  lace  dickey,  and  nothing  besides, — 
the  poor  silly  jays,  who  trail  a  peacock's  feather  behind  them,  and 
think  to  sinuilate  the  gorgeous  bird  whose  nature  it  is  to  strut 
on  palace  terraces,  and  to  Haunt  his  magnificent  fon-tail  in  the 
sunshine ! 

The  jays  with  j)eacocks'  feathers  are  the  Snobs  of  this  world  : 
and  never,  since  tiie  days  of  ^sop,  were  they  more  numerous  in 
any  lantl  than  they  are  at  present  in  this  free  country. 

How  does  this  most  ancient  apologue  apply  to  the  subject  in 
hand — the  dinner-giving  Snob  !  The  imitation  of  the  great  is 
universal  in  this  city,  from  the  palaces  of  Kensingtonia  and  Bel- 
gravia,  even  to  the  remotest  corner  of  Brunswick  Square.  Peacocks' 
feathers  are  stuck  in  the  tails  of  most  families.  Scarce  one  of  us 
domestic  birds  but  imitates  the  lanky,  pavonine  strut,  and  shrill, 
genteel  scream.  0  you  misguided  dinner-giving  Snobs,  think  how 
uuich  pleasure  you  lose,  and  how  much  mischief  you  do  with  your 
absurd  grandeurs  and  hypocrisies !  You  stuff  each  other  with 
unnatuj-al  forced-meats,  and  entertain  each  other  to  the  ruin  of 
friendship  (let  alone  health)  and  the  destruction  of  hospitality  and 
good-fellowship — you,  who  but  for  the  peacock's  tail  might  chatter 
away  so  much  at  your  ease,  and  be  so  jovial  and  happy ! 

When  a  man  goes  into  a  great  set  company  of  dinner-giving 
and  dinner-receiving  Snobs,  if  he  has  a  philosophical  tnrn  of  mind, 
he  will  consider  what  a  huge  humbug  the  whole  affair  is  :  the 
dishes,  and  the  drink,  and  the  servants,  and  the  plate,  and  the 
host  and  hostess,  and  the  conversation,  and  the  company, — the 
philosopher  included. 

The  host  is  smiling,  and  hob-nobbing,  and  talking  up  and  down 
the  table ;  but  a  prey  to  secret  terrors  and  anxieties,  lest  the  wines 
he  has  brought  up  from  the  cellar  should  prove  insufficient ;  lest  a 
corked  bottle  should  destroy  his  calculations  ;  or  o\ir  friend  the 
carpet-beater,  by  making  some  hevue,  should  disclose  his  real  quality 
of  greengrocer,  and  show  tliat  he  is  not  the  family  butler. 

The  hostess  is  smiling  resolutely  through  all  the  courses, 
smiling  through  her  agony ;  though  her  heart  is  in  the  kitchen, 
and  she  is  speculating  with  terror  lest  there  be  any  disaster  there. 
If  the  soxtffle  should  collapse,  or  if  Wiggins  does  not  send  the  ices 
in  time — she  feels  as  if  she  would  commit  suicide — that  smiling, 
jolly  woman  ! 

The  children  upstairs  are  yelling,  as  their  maid  is  crimping  their 
miserable  ringlets  with  hot  tongs,  tearing  Miss  Emmy's  hair  out 


DIKI^ER-GIYING    SNOBS  373 

by  the  roots,  or  scrubbing  Miss  Polly's  dumpy  nose  with  mottlod 
soap  till  the  little  wretch  screams  herself  into  fits.  The  young 
males  of  the  iamily  are  employed,  as  we  have  stated,  in  piratical 
exploits  upon  the  landing-place. 

The  servants  are  not  servants,  but  the  before-mentioned  retail 
tradesmen. 

The  plate  is  not  plate,  but  a  mere  sliiny  Birmingham  lacquer ; 
and  so  is  the  hospitality,  and  everything  else. 

The  talk  is  Birmingham  talk.  The  wag  of  the  party,  with 
bitterness  in  Ids  heart,  having  just  quitted  his  laundress,  wlio  is 
dunning  him  for  her  bUl,  is  firing  off'  good  stories  ;  and  the  opposi- 
tion wag  is  furious  that  he  cannot  get  an  innmgs.  Jawkins,  tlie 
great  conversationalist,  is  scornful  and  indignant  with  the  pair  of 
them,  because  he  is  kept  out  of  court.  Young  Muscadel,  that  cheap 
dandy,  is  talking  Fashion  and  Almack's  out  of  the  Morning  Post, 
and  disgusting  his  neighbour,  Mrs.  Fox,  who  reflects  that  she  has 
never  been  there.  The  widow  is  vexed  out  of  patience,  because  her 
daughter  Maria  has  got  a  place  beside  young  Cambric,  the  penniless 
curate,  and  not  by  Colonel  Goldraore,  the  rich  widower  from  India. 
The  Doctors  wife  is  sulky,  because  she  has  not  been  led  out  before 
the  barrister's  lady ;  old  Doctor  Cork  is  grumbling  at  the  wine,  and 
Guttleton  sneering  at  the  cookery. 

And  to  think  that  all  these  people  might  be  so  happy,  and  easy, 
and  friendly,  were  they  brought  together  in  a  natural  unpretentious 
way,  and  but  for  an  unhappy  passion  for  peacocks'  feathers  in 
England.  Gentle  shades  of  Marat  and  Robespierre  !  when  I  see 
how  all  the  lionesty  of  society  is  corrupted  among  us  by  the  miser- 
able fashion-worship,  I  feel  as  angiy  as  Mrs.  Fox  just  mentioned, 
and  ready  to  order  a  general  battue  of  pencocks. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

SOME  CONTINEXTAL  SNOBS 

NOW  that  September  has  come,  and  all  our  Parliamentary 
duties  are  over,  perhaps  no  class  of  Snobs  are  in  such  high 
feather  as  the  Continental  Snobs.  I  watch  these  daily  as 
they  commence  their  migrations  from  the  beach  at  Folkestone.  I 
see  shoals  of  them  depart  (not  perhaps  without  an  innate  longing 
too  to  quit  the  Island  along  with  those  happy  Snobs).  Farewell, 
dear  friends,  I  say :  you  little  know  that  the  individual  who  regards 
you  from  the  beach  is  your  friend  and  historiographer  and  brother. 

I  went  to-day  to  see  our  excellent  friend  Snooks,  on  board  the 
Queen  of  the  French ;  many  scores  of  Snobs  were  there,  on  the 
deck  of  that  fine  ship,  marching  forth  in  their  pride  and  bravery. 
They  will  be  at  Ostend  in  four  liours ;  they  will  inundate  the  Con- 
tinent next  week  :  they  will  carry  into  far  lands  the  famous  image 
of  the  British  Snob.  I  shall  not  see  them — but  am  with  them  in 
spirit :  and  indeed  there  is  hardly  a  country  in  the  known  and 
civilised  world  in  wliich  these  eyes  have  not  belield  them. 

I  have  seen  Snobs,  in  pink  coats  and  hunting-boots,  scouring 
over  the  Campagna  of  Rome  ;  and  have  heard  their  oaths  and  their 
well-known  slang  in  the  galleries  of  the  Vatican,  and  under  the 
shadowy  arches  of  the  Colosseum.  I  have  met  a  Snob  on  a 
dromedary  in  the  desert,  and  picnicking  under  the  Pyramid  of 
Cheops.  I  like  to  think  how  many  gallant  British  Snobs  there 
are,  at  this  minute  of  writing,  pushing  their  heads  out  of  every 
window  in  the  courtyard  of  "  Meurice's  "  in  the  Rue  de  Rivoli ;  or 
roaring  out,  "  Garsong,  du  pang,"  "  Garsong,  du  vang  ;  "  or  swagger- 
ing down  the  Toledo  at  Naples ;  or  even  how  many  will  be  on  the 
look-out  for  Suooks  on  Ostend  Pier, — for  Snooks,  and  the  rest  of 
the  Snobs  on  board  the  Queen  of  the  French. 

Look  at  tlie  Marquis  of  Carabas  and  his  two  carriages.  My 
Lady  Marchioness  comes  on  board,  looks  round  with  that  happy  air 
of  mingled  terror  and  impertinence  which  distinguishes  Iier  Ladyship, 
and  rushes  to  her  carriage,  for  it  is  impossible  that  siie  sliould  mingle 
with  the  other  Snobs  on  deck.  There  she  sits,  and  will  be  ill  in 
private.     The  strawberry-leaves  on  her  chariot-panels  are  engraver! 


SOME    CONTINENTAL    SNOBS  375 

on  lier  Ladyship's  heart.  If  she  were  going  to  heaven  instead  of  to 
Ostend,  I  rather  think  she  would  expect  to  have  des  j^laces  re'servees 
for  her,  and  would  send  to  order  the  best  rooms.  A  courier,  with 
his  money-bag  of  otKce  round  his  shoulders — a  huge  scowling  foot- 
man, whose  dark  pepper-and-salt  livery  glistens  with  the  heraldic 
insignia  of  the  Carabases — a  brazen-looking,  tawdry  Yvcnch.  femvie- 
de-chavihre  (none  but  a  female  pen  can  do  justice  to  that  wonderful 
tawdry  toilette  of  the  lady's-maid  en  voyage) — and  a  miserable  dame 
de  crnnjjagnie,  are  ministering  to  the  wants  of  her  Ladysliip  and  her 
King  Charles's  spaniel.  They  are  rushing  to  and  fro  with  eau-de- 
cologne,  pocket-handkerchiefs,  wiiich  are  all  fringe  and  cipher,  and 
popping  mysterious  cushions  behind  and  before,  and  in  every  avail- 
able corner  of  the  carriage. 

The  little  Marquis,  her  husband,  is  walking  about  the  deck  in  a 
bewildered  manner,  with  a  lean  daughter  on  each  arm  :  the  carroty- 
tufted  hope  of  the  family  is  already  smoking  on  the  foredeck  in  a 
travelling  costume  checked  all  over,  and  in  little  lacquer-tipped  jean 
boots,  and  a  shirt  embroidered  with  pink  boa-constrictors.  What  is 
it  that  gives  travelling  Snobs  such  a  marvellous  propensity  to  rush 
into  a  costume  1  Why  should  a  man  not  travel  in  a  coat,  &c.,  but 
think  proper  to  dress  himself  like  a  harlequin  in  mourning?  See, 
even  young  Aldermanbury,  the  tallow  merchant,  who  has  just  stepped 
on  board,  has  got  a  travelling-dress  gaping  all  over  with  pockets  ; 
and  little  Tom  Tapeworm,  the  lawyer's  clerk  out  of  the  City,  who 
has  but  three  weeks'  leave,  turns  out  in  gaiters  and  a  brand-new 
shooting-jacket,  and  must  let  the  moustaches  grow  on  his  little 
snuffy  upper  lip,  forsooth  ! 

Pompey  Hicks  is  giving  elaborate  directions  to  his  servant,  and 
asking  loudly,  "Davis,  where's  the  dwessiug-case'?"  and  "Davis,  you'd 
best  take  the  pistol-case  into  the  cabin."  Little  Pompey  travels  with 
a  dressing-case,  and  without  a  beard :  whom  he  is  going  to  shoot  with 
his  pistols,  who  on  earth  can  tell  1  and  what  is  he  to  do  with  his 
servant  but  wait  upon  him,  I  am  at  a  loss  to  conjecture. 

Look  at  honest  Nathan  Houndsditch  and  his  lady,  and  their 
little  son.  What  a  noble  air  of  blazing  contentment  illuminates  the 
features  of  those  Snobs  of  Eastern  race  !  What  a  toilette  Hounds- 
ditch's  is  !  What  rings  and  chains,  what  gold-headed  canes  and 
diamonds,  what  a  tuft  the  rogue  has  got  to  his  chin  (the  rogue !  he 
will  never  spare  himself  any  cheaj)  enjoyment  1).  Little  Hounds- 
ditch  has  a  little  cane  with  a  gilt  head  and  little  mosaic  oriximents 
— altogether  an  extra  air.  As  for  the  lady,  .she  is  all  the  colours 
of  the  raiidjow  :  she  has  a  pink  parasol  with  a  white  lining,  and  a 
yellow  bonnet,  and  an  emerald-green  shawl,  and  a  shot-silk  pelisse ; 
and  drab  boots  and  rhubarb  coloured  gloves;  and  parti-coloured  glass 


376  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

buttons,  expanding  from  tlie  size  of  a  f()urpeniiy-i)iecc  to  a  crown, 
glitter  and  twitUUe  all  down  the  front  of  her  gorgeous  costume.  I 
have  said  before,  I  like  to  look  at  "  the  Peoples  "  on  their  gala  days, 
they  are  so  picturesquely  and  outrageously  splendid  and  happy. 

Yonder  comes  Captain  Bull :  spick-and-span,  tight  and  trim ; 
who  travels  for  four  or  six  months  every  year  of  his  life ;  who  does 
not  commit  himself  by  luxury  of  raiment  or  insolence  of  demeanour, 
but  I  think  is  as  great  a  Snob  as  any  man  on  board.  Bull  imsses 
the  season  in  London,  sponging  for  dinners,  and  sleeping  in  a  garret 
near  his  Club.  Abroad,  lie  has  been  (everywhere;  he  knows  the  best 
wine  at  every  inn  in  every  capital  in  Europe ;  lives  with  the  best 
Englisli  company  there  ;  has  seen  every  palace  and  jncture-gallery 
from  JMadrid  to  Stockholm;  speaks  an  abominable  little  jargon  of 
half-a-dozen  languages — and  knows  nothing — nothing.  Bull  hunts 
tufts  on  the  Continent,  and  is  a  sort  of  amateur  courier.  He  will 
scrape  acquaintance  with  old  Carabas  before  they  make  Ostend ; 
and  will  remind  his  Lordship  that  he  met  him  at  Vienna  twenty 
years  ago,  or  gave  him  a  glass  of  schnapps  up  the  Righi.  We  have 
said  Bull  knows  nothing :  he  knows  tlie  birth,  arms,  and  pedigree 
of  all  the  Peerage,  has  poked  his  little  eyes  into  every  one  of  the 
carriages  on  board — their  panels  noted  and  their  crests  surveyed ; 
he  knows  all  the  Continental  stories  of  English  scandal — how  Count 
Towrowski  ran  off  with  Miss  Baggs  at  Naples — how  very  thick 
Lady  Smigsmag  was  with  young  Cornichon  of  the  French  Legation 
at  Florence — the  exact  amount  wliicli  Jack  Deucea(;e  won  of  Bob 
Greengoose  at  Baden— what  it  is  that  made  the  Staggs  settle  on 
the  Continent :  the  sum  for  which  the  O'Goggarty  estates  are  mort- 
gaged, &c.  If  he  can't  catch  a  lord,  he  will  hook  on  to  a  baronet, 
or  else  the  old  wretch  will  catch  hold  of  some  beardless  young  strip- 
ling of  fashion,  and  show  him  "  life "  in  various  and  amiable  and 
inaccessible  quarters.  Faugh  !  the  old  brute  !  If  he  has  every  one  of 
the  vices  of  the  most  boisterous  youth,  at  least  he  is  comforted  by 
having  no  conscience.  He  is  utterly  stupid,  but  of  a  jovial  turn. 
He  believes  himself  to  be  quite  a  respectable  member  of  society  : 
but  perhaps  the  only  good  action  he  ever  did  in  his  life  is  the  in- 
voluntary one  of  giving  an  example  to  be  avoided,  and  showing  what 
an  odious  thing  in  the  social  picture  is  that  figure  of  the  debauched 
old  man  who  passes  through  life  rather  a  decorous  Silenus,  and  dies 
some  day  in  his  garret,  alone,  unrepenting,  and  unnoted,  save  by 
his  astonished  heirs,  who  find  that  the  dissolute  old  miser  has  left 
money  behind  him.  See  !  he  is  up  to  old  Carabas  already  !  I  told 
you  he  would". 

Yonder  you   see    the    old   Lady   Mary   MacScrew,   and    those 
middle-aged   young   women    her    daughters ;    they   are   going   to 


SOME    CONTINENTAL    SNOBS  377 

cheapen  and  haggle  in  Belgium  and  up  the  Rhine  until  they  meet 
with  a  boarding-house  where  they  can  live  upon  less  board-wages 
than  her  Ladyship  pays  her  footmen.  But  she  will  exact  and 
receive  considerable  respect  from  the  British  Snobs  located  in  the 
watering-place  which  she  selects  for  her  summer  residence,  being 
the  daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Efaggistoun.  That  broad-shouldered 
buck,  with  the  great  whiskers  and  the  cleaned  white  kid-gloves, 
is  Mr.  Phelim  Clancy  of  Poldoody.stown  :  he  calls  himself  Mr.  De 
Clancy ;  he  endeavours  to  disguise  his  native  brogue  with  the 
richest  superposition  of  English;  and  if  you  play  at  billiards  or 
ecarte  with  him,  the  chances  are  that  you  will  win  the  first  game, 
and  he  the  seven  or  eight  games  ensuing. 

That  overgrown  lady  with  the  four  daughters,  and  the  young 
dandy  from  the  University,  her  son,  is  Mrs.  Kewsy,  the  eminent 
barrister's  lady,  Avho  would  rather  die  than  not  be  in  the  fashion. 
She  has  the  "  Peerage  "  in  her  carpet-bag,  you  may  be  sure  ;  but 
she  is  altogether  cut  out  by  Mrs.  Quod,  the  attorney's  wife,  whose 
carriage,  with  tlie  apparatus  of  rumbles,  dickeys,  and  imperials, 
scarcely  yields  in  splendour  to  the  Marquis  of  Carabas's  own 
travelling-chariot,  and  whose  courier  has  even  bigger  whiskers  and 
a  larger  morocco  money-bag  than  the  Marquis's  own  travelling 
gentleman.  Remark  her  well :  she  is  talking  to  Mr.  Spout,  the 
new  Member  of  Jawborough,  who  is  going  out  to  inspect  the 
operations  of  the  Zollverein,  and  will  put  some  very  severe  questions 
to  Lord  Palmerston  next  session  upon  England  and  her  relations 
with  the  Prussian-blue  trade,  the  Naples-soap  trade,  the  German- 
tinder  trade,  &c.  Spout  will  patronise  King  Leopold  at  Brussels ; 
will  write  letters  from  abroad  to  the  Jawborough  Independent ; 
and  in  his  quality  of  Member'  du  Parliamong  Britanniqiie,  will 
expect  to  be  invited  to  a  family  dinner  with  every  sovereign  whose 
dominions  he  honours  with  a  visit  during  his  tour. 

The  next  person  is But  hark  !  the  bell  for  shore  is  ring- 
ing, and,  shaking  Snook's  hand  cordially,  we  rush  on  to  the  pier, 
waving  him  a  farewell  as  the  noble  black  ship  cuts  keenly  through 
the  sunny  aziu-e  waters,  bearing  away  that  cargo  of  Snobs  outward 
bound. 


CHAPTER   XXII 

CONTIXI-NTAL  SKOBBERY    CONTINUED 

WE  are  accustomed  to  laiigli  at  the  French  for  their  brajr- 
gadocio  i)roj)cnsities,  and  intolerable  vanity  about  "la 
France,  la  gloire,  TErapereur,"  and  the  like ;  and  yet  I 
tliink  in  my  lieart  tliat  the  British  Snob,  for  conceit  and  self- 
sufficiency  and  braggartism  in  his  way,  is  without  a  parallel.  There 
is  always  something  uneasy  in  a  Frenchman's  conceit.  He  brags 
with  so  much  fury,  slirieking,  and  gesticulation — yells  out  so  loudly 
that  the  Franq.ais,  is  at  tlie  head  of  civilisation,  the  centre  of 
thouglit,  &c. — that  one  can't  but  see  the  poor  fellow  has  a  lurking 
doubt  in  liis  own  minil  that  he  is  not  the  wonder  he  profe.s.ses  to  be. 

About  tlie  British  Snol),  on  the  contrary,  there  is  commonly  no 
noise,  no  bluster,  but  the  calmness  of  i)rofound  conviction.  We  are 
better  than  all  tlie  world  :  we  don't  (juestion  the  opinion  at  all :  it's 
an  axiom.  And  when  a  Frenchman  bellows  out,  "La  France, 
Monsieur,  la  France  est  k  la  t3te  du  monde  civilist^ ! "  we  laugh 
good-naturedly  at  the  frantic  poor  devil.  fVe  are  the  first-chop  of 
the  world  ;  we  kuow  the  fact  so  well  in  our  secret  hearts,  tliat  a 
claim  set  up  elsewhere  is  simply  ludicrous.  My  dear  brother  reader, 
say,  as  a  man  of  honour,  if  you  are  not  of  this  opinion.  Do  you 
think  a  Frenchman  your  equal"?  You  don't — you  gallant  British 
Snob — you  know  you  don't:  no  more,  perhaps,  does  the  Snob  your 
hu.nble  servant,  brother. 

And  I  am  inclined  to  think  it  is  this  conviction,  and  the  con- 
sequent bearing  of  the  Englishman  towards*  the  foreigner  whom  he 
condescends  to  visit, — this  confidence  of  superiority  which  holds  up 
the  head  of  the  owner  of  every  English  hat-box  from  Sicily  to  St. 
Petersburg,  that  makes  us  so  magnificently  hated  throughout  Europe 
as  we  are ;  this — more  than  all  our  little  victories,  and  of  which 
many  Frenchmen  and  Spaniards  have  never  heard — this  amazing 
and  indomitable  insular  pride,  which  animates  my  Lord  in  his 
travelling-carriage  as  well  as  John  in  the  rumble. 

If  you  read  the  old  Chronicles  of  the  French  wars,  you  find 
precisely  the  same  character  of  the  Englishman,  and  Henry  V.'s 
people  behavc.l  with  just  the  cool  domineering  manner  of  our  gallant 


CONTINENTAL  SNOBBERY  CONTINUED  379 

veterans  of  France  and  the  Peninsula.  Did  you  never  hear  Colonel 
Cutler  and  Major  Slasher  talking  over  the  war  after  dinner?  or 
Captain  Boarder  describing  his  action  with  the  Indoinptahle  ? 
"  Hang  the  fellows  ! "  says  Boarder,  "  their  practice  was  very  good. 
I  was  beat  off  three  times  before  I  took  her."  "Cuss  those 
carabineers  of  Milhaud's  ! "  says  Slasher,  "what  work  they  made 
of  our  light  cavalry  ! "  implying  a  sort  of  surprise  that  the  French- 
man should  stand  up  against  Britons  at  all  :  a  good-natured  wonder 
that  the  blind,  mad,  vainglorious,  brave  poor  devils  should  actually 
have  the  courage  to  resist  an  Englishman.  Legions  of  such  English- 
men are  patronising  Europe  at  this  moment,  being  kind  to  the 
Pope,  or  good-natured  to  the  King  of  Holland,  or  condescending  to 
inspect  the  Prussian  reviews.  When  Nicholas  came  here,  who 
reviews  a  quarter  of  a  million  of  pairs  of  moustaches  to  his  breakfiist 
every  morning,  we  took  him  off  to  Windsor  and  showed  him  two 
whole  regiments  of  six  or  eight  hundred  Britons  apiece,  with  an 
air  as  much  as  to  say, — "Tliere,  my  boy,  look  at  that.  Those  are 
Englishmen,  those  are,  and  your  master  whenever  you  please," 
as  the  nursery  song  says.  The  British  Snob  is  long  long  ]iast 
scepticism,  and  can  afford  to  laugh  quite  good-humouredly  at  tliose 
conceited  Yankees,  or  besotted  little  Frenchmen,  who  set  uj)  as 
models  of  mankind.      They  forsooth  ! 

I  have  been  led  into  tliese  remarks  by  listening  to  an  old  fellow 
at  the  Hotel  du  Nord,  at  Boulogne,  and  who  is  evidently  of  the 
Slasher  sort.  He  came'down  and  seated  himself  at  the  breakfast- 
table,  with  a  surly  scowl-  on  his  salmon-coloured  bloodshot  face, 
strangling  in  a  tight,  cross-barred  cravat ;  his  linen  and  his  appoint- 
ments so  perfectly  stiff  and  spotless  that  everybody  at  once 
recognised  him  as  a  dear  countryman.  Only  our  port-wine  and 
other  admirable  institutions  could  have  produced  a  figure  so  insolent, 
so  stupid,  so  gentlemanlike.  After  a  wliile  our  attention  was  called 
to  him  by  his  roaring  out,  in  a  voice  of  plethoric  fury,  "  0  !  " 

Everybody  turned  round  at  the  "  0,"  conceiving  the  Colonel  to 
be,  as  his  countenance  denoted  him,  in  intense  pain  ;  but  the  waiters 
knew  better,  and  instead  of  being  alarmed,  brought  the  Colonel  the 
kettle.  "  0,"  it  appears,  is  the  French  for  hot-water.  Tlie  Colonel 
(though  he  despises  it  heartily)  thinks  lie  speaks  the  language  re- 
markably well.  Whilst  he  was  inhausting  iiis  smoking  tea,  which 
went  rolling  and  gurgling  down  his  tliroat,  and  hissing  over  the  "  hot 
<;oppers "  of  that  resi)ectable  veteran,  a  friend  joined  him,  with  a 
wizened  face  and  very  ))lack"wig,  evidently  a  Colonel  too. 

The  two  warriors  waggling  their  old  heads  at  each  other, 
presently  joined  breakfast,  and  iell  into  conversation,  and  we  had 
the  advantage   of  hearing  al)out   the  old  war,  and  some  pleasant 


380  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

conjectures  as  to  the  next,  which  they  considered  imminent.  They 
psha'd  the  Frencli  fleet ;  they  pooh-pooli'd  the  French  commercial 
marine ;   they  showed   how,   in   a  war,   there  would  be  a  cordon 

C'cordong,  by ")  of  steamers  along  our  coast,  and  "by ," 

ready  at  a  minute  to  land  anywhere  on  the  other  shore,  to  give  the 

French  as  good  a  thrashing  as  they  got  in  tlio  last  war,  "by ." 

In  fact,  a  rumbling  cannonade  of  oaths  was  fired  by  the  two  veterans 
during  the  whole  of  their  conversation... 

There  was  a  Frenchman  in  tlie  room,  but  as  he  had  not  been 
above  ten  years  in  London  of  course  he  did  not  speak  the  language, 
and  lost  tlie  benefit  of  the  conversation.  "  But,  0  my  country  !  " 
said  I  to  myself,  "  it's  no  wonder  that  you  are  so  beloved !  If  I 
were  a  Frenchman,  how  I  Avould  hate  you  ! " 

That  brutal,  ignorant,  peevish  bully  of  an  Englishman  is  showing 
himself  in  every  city  of  Europe.  One  of  the  dullest  creatures  under 
heaven,  he  goes  trampling  Europe  under  foot,  shouldering  his  way 
into  galleries  and  cathedrals,  and  bustling  into  palaces  with  liis 
buckram  uniform.  At  churcli  or  theatre,  gala  or  picture-gallery, 
his  face  never  varies.  A  thousand  delightful  sights  pass  before  his 
bloodshot  eyes,  and  don't  affect  him.  Countless  brilliant  scenes  of 
life  and  manners  are  shown  him,  but  never  move  him.  He  goes  to 
church,  and  calls  the  practices  there  degrading  and  superstitious ; 
as  if  his  altar  was  the  only  one  that  was  acceptable.  He  goes  to 
picture-galleries,  and  is  more  ignorant  about  Art  than  a  French  shoe- 
black. Art,  Nature  pass,  and  tliere  is  no  dot  of  admiration  in  his 
stupid  eyes :  nothing  moves  him,  except  when  a  very  great  man 
comes  his  way,  and  then  the  rigid,  proud,  self-confident,  inflexible 
British  Snob  can  be  as  humble  as  a  flunkey  and  as  supple  a.^  a 
harlequin. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

ENGLISH  SNOBS  ON   THE  CONTINENT 

WHAT  is  the  use  of  Lord  Rosse's  telescope ?"  my  friend 
Panwiski  exclaimed  the  otlier  day.  "  It  only  enables 
you  to  see  a  few  hundred  thousands  of  miles  farther. 
What  were  thought  to  be  mere  nebulre,  turn  out  to  be  most  per- 
ceivable starry  systems ;  and  beyond  these,  you  see  other  nebulte, 
which  a  more  powerful  glass  will  show  to  be  stars  again ;  and  so 
they  go  on  glittering  and  winking  away  into  eternity."  With 
which  my  friend  Pan,  heaving  a  great  sigh,  as  if  confessing  his 
inability  to  look  Infinity  in  the  face,  sank  back  resigned,  and 
swallowed  a  large  bumper  of  claret. 

I  (who,  like  other  great  men,  have  but  one  idea)  thought  to 
myself,  that  as  the  stars  are,  so  are  the  Snobs  :^the  more  you 
gaze  upon  those  luminaries,  the  more  you  behold^now  nebulously 
congregated — now  faintly  distinguishable — now  brightly  defined — 
until  they  twinkle  off  in  endless  blazes,  and  fode  into  the  im- 
measurable darkness.  I  am  but  as  a  child  playing  on  the  sea- 
shore. Some  telescopic  philosopher  will  arise  one  day,  some  great 
Snobonomer,  to  find  the  laws  of  the  great  science  which  we  are 
now  merely  playing  with,  and  to  define,  and  settle,  and  classify 
that  which  is  at  present  but  vague  theory,  and  loose  though  elegant 
assertion. 

Yes ;  a  single  eye  can  but  trace  a  very  few  and  simple  varieties 
of  the  enormous  universe  of  Snobs.  I  sometimes  think  of  appealing 
to  the  public,  and  calling  together  a  congress  of  savans,  such  as 
met  at  Southampton — each  to  bring  his  contributions  and  read 
his  paper  on  the  Great  Subject.  For  what  can  a  single  poor  few 
do,  even  with  the  subject  at  present  in  hand  ?  English  Snobs  on 
the  Continent — though  they  are  a  hundred  thousand  times  less 
numerous  than  on  their  native  island,  yet  even  these  few  are  too 
many.  One  can  only  fix  a  stray  one  here  and  there.  The  indi- 
viduals are  caught — the  thousands  escape.  I  have  noted  down  but 
three  whom  I  have  met  with  in  my  walk  this  morning  through  this 
pleasant  marine  city  of  Boulogne. 

There  is  the  English  Raff  Snob,  that  frequents  estaminets  and 
2  D 


.382  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

cabarets;  who  is  heard  yclHng,  "We  won't  go  home  till  morning!" 
and  startling  the  midnight  echoes  of  quiet  ContinentJil  towns  with 
shrieks  of  English  slang.  The  boozy  unshorn  wretch  is  seen  hover- 
ing round  quays  as  packets  arrive,  and  tipi)ling  drams  in  inn  bars 
wlicre  he  gets  credit.  He  talks  French  witli  slang  familiarity  :  he 
and  his  like  quite  ])eople  tlie  debt-i)risous  on  the  Continent.  He 
])lays  pool  at  the  billiard-houses,  and  may  be  seen  engaged  at  cards 
iuid  dominoes  of  forenoons.  His  signature  is  to  be  seen  on  countless 
bills  of  exchange  :  it  belonged  to  an  honourable  family  once,  very 
likely  ;  for  the  English  Raff  most  probably  began  by  being  a  gentle- 
man, and  has  a  fother  over  the  water  who  is  ashamed  to  hear  his 
name.  lie  has  cheated  the  old  "  governor "  repeatedly  in  better 
days,  and  swindled  his  sisters  of  their  portions,  and  robbed  his 
younger  brothers.  Now  he  is  living  on  his  wife's  jointure :  she  is 
hidden  away  in  some  dismal  garret,  patching  shabby  finery  and 
cobbling  up  old  clothes  for  her  children — the  most  miserable  and 
slatternly  of  women. 

Or  sometimes  the  poor  woman  and  her  daughters  go  about 
timidly,  giving  lessons  in  English  and  music,  or  do  embroidery  and 
work  underhand,  to  purchase  the  means  for  the  2^ot-au-feu ;  while 
Raff  is  swaggering  on  the  quay,  or  tossing  oft'  glasses  of  cognac  at 
the  cafe.  The  unfortunate  creature  has  a  child  still  every  year,  and 
Iier  constant  hypocrisy  is  to  try  and  make  her  girls  believe  that 
their  father  is  a  respectable  man,  and  to  huddle  him  out  of  the  way 
when  the  brute  comes  home  drunk. 

Those  poor  ruined  souls  get  together  and  have  a  society  of  their 
OAvn,  the  which  it  is  very  affecting  to  watch — those  tawdry  pretences 
at  gentility,  those  flimsy  attempts  at  gaiety  :  those  woeful  sallies  : 
that  jingling  old  piano ;  oh,  it  makes  the  heart  sick  to  see  and  hear 
them.  As  Mrs.  Raff,  with  her  company  of  pale  daughters,  gives  a 
penny  tea  to  Mrs.  Diddler,  they  talk  about  bygone  times  and  the 
fine  society  they  kept ;  and  they  sing  feeble  songs  out  of  tattered 
old  music-books ;  and  wdfile  engaged  in  this  sort  of  entertainment, 
in  comes  Captain  Raff  with  his  greasy  hat  on  one  side,  and  straight- 
way the  whole  of  the  dismal  room  reeks  with  a  mingled  odour  of 
smoke  and  spirits. 

Has  not  everybody  who  has  lived  abroad  met  Captain  Raff'? 
His  name  is  proclaimed,  every  now  and  then,  by  Mr.  Sheriff^s 
Officer  Hemp ;  and  about  Boulogne,  and  Paris,  and  Brussels,  there 
are  so  many  of  his  sort  that  I  will  lay  a  wager  that  I  shall  be 
accused  of  gross  personality  for  showing  him  up.  Many  a  less 
irreclaimable  villain  is  transported ;  many  a  more  honourable  man 
is  at  present  at  the  treadmill ;  and  although  we  are  the  noblest, 
greatest,   most  reli.gious,  and  most  moral  people  in   the   world,  I 


EXGLISH    SNOBS    ON    THE    CONTINENT     383 

would  still  like  to  know  wliere,  except  in  the  United  Kingdom, 
debts  are  a  matter  of  joke,  and  making  tradesmen  "  suffer  "  a  sport 
that  gentlemen  own  to?  It  is  dishonourable  to  owe  money  in 
France.  You  never  hear  people  in  other  parts  of  Europe  brag  of 
their  swindling ;  or  see  a  prison  in  a  large  Continental  town  which 
is  not  more  or  less  peopled  with  English  rogues. 

A  still  more  loathsome  and  dangerous  Snob  than  the  above 
transparent  and  passive  scamp,  is  frequent  on  the  continent  of 
Europe,  and  my  young  Snob  friends  who  are  travelling  thither 
should  be  especially  warned  against  Inm.  Captain  Legg  is  a  gentle- 
man, like  Raff',  though  perhaps  of  a  better  degree.  He  has  robbed 
his  family  too,  but  of  a  great  deal  more,  and  lias  boldly  dishonoured 
bills  for  thousands,  where  Eaff"  has  been  boggling  over  the  clumsy 
conveyance  of  a  ten-pound  note.  Legg  is  always  at  the  best  inn, 
with  the  finest  waistcoats  and  moustaches,  or  tearing  about  in  the 
flashest  of  britzkas,  while  poor  Eaft'  is  tipsifying  himself  with  spirits, 
and  smoking  cheap  tobacco.  It  is  amazing  to  think  that  Legg,  so 
often  shown  up,  and  known  everywhere,  is  flourishing  yet.  He 
would  sink  into  utter  ruin,  but  for  the  constant  and  ardent  love  of 
gentility  that  distinguishes  the  English  Snob.  There  is  many  a 
young  fellov.'  of  the  middle  classes  who  must  know  Legg  to  be  a 
rogue  and  a  cheat ;  and  yet  from  his  desire  to  be  in  the  fashion, 
and  his  admiration  of  tiptop  swells,  and  from  his  ambition  to  air 
liiraself  by  the  tide  of  a  Lord's  son,  will  let  Legg  make  an  income 
out  of  him ;  content  to  pay,  so  long  as  he  can  enjoy  that  society. 
Many  a  wortliy  father  of  a  family,  when  he  hears  that  his  sen  is 
riding  about  with  Captain  Legg,  Lord  Levant's  son,  is  rather 
pleased  that  young  Hopeful  should  be  in  such  gccd  company. 

Legg  and  his  friend.  Major  Macer,  make  professional  tours 
through  Europe,  and  are  to  be  found  at  the  right  places  at  the  right 
time.  Last  year  I  heard  how  my  young  accjuaintance,  Mr.  Muff", 
from  Oxford,  going  to  see  a  little  life  at  a  Carnival  ball  at  Paris, 
was  accosted  by  an  Englishman  who  did  not  know  a  word  of  the 

d d  language,  and  hearing  Muff'  speak  it  so  admirably,  begged 

him  to  interpret  to  a  waiter  with  whom  there  was  a  dispute  about 
refreshments.  It  was  quite  a  comfort,  the  stranger  said,  to  see  an 
lionest  English  face  ;  and  did  Muff  know  where  there  was  a  good 
place  for  supper  1  So  those  two  went  to  supper,  and  who  should 
come  in,  of  all  men  in  the  world,  but  Major  Macer?  And  so  Legg 
introduced  Macer.  and  so  there  came  on  a  little  intimacy,  and  three- 
card  loo,  &c.  &c.  Year  after  year  scores  of  Muffs,  in  various  places 
in  the  world,  are  victimised  bf  Legg  and  Macer.  The  story  is  so 
stale,  the  trick  of  seduction  so  entirely  old  and  clumsy,  that  it  is 
only  a  wonder  jjcoplc  can  be  taken  in  any  more  :  but  the  temjjta- 


384.  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

tions  of  vice  and  gentility  together  are  too  mucli  for  yonng  Englisli 
Snoljs,  and  those  simple  young  victims  are  caught  fresh  every  day. 
Though  it  is  only  to  be  kicked  and  cheated  by  men  of  fashion,  your 
true  British  Snob  will  present  himself  for  the  honour. 

I  need  not  allude  hero  to  that  very  common  British  Snob,  who 
makes  desperate  efforts  at  becoming  intimate  Avith  the  great  Con- 
tmental  aristocracy,  such  as  old  Rolls,  the  baker,  who  has  set  up 
his  quarters  in  tiie  Faubourg  Saint  Germain,  and  will  receive  none 
but  Carlists,  and  no  French  gentleman  under  the  rank  of  a  Marquis. 
We  can  all  of  us  laugh  at  that  fellow's  pretensions  well  enough — we 
who  tremble  before  a  great  man  of  our  own  nation.  But,  as  you 
say,  my  brave  and  honest  John  Bull  of  a  Snob,  a  French  Marquis 
of  twenty  descents  is  very  different  from  an  English  Peer;  and  a 
pack  of  beggarly  German  and  Italian  Fuersten  and  Principi  awaken 
the  scorn  of  an  honest-minded  Briton.  But  our  aristocracy  ! — that's 
a  very  different  matter.  They  are  the  real  leaders  of  the  world — 
the  real  old  original  and-no-mistake  nobility.  Off  with  your  cap, 
Snob ;  down  on  your  knees.  Snob,  and  truckle. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

ON  SOME  COUMTRY  SNOBS 

TIEED  of  the  town,  where  the  sight  of  the  closed  shutters  of 
the  nobiUty,  my  friends,  makes  my  heart  sick  in  my  walks ; 
afraid  almost  to  sit  in  those  vast  Pall  Mall  solitudes,  the 
Clubs,  and  of  annoying  the  Club  waiters,  who  might,  I  thought, 
be  going  to  shoot  in  the  country  but  for  me,  I  determined  on  a  brief 
tour  in  the  provinces,  and  paying  some  visits  in  the  country  tvhich 
were  long  due. 

My  first  A'isit  was  to  my  friend  Major  Ponto  (H.P.  of  the  Horse 
Marines),  in  Mangelwurzelshire.  The  Major,  in  his  little  phaeton, 
was  in  waiting  to  take  me  up  at  the  station.  The  vehicle  was  not 
certainly  splendid,  but  such  a  carriage  as  would  accommodate  a 
plain  man  (as  Ponto  said  he  was)  and  a  numerous  family.  We 
drove  by  beautiful  fresh  fields  and  green  hedges,  through  a  cheerful 
English  landscape ;  the  highroad,  as  smooth  and  trim  as  the  way 
in  a  nobleman's  park,  was  charmingly  chequered  with  cool  shade 
and  golden  sunshine,  ilustics  in  snowy  smock-frocks  jerked  their 
hats  off"  smihng  as  we  passed.  Children,  with  cheeks  as  red  as  the 
apples  in  the  orchards,  bobbed  curtseys  to  us  at  the  cottage  doors. 
Blue  clnu-ch  spires  rose  here  and  there  in  the  distance  ;  and  as  the 
buxom  gardener's  wife  opened  the  white  gate  at  the  Majors  little 
ivj'-covered  lodge,  and  we  drove  through  the  neat  plantations  of 
firs  and  evergreens,  up  to  the  house,  my  bosom  felt  a  joy  and  elaticn 
which  I  thought  it  was  impossible  to  experience  in  the  smoky 
atmosphere  of  a  town.  "  Here,"  I  mentally  exclaimed,  "  is  all 
peace,  plenty,  happiness.  Here,  I  shall  be  rid  of  Snobs.  There 
can  be  none  in  this  channing  Arcadian  spot." 

Stripes,  the  Major's  man  (formerly  corporal  in  his  gallant  corps), 
received  my  portmanteau,  and  an  elegant  little  present,  which  I  liad 
brought  from  town  as  a  peace-offering  to  Mrs.  Ponto ;  viz.,  a  co<l 
and  oysters  from  Grove's,  in  a  hamper  about  the  size  of  a  coffin. 

Ponto's  house  ("The  Evergreens"  Mrs.  P.  has  christened  it)  is 
a  perfect  Paradise  of  a  place.  It  is  all  over  creepers,  and  bow- 
windows,  and  verandahs.  ^  wavy  lawn  tumbles  up  and  doM'n  all 
round  it,  with  flower-beds  of  womlerful  shapes,  and  zigzag  gravel 


.386  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

walks,  and  beautiful  but  damp  shrubberies  of  myrtles  and  glistening 
launistines,  wliich  have  i)rocured  it  its  change  of  name.  It  was 
called  Little  Bullock's  Pound  in  old  Doctor  Ponto's  time.  I  had 
a  view  of  the  j^retty  grounds,  and  the  stable,  and  the  adjoining 
village  and  church,  and  a  great  park  beyond,  from  the  windows 
of  the  bedroom  whither  Ponto  conductetl  me.  It  was  the  yellow 
Ijedroom,  the  freshest  and  pleasantest  of  bedchambers ;  the  air  was 
fragrant  with  a  large  bouquet  that  was  placed  on  the  writing-table  ; 
the  linen  was  fragrant  with  the  lavender  in  which  it  had  been  lai<l ; 
the  chintz  hangings  of  the  bed  and  tlie  big  sofa  were,  if  not  fragrant 
with  flowers,  at  least  painted  all  over  with  them ;  the  penwiper 
on  the  table  was  the  imitation,  of  a  double  dahlia ;  and  there  was 
accommodation  for  my  watch  in  a  sunflower  on  the  mantelpiece. 
A  scarlet-leaved  creeper  came  curling  over  the  windows,  through 
vv'hich  the  setting  sun  was  jwuring  a  flood  of  golden  light.  It  was 
all  flowers  and  freshness.  Oh,  how  unlike  those  black  chimney- 
pots in  St.  Alban's  Place,  London,  on  which  these  weary  eyes  are 
accustomed  to  look. 

"  It  must  be  all  happiness  here,  Ponto,"  said  I,  flinging  myself 
down  into  the  snug  bergere,  and  inhaling  such  a  delicious  draught  of 
country  air  as  all  the  millefleurs  of  Mr.  Atkinson's  shop  cannot 
impart  to  any  the  most  expensive  pocket-handkerchief 

"  Nice  place,  isn't  it  1"  said  Ponto.  "  Quiet  and  unpretending. 
I  like  everything  quiet.  You've  not  brought  your  valet  with  you  ? 
Stripes  will  arrange  your  dressing  things;"  and  that  functionary, 
entering  at  the  same  time,  proceeded  to  gut  my  portmanteau,  and 
to  lay  out  the  black  kerseymeres,  "the  rich  cut  velvet  Genoa 
waistcoat,"  the  white  choker,  and  other  polite  articles  of  evening 
costume,  with  great  gravity  and  despatch.  "  A  great  dinner-party," 
thinks  I  to  myself,  seeing  these  preparations  (and  not,  perhaps, 
displeased  at  the  idea  that  some  of  the  best  people  in  the  neighbour- 
hood were  coming  to  see  me).  "  Hark,  there's  the  first  bell 
ringing !  "  said  Ponto,  moving  away ;  and,  in  fact,  a  clamorous 
harbinger  of  victuals  began  clanging  from  the  stable  turret,  and 
announced  the  agreeable  fact  that  dinner  would  appear  in  half-an- 
hour.  "  If  the  dinner  is  as  grand  as  the  dinner-bell,"  tliought  I, 
*'  faith,  I'm  in  good  quarters !  "  and  had  leisure,  during  tlie  half- 
hours  interval,  not  only  to  advance  my  own  person  to  the  utmost 
polish  of  elegance  which  it  is  capable  of  receiving,  to  admire  the 
pedigree  of  the  Pontos  hanging  over  the  chimney,  and  the  Ponto 
crest  and  arms  emblazoned  on  the  wash-hand  basin  and  jug,  but  to 
make  a  thousand  reflections  on  the  happiness  of  a  country  life — 
upon  tlie  innocent  friendliness  and  cordiality  of  rustic  intercourse ; 
and  to  sigh  for  an  opportunity  of  retiring,  like  Ponto,  to  my  own 


ON    SOME    COUNTRY    SNOBS  387 

fields,  to  my  own  vine  and  fig  tree,  Avitli  a  2^lcicens  uxor  in  my 
damns,  and  a  half-score  of  sweet  young  pledges  of  affection  sporting 
round  my  ])aternal  knee. 

Clang !  At  the  end  of  the  tliirty  minutes,  dinner-bell  number 
two  pealed  from  the  adjacent  turret.  I  hastened  downstairs, 
expecting  to  find  a  score  of  healthy  country-folk  in  the  drawing- 
room.  There  was  only  one  person  there  :  a  tall  and  Roman-nosed 
lady,  glistering  over  with  bugles,  in  deep  mourning-.  She  rose, 
advanced  two  steps,  made  a  majestic  curtsey,  during  which  all  the 
bugles  in  her  awful  head-dress  began  to  twiddle  and  quiver — and 
then  said,  "Mr.  Snob,  we  are  very  happy  to  see  you  at  the 
Evergreens,"  and  lieaved  a  great  sigh. 

This,  then,  was  Mrs.  Major  Ponto ;  to  whom  making  my  very 
best  bow,  I  replied,  that  I  was  very  proud  to  make  her  acquaintance, 
as  also  that  of  so  charming  a  place  as  the  Evergi-eens. 

Another  sigh.  "We  are  distantly  related,  Mr.  Snob,"  said 
she,  shaking  her  melancholy  head.      "  Poor  dear  Lord  Rubadub  !  " 

"  Oh ! "  said  I ;  not  knowing  what  the  deuce  Mrs.  Major 
Pbnto  meant. 

"Major  Ponto  told  me  that  you  were  of  the  Leicestershire 
Snobs :  a  very  old  family,  and  related  to  Lord  Snoljbington,  who 
married  Laura  Rubadub,  who  is  a  cousin  of  mine,  as  was  her  poor 
dear  father,  for  whom  we  are  mourning.  What  a  seizure  !  only 
sixtj'-three,  and  apoplexy  quite  unknown  until  now  in  our  family  ! 
In  life  we  are  in  death,  Mr.  Snob.  Does  Lady  Snobbington  bear 
the  deprivation  well  1 " 

"Why,  really,  ma'am,  I — I  don't  know,"  I  replied,  more  and 
more  confused. 

As  she  was  speaking  I  heard  a  sort  of  doop,  by  which  well- 
known  sound  I  was  aware  that  somebody  was  opening  a  bottle 
of  wine,  and  Ponto  entered,  in  a  huge  white  neckcloth,  and  a 
rather  shabby  black  suit. 

"  My  love,"  Mrs.  Major  Ponto  said  to  her  husband,  "  we  were 
talking  of  our  cousin- — poor  dear  Lord  Ruba<lub.  His  death  has 
placed  some  of  the  first  families  in  England  in  mourning.  Does 
Lady  Ruliadub  keep  the  house  in  Hill  Street,  do  you  know  1 " 

I  diiln't  know ;  but  I  said,  "  I  believe  she  does,"  at  a 
venture ;  and,  looking  down  to  the  drawing-room  table,  saw  the 
inevitable,  abominable,  maniacal,  absurd,  disgusting  "  Peerage " 
open  on  the  table,  interleaved  with  annotations,  and  open  at  the 
article  "  Snobbington." 

"  Dinner  is  served,"  says  Stripes,  flinging  open  the  door ;  and  I 
gave  Mrs,  Major  Ponto  my  arm, 
3 


CHAPTER    XXV 

A    VISIT   TO  SOME   COUNTRY  SNOBS 

OF  t)ie  dinner  to  ^vhich  we  now  sat  down,  I  am  not  going  to  be  a 
severe  critic.  The  mahogany  I  hold  to  be  inviolable;  bnt 
this  I  will  say,  that  I  prefer  sherry  to  marsala  when  I  can 
get  it,  and  the  latter  was  the  wine  of  wliich  I  have  no  doubt  I  heard 
the  "cloop"  just  before  dinner.  Nor  was  it  particularly  good  of  its 
kind  ;  however,  Mrs.  Major  Ponto  did  not  evidently  know  the  differ- 
ence, for  she  called  the  liquor  amontillado  during  the  wliole  of  the 
repast,  and  drank  but  half  a  glass  of  it,  leaving  the  rest  for  the 
Major  and  his  guest. 

Stripes  was  in  the  livery  of  the  Ponto  family — a  thought  shabby, 
but  gorgeous  in  the  extreme— lots  of  magnificent  worsted  lace,  and 
livery  buttons  of  a  very  notable  size.  The  honest  fellow's  hands,  I 
remarked,  were  very  large  and  black ;  and  a  fine  odour  of  tlie  stable 
was  wafted  about  the  room  as  he  moved  to  and  fro  in  his  ministra- 
tion. I  should  have  preferred  a  clean  maid-servant,  but  the  sensa- 
tions of  Londoners  are  too  acute  perhaps  on  these  subjects  ;  and  a 
faithful  John,  after  all,  is  more  genteel. 

From  the  circumstance  of  the  dinner  being  composed  of  pig's- 
head  mock-turtle  soup,  of  pig's  fry  and  roast  ribs  of  pork,  I  am  led 
to  imagine  that  one  of  Ponto's  black  Hampshires  had  been  sacrificed 
a  short  time  previous  to  my  visit.  It  was  an  excellent  and  (Comfort- 
able repast ;  only  there  was  rather  a  sameness  in  it,  certainly.  I 
made  a  similar  remark  the  next  day. 

During  the  dinner  Mrs.  Ponto  asked  me  many  questions  regard- 
ing the  nobility,  my  relatives.  "When  Lady  Angelina  Skeggs 
would  come  out ;  and  if  the  countess  her  mamma "  (this  was  said 
with  much  archness  and  he-he-ing)  "still  wore  that  extraordinary 
purple  hair-dye?"  "Whether  my  Lord  Guttlebury  kept,  besides 
liis  French  chef,  and  an  English  cordon-bleu  for  the  roasts,  an  Italian 
for  the  confectionery  ? "  "  Wlio  attended  at  Lady  Clapperclaw's 
conversazione  1 "  and  whether  Sir  John  Champignon's  '  Thursday 
Mornings'  were  pleasant?"  "Was  it  true  that  Lady  Carabas, 
M'anting  to  pawn  her  diamonds,  found  that  they  were  paste,  and 
tliat  the  Marquis  had  disposed  of  them  beforehand  ?  "  "  How  was 
it  that  Snuftin,  the  gi-eat  tobacco-merchant,  broke  off  the  marriage 


A    VISIT    TO    SOME    COUNTRY    SNOBS       389 

which  was  on  the  tapis  between  him  and  their  second  daughter ; 
and  was  it  true  tliat  a  mulatto  lady  came  over  from  the  Havannah 
and  forbade  the  match  1 " 

"  Upon  my  word,  madam,"  I  had  begun,  and  was  going  on  to 
say  that  I  didn't  know  one  word  about  all  these  matters  whicii 
seemed  so  to  interest  Mrs.  Major.  Ponto,  when  the  Major,  giving  me 
a  tread  or  stamp  with  his  large  foot  under  the  table,  said — 

"  Come,  come,  Snob  my  boy,  we  are  all  tiled,  you  know.  We 
know  you're  one  of  the  fashionable  people  about  town  :  we  saw 
your  name  at  Lady  Clapperclaw's  soirees,  and  the  Champignon 
breakfasts  ;  and  as  for  the  Rubadubs,  of  course,  as  relations " 

"  Oh,  of  course,  I  dine  there  twice  a  week,"  I  said ;  and  then 
I  remembered  that  my  cousin,  Humphrey  Snob,  of  the  Middle 
Temple,  is  a  great  frequenter  of  genteel  societies,  and  to  have  seen 
his  name  in  the  Jforninr/  Post  at  the  tag-end  of  several  party  lists. 
So,  taking  tlie  hint,  I  am  ashamed  to  say  I  indulged  Mrs.  Major 
Ponto  with  a  deal  of  information  about  the  first  families  in  England, 
such  as  would  astonish  those  great  personages  if  they  knew  it.  I 
described  to  her  most  accurately  the  three  reigning  beauties  of  last 
season  at  Almack's :   told   her  in   confidence   that   his    Grace   the 

D of  W was  going  to  be  married  the  day  after  his  Statue 

was  put  up ;  that  his  Grace  the  D of  D was  also  about 

to  lead  the  fourth  daughter  of  tlie  Archduke  Stephen  to  the 
hymeneal  altar  : — and  talked  to  her,  in  a  word,  just  in  the  style  of 
Mrs.  Gore's  last  fashionable  novel. 

Mrs.  Major  was  quite  fascinated  by  this  brilliant  conversation. 
She  began  to  trot  out  scraps  of  French,  just  for  all  tlie  world  as 
they  do  in  the  novels  ;  and  kissed  her  hand  to  me  quite  graciously, 
telling  me  to  come  soon  to  caffy,  ^mr/  ini  de  Musick  o  salong — 
with  which  she  tripped  off  like  an  elderly  fairy. 

"  Shall  I  open  a  bottle  of  port,  or  do  you  ever  drink  such  a  thing 
a.s  liollands  and  water"?"  says  Ponto,  looking  ruefully  at  me.  This  was 
a  very  different  style  of  thing  to  what  I  had  been  led  to  expect  from 
him  at  our  smoking-room  at  the  Club :  where  lie  swaggers  about 
his  horses  and  his  cellar :  and  slapping  me  on  the  shoulder  used  to 
say,  "  Come  down  to  Mangelwurzelshire,  Snob,  my  boy,  and  I'll  give 
you  as  good  a  day's  shooting  and  as  good  a  glass  of  claret  as  any 
in  the  county." — "  AVell,"  I  said,  "I  like  hollands  much  better  than 
port,  and  gin  even  better  than  hollands."  This  was  lucky.  It  was 
gin  ;  and  Stripes  brought  in  hot  water  on  a  splendid  plated  tray. 

The  jingling  of  a  harj)  and  i)iano  soon  announced  that  Mrs. 
Ponto's  umj  2>u  de  Musick  had  commenced,  and  the  smell  of  the 
stable  again  entering  the  dining-room,  in  the  person  of  Stripes, 
summoned  us  to  ca//y  and  tl^e  little  concert.     She  beckoned  me 


390  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

with  a  \vlniiin.c  smile  to  the  sofa,  on  which  she  made  room  for 
me,  and  where  we  coiUd  command  a  fine  view  of  the  backs  of 
the  young  kulies  who  were  performing  the  musical  entertainment. 
Very  broad  backs  they  were  too,  strictly  according  to  the  present 
mode,  for  crinoline  or  its  substitutes  is  not  an  expensive  luxury, 
and  young  people  in  the  country  can  afford  to  be  in  the  fashion 
at  very  trifling  charges.  Miss  Emily  Ponto  at  the  piano,  and 
Iter  sister  Maria  at  that  somewhat  exploded  instrument  the  harp, 
were  in  light-blue  dresses  that  looked  all  flounce,  and  spread  out 
like  Mr.  Green's  balloon  when  inflated. 

"  Brilliant  touch  Emily  has  ! — what  a  fine  arm  Maria's  is  !  "  Mrs. 
Ponto  remarked  good-naturedly,  pointing  out  the  merits  of  her 
daughters,  and  waving  her  own  arm  iu  such  a  way  as  to  show 
that  she  was  not  a  little  satisfied  with  the  beauty  of  that  member. 
I  observed  she  had  about  nine  bracelets  and  bangles,  consisting 
of  chains  and  padlocks,  the  Major's  miniature,  anrl  a  variety  of 
brass  serpents  with  fiery  ruby  or  tender  turquoise  eyes,  writhing 
up  to  her  elbow  almost,  iu  the  most  profuse  contortions. 

"  You  recognise  those  polkas  ?  They  were  played  at  Devon- 
shire House  on  the  23rd  of  July,  the  day  of  the  grand  fete."  So 
I  said  yes — I  knew  'em  quite  intimately  ;  and  began  wagging  my 
liead  as  if  in  acknowledgment  of  those  old  friends. 

When  the  performance  was  concluded,  I  had  the  felicity  of  a 
presentation  and  conversation  with  the  two  tall  and  scraggy  Miss 
Pontos ;  and  ]\Iiss  Wirt,  the  governess,  sat  down  to  entertain  us 
with  variations  on  "  Sicli  a  gettin'  up  Stairs."  They  were  deter- 
mined to  be  in  the  fashion. 

For  the  performance  of  the  "  Gettin'  up  Stairs,"  I  have  no  other 
name  but  that  it  was  a  stunner.  First  Miss  Wirt,  with  great  delibe- 
ration, played  the  original  and  beautiful  melody,  cutting  it,  as  it  were, 
out  of  the  instrument,  and  firing  off"  each  note  so  loud,  clear,  and 
sharp,  that  I  am  sure  Stripes  must  liave  heard  it  in  the  stable. 

"  What  a  finger  !  "  says  Mrs.  Ponto ;  and  indeed  it  was  a  finger, 
as  knotted  as  a  turkey's  drumstick,  and  splaying  all  over  the  piano. 
When  she  had  liauged  out  the  tune  slowly,  she  began  a  different 
manner  of  "  Gettin'  up  Stairs,"  and  did  so  with  a  fury  and  swift- 
ness quite  incredible.  She  spun  upstairs  ;  she  whirled  upstairs ; 
she  galloped  upstairs ;  she  rattled  upstairs ;  and  then  having  got 
the  tune  to  the  top  landing,  as  it  were,  she  hurled  it  down  again 
shrieking  to  the  bottom  floor,  where  it  sank  in  a  crash  as  if  ex- 
liausted  by  the  breathless  rapidity  of  the  descent.  Then  Miss 
Wirt  played  the  "  Gettin'  up  Stairs "  with  the  most  pathetic  and 
ravishing  solenuiity ;  plaintive  moans  and  sobs  issued  from  the 
keys — you  wept  and  trembled  as  you  were  gettin'  upstairs.     Miss 


A    VISIT    TO    SOME    COUNTRY    SNOBS       391 

Wirt's  hands  seemed  to  faint  and  wail  and  die  in  variations ;  again, 
and  she  went  up  with  a  savage  clang  and  rush  of  trumpets,  as  if 
Miss  Wirt  was  storming  a  breach  ;  and  although  I  knew  nothing 
of  music,  as  I  .sat  and  listened  with  my  mouth  open  to  this 
wonderful  display,  my  caffy  grew  cold,  and  I  wondered  the  windows 
did  not  crack  and  the  chandelier  start  out  of  the  beam  at  the 
sound  of  this  earthquake  of  a  piece  of  music. 

"Glorious  creature  !  Isn't  she?"  said  Mrs.  Ponto. — "  Squirtz's 
favourite  pupil — inestimable  to  have  such  a  creature.  Lady  Carabas 
would  give  her  eyes  for  her !  A  prodigy  of  accomplishments ! 
Thank  you,  Miss  Wirt !  " — And  the  young  ladies  gave  a  heave  and 
a  gasp  of  admiration — a  deep-breathing  gushing  sound,  such  as  you 
hear  at  church  when  the  sermon  comes  to  a  full  stop. 

Miss  Wirt  put  her  two  great  double-knuckled  hands  round  a 
waist  of  her  two  pupils,  and  said,  "  My  dear  children,  I  hope  you 
will  be  able  to  play  it  soon  as  well  as  your  poor  little  governess. 
When  I  lived  with  the  Dunsinanes,  it  was  the  dear  Duchess's 
favourite,  and  Lady  Barbara  and  Lady  Jane  Macbeth  learned  it. 
It  was  while  hearing  Jane  play  that,  I  remember,  that  dear  Lord 
Castletoddy  first  fell  in  love  with  her ;  and  though  he  is  but  an 
Irish  Peer,  with  not  more  than  fifteen  thousand  a  year,  I  persuaded 
Jane  to  have  liim.  Do  you  know  Castletoddy,  Mr.  Snob  % — round 
towers — sweet  place — county  Mayo.  Old  Lord  Castletoddy  (the 
present  Lord  was  then  Lord  Inishowan)  was  a  most  eccentric  old 
man — they  say  he  was  mad.  I  heard  his  Royal  Highness  the  poor 
dear  Duke  of  Sussex — (fixich  a  man,  my  dears,  but,  alas  !  addicted 
to  smoking!) — I  heard  his  Royal  Highness  say  to  the  Marquis  of 
Anglesey,  '  I  am  sure  Castletoddy  is  mad  ! '  but  Inishowan  wasn't 
in  marrying  my  sweet  Jane,  though  the  dear  child  had  but  her  ten 
thousand  pounds  2tonr  tout  x>otage  I  " 

"  Most  invaluable  person,"  whispered  Mrs.  Major  Ponto  to  me. 
"  Has  lived  in  the  very  highest  society : "  and  I,  who  have  been 
accustomed  to  see  governesses  bullied  in  the  world,  was  delighted  to 
find  this  one  ruling  the  roast,  and  to  think  that  even  the  majestic 
Mrs.  Ponto  bent  before  her. 

As  for  my  pipe,  so  to  speak,  it  went  out  at  once.  I  hadn't  a 
word  to  say  against  a  woman  who  was  intimate  with  every  Ducliess 
in  the  Red  Book.  She  wasn't  the  rosebud,  but  she  had  been  near 
it.  She  liad  rubbed  shoulders  with  the  great,  and  about  these  we 
talked  all  the  evening  incessantly,  and  about  the  fashions,  and  about 
the  Court,  until  bed-time  came. 

"And  are  there  Snobs  in  this  Elysium  ?"  I  exclaimed,  jumj)ing 
into  tlie  lavender-perfumed  bed.  Pouto's  snoring  boomed  from  the 
neighbouring  bedroom  in  rej)ly. 


.      CHAPTER    XXVI 

ON  SOME  COUNTRY  SNOBS 

SOMETHING  like  a  Journal  of  the  proceedings  at  the  EveT- 
k  greens  may  be  interesting  to  those  foreign  readers  of  Punch 
who  want  to  know  the  customs  of  an  English  gentleman's 
family  and  household.  There's  plenty  of  time  to  keep  the  Journal. 
Piano  strumming  begins  at  six  o'clock  in  the  morning ;  it  lasts  till 
breakfast,  with  but  a  minute's  intermission,  when  the  instrument 
changes  hands,  and  Miss  Emily  practises  in  place  of  her  sister 
Miss  Maria. 

In  fact,  the  confounded  instrument  never  stops :  when  the 
young  ladies  are  at  their  lessons,  Miss  Wirt  hammers  away  at  those 
stunning  variations,  and  keeps  her  magnificent  finger  in  exercise. 

I  asked  this  great  creature  in  what  other  branches  of  education 
she  instructed  her  pupils'?  "The  modern  languages,"  says  she 
modestly ;  "  French,  German,  Spanish,  and  Italian,  Latin  and  the 
rudiments  of  Greek  if  desired.  English,  of  course ;  the  practice 
of  Elocution,  Geography,  and  Astronomy,  and  the  Use  of  the 
Globes,  Algebra  (but  only  a.s  far  as  quadratic  equations) ;  for  a 
poor  ignorant  female,  you  know,  Mr.  Snob,  cannot  be  expected  to 
know  everything.  Ancient  and  Motiern  History  no  young  woman 
can  be  without ;  and  of  these  I  make  ray  beloved  pupils  2^erfect 
mistresses.  Botany,  Geology,  and  Mineralogy,  I  consider  as  amuse- 
ments. And  with  these  I  assure  you  we  manage  to  pass  the  days 
at  the  Evergreens  not  unpleasantly." 

Only  these,  thought  I— what  an  eduaition  !  But  I  looked  in 
one  of  Miss  Ponto's  manuscript  song-books  and  found  five  faults  of 
French  in  four  words ;  and  in  a  wjiggish  mood  asking  J\Iiss  Wirt 
whether  Dante  Algiery  was  so  called  because  he  was  born  at  Algiers, 
received  a  smiling  answer  in  the  afiirmative,  which  made  me  rather 
floubt  about  the  accuracy  of  Miss  Wirt's  knowledge. 

When  the  above  little  morning  occupations  are  concluded,  these 
unfortunate  young  women  perform  what  they  call  Calistlienic 
Exercises  in  the  garden.  I  saw  them  to-day,  without  anv  crino- 
line, pulling  the  garden-roller. 


ON    SOME    COUNTRY    SNOBS  393 

Dear  Mrs.  Ponto  was  in  the  garden  too,  and  as  limp  as  her 
daughters ;  in  a  faded  baudean  of  hair,  in  a  battered  bonnet,  in  a 
liollaud  pinafore,  in  pattens,  on  a  broken  chair,  snipping  leaves  oh' 
a  vine.  Mrs.  Ponto  measures  many  yards  about  in  an  evening. 
Ye  heavens  !  what  a  guy  she  is  in  that  skeleton  morning  costume ! 

Besides  Stripes,  they  keep  a  boy  called  Thomas  or  Tummus. 
Tummus  works  in  the  garden  or  about  the  pig-sty  and  stable  ; 
Thomas  wears  a  page's  costume  of  eruptive  buttons. 

When  anybody  calls,  and  Stripes  is  out  of  the  way,  Tummus 
flings  himself  like  mad  into  Thomas's  clothes,  and  comes  out  meta- 
morphosed like  Harlequin  in  the  pantomime.  To-day,  as  Mrs.  P. 
was  cutting  the  grape-vine,  as  the  young  ladies  were  at  the  roller, 
down  comes  Tummus  like  a  roaring  whirlwind,  with  "  Missus, 
Missus,  there's  company  coomin'  ! "  Away  scurry  the  young  ladies 
from  the  roller,  down  comes  Mrs.  P.  from  the  old  chair,  oft'  flies 
Tummus  to  change  his  clothes,  and  in  an  incredibly  short  space  of 
time  Sir  John  Hawbuck,  my  Lady  Hawbuck,  and  Master  Hugh 
Hawbuck  are  introduced  into  the  garden  with  brazen  effrontery  by 
Thomas,  who  says,  '  Please  Sir  Jan  and  my  Lady  to  walk  this  year 
way  :  /  hio^v  Missus  is  in  the  rose-garden." 

And  there,  sure  enough,  she  was  ! 

In  a  pretty  little  garden  bonnet,  with  beautiful  curling  ringlets, 
with  the  smartest  of  aprons  and  the  freshest  of  pearl-coloured  gloves, 
this  amazing  woman  was  in  the  arms  of  her  dearest  Lady  Hawbuck. 
"Dearest  Lady  Hawbuck,  how  good  of  you  !  Always  among  my 
flowei's  !  can't  live  away  from  them  !  " 

"  Sweets  to  the  sweet !  hum — a-ha — a-haw  !  "  says  Sir  John 
Hawbuck,  who  piques  himself  on  his  gallantry,  and  says  nothing 
without  "  a-hum — a-ha — a-haw  !  " 

"Whereth  yaw  pinnafaw?"  cries  Master  Hugh.  "  We  thaw 
you  in  it,  over  the  wall,  didn't  we,  pa  ? " 

"  Hum — a-ha — a-haw  !  "  burst  out  Sir  Jolm,  dreadfully  alarmed. 
"  Where's  Ponto  ?  Why  wasn't  he  at  Quarter  Sessions  1  Hoav  are 
his  birds  this  year,  Mrs.  Ponto — have  those  Carabas  pheasants  done 
any  harm  to  your  wheat  1  a-hum — a-ha — a-haw  ! "  and  all  this 
while  he  was  making  the  most  ferocious  and  desperate  signals  to  his 
youthful  heir. 

"Well,  she  vxith  in  her  ]»innafaw,  wathn't  she,  maV  says 
Hugh,  quite  unabaslied ;  which  (juestion  Lady  Hawbuck  turned 
away  with  a  sudden  (piery  reganling  her  dear  darling  daughters, 
and  the  enfant  terrihle  was  removed  by  his  father. 

"I  hope  you  weren't  disturbed  by  the  nmsic?"  Ponto  says. 
"  My  girls,   you   know,    prsictise   four   hours   a   day,   you  know — 


394  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

uuist  do  it,  you  know — absolutely  necessary.  As  for  me,  you 
know  I'm  an  early  man,  and  in  my  farm  every  morning  at  five 
— no,  no  laziness  for  me." 

The  facts  are  these.  Ponto  goes  to  sleep  directly  after  dinner 
on  entering  the  drawing-room,  and  wakes  up  when  the  ladies  leave 
off  practice  at'  ten.  From  seven  till  ten,  and  from  ten  till  five, 
is  a  very  fair  allowance  of  slumber  for  a  man  who  says  he's  not 
a  lazy  man.  It  is  my  private  opinion  that  when  Ponto  retires 
to  what  is  called  his  "  Study,"  he  sleeps  too.  He  locks  himself  uj) 
there  daily  two  hours  with  the  newspaper. 

I  saw  tiie  Hawhiick  scene  out  of  the  Study,  which  commands 
the  garden.  It's  a  curious  object,  that  Study.  Ponto's  library 
mostly  consists  of  ])oots.  He  and  Stripes  liave  important  interviews 
here  of  mornings,  when  the  potatoes  are  discussed,  or  the  fate  of 
the  calf  ordained,  or  sentence  passed  on  the  pig,  &c.  All  the 
Major's  bills  are  docketed  on  the  Study  table,  and  displayed  like 
a  lawyer's  briefs.  Here,  too,  lie  displayed  his  hooks,  knives,  and 
other  gardening  irons,  his  whistles,  and  strings  of  spare  buttons. 
He  has  a  drawer  of  endless  brown  paper  for  parcels,  and  another 
containing  a  prodigious  and  never-failing  supply  of  string.  What  a 
man  can  want  witli  so  many  gig-whips  I  can  never  conceive.  These, 
and  fishing-rods,  and  landing-nets,  and  spurs,  and  boot-trees,  and 
balls  for  horses,  and  surgical  implements  for  the  same,  and  fiivourite 
pots  of  shiny  bkcking,  with  which  he  paints  his  own  shoes  in  the 
most  elegant  manner,  and  buckskin  gloves  stretched  out  on  their 
trees,  and  his  gorget,  sash,  and  sabre  of  tiie  Horse  Marines,  with 
his  boot-hooks  underneath  in  a  trophy ,  and  the  family  medicine- 
chest,  and  in  a  corner  the  very  rod  with  which  he  used  to  whip 
his  son,  Wellesley  Ponto,  when  a  boy  (Wellesley  never  entered  the 
"  Study "  but  for  that  awful  purpose) — all  these,  with  Mogg's 
■'  Road  Book,"  the  Gardener's  Chronicle,  and  a  backgannnon-board, 
form  the  Major's  library.  Under  the  trophy  there's  a  picture  of 
Mrs.  Ponto,  in  a  light-blue  dress  and  train,  and  no  waist,  when  she 
was  first  married  ;  a  fox's  brush  lies  over  the  frame,  and  serves 
to  keeji  the  dust  oft'  that  work  of  art. 

"  My  library's  small,"  says  Ponto,  with  the  most  amazing  im- 
pudence, "  but  well  selected,  my  boy — well  selected.  I  have  been 
reading  the  '  History  of  England '  all  the  morning." 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

A   VISIT  TO  SOME   COUNTRY  SNOBS 

WE  had  the  fish,  -which,  as  the  kiud  reader  may  remember, 
I  had  brought  down  in  a  delicate  attention  to  Mrs.  Pouto, 
to  variegate  the  repast  of  next  day ;  and  cod  and  oyster 
sauce,  twice  laid,  salt  cod  and  scolloped  oysters,  formed  parts  of  the 
bill  of  fare,  until  I  began  to  fancy  that  the  Ponto  family,  like  our 
late  revered  monarch  George  II.,  had  a  fancy  for  stale  fish.  And 
about  this  time,  the  pig  being  consumed,  we  began  upon  a  sheep. 

But  how  shall  I  forget  the  solemn  splendour  of  a  second  course, 
which  was  served  up  in  great  state  by  Stripes  in  a  silver  dish  and 
cover,  a  napkin  round  his  dirty  thumbs ;  and  consisted  of  a  landrail, 
not  ]nuch  bigger  than  a  corpulent  sparrow. 

"  My  love,  will  you  take  any  game  1 "  says  Pouto,  with  prodigious 
gravity ;  and  stuck  his  fork  into  that  little  mouthful  of  an  island  in 
the  silver  sea.  Stripes,  too,  at  iutei-vals,  dribbled  out  the  marsala 
with  a  solemnity  which  would  have  done  honour  to  a  Duke's  butler. 
The  Barmecide's  dinner*  to  Shacabac  was  only  one  degree  removed 
from  these  solemn  banquets. 

As  there  were  plenty  of  pretty  country  places  close  by  ;  a  com- 
fortable country  town,  with  good  houses  of  gentlefolks ;  a  beautiful 
old  parsonage,  close  to  the  church  whither  we  went  (and  where  the 
Carabas  family  have  their  ancestral  carved  and  monumented  Gothic 
pew),  and  every  appearance  of  good  society  in  the  neighbourhood,  I 
rather  wondered  we  were  not  enlivened  by  the  appearance  of  some 
of  the  neighbours  at  the  Evergreens,  and  asked  about  them. 

"  We  can't  in  our  position  of  life — we  can't  well  associate  with 
the  attorney's  family,  as  I  leave  you  to  suppose,"  says  Mrs.  Ponto 
confidentially. 

"Of  course  not,"  I  answered,  though  I  didn't  know  why.  "And 
the  Doctor  ? "  said  I. 

"A  most  excellent  worthy  creature,"  says  Mrs.  P.;  "saved 
Maria's  life — really  a  learned  man  ;  l)ut  what  can  one  do  in  one's 
position  ?  One  may  a.sk  one's  medical  man  to  one's  table  certainly  : 
but  his  family,  my  dear  Mr.  Snob  ? " 

"  Half-a-dozen  little  Gallipots,"  interposed  Miss  "Wirt,  the  gover- 
ness :  "  he,  he,  h%  ! "  and  the  young  ladies  laughed  in  chorus. 


396  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

"  We  only  live  -with  the  county  families,"  Miss  Wirt  *  continued, 
tossing  up  her  head.  "  The  Duke  is  abroad  :  we  are  at  feud  witli 
the  Carabases ;  the  Ringwoods  don't  come  down  till  Christinas :  in 
fact,  nobody's  here  till  the  hunting-season — positively  nobody." 

"  Whose  is  the  large  red  house  just  outside  of  the  town  1 " 

"  What !  the  chdteaiircalicot  ?  he,  he,  he  !  That  i)urse-proud 
ex-linendraper,  Mr.  Yardley,  with  the  yellow  liveries,  and  the  wife 
in  red  velvet  1  How  can  you,  my  dear  Mr.  Snob,  be  so  satirical  1 
Tlie  impertinence  of  those  people  is  really  pomething  quite  over- 
whelming." 

"  Well,  then,  there  is  the  parson,  Doctor  Clirysostom.  He's  a 
gentleman,  at  any  rate." 

At  tbis  Mrs.  Ponto  looked  at  Miss  Wirt.  After  their  eyes  had 
met  and  they  had  wagged  their  heads  at  each  other,  they  looked 
up  to  the  ceiling.  So  did  the  young  ladies.  They  thrilled.  It 
was  evident  I  had  said  something  very  temble.  Another  black 
sheep  in  the  Church  ?  thought  I,  with  a  little  sorrow  ;  for  I  don't 
care  to  own  that  I  have  a  respect  for  the  cloth.  "  I— I  hope  there's 
nothing  wrong  ] " 

"Wrong'?"  says  Mrs.  P.,  clasping  her  hands  with  a,  tragic  air. 

"  Oh  !  "  says  Miss  Wirt  and  tlie  two  girls,  gasping  in  chorus. 

"  Well,"  says  I,  "  I'm  very  sorry  for  it,  I  never  saw  a  nicer- 
looking  old  gentleman,  or  a  better  school,  or  heard  a  better  sermon." 

"  He  used  to  preach  those  sermons  in  a  surplice,"  hissed  out 
Mrs.  Ponto.      "He's  a  Puseyite,  Mr.  Snob." 

"  Heavenly  powers  !  "  says  I,  admiring  the  pure  ardour  of  these 
female  theologians ;  and  Stripes  came  in  with  the  tea.  It's  so  weak 
that  no  wonder  Ponto's  sleep  isn't  disturbed  by  it. 

Of  mornings  we  used  to  go  out  shooting.  We  had  Ponto's  own 
fields  to  sport  over  (where  we  got  the  landrail),  and  the  non-pre- 
served part  of  the  Hawbuck  property  :  and  one  evening  in  a  stubble 
of  Ponto's  skirting  the  Oarabas  wootls,  we  got  among  some  pheasants, 
and  had  some  real  sport.  I  shot  a  hen,  I  know,  greatly  to  my 
delight.  "  Bag  it,"  says  Ponto,  in  rather  a  hurried  manner ;  "  here's 
somebody  coming."     So  I  pocketed  the  bird. 

*  I  have  since  heard  that  this  aristocratic  lady's  father  was  a  livery -button 
malcer  in  St.  Martin's  Lane :  where  he  met  with  misfortunes,  and  his  daughter 
acquired  her  taste  for  lieraldry.  But  it  may  be  told  to  her  credit,  that  out  of 
her  earnings  she  has  kept  the  bedridden  old  bankrupt  in  great  comfort  and 
secrecy  at  Pentonville  ;  and  furnished  her  brother's  outfit  for  the  Cadetship 
which  her  patron,  Lord  Swigglebiggle,  gave  her  when  he  was  at  the  Board  of 
Control.  I  have  this  information  from  a  friend.  To  hear  Miss  Wirt  herself, 
you  would  fancy  that  her  papa  was  a  Rothschild,  and  that  the  markets  of 
Europe  were  convulsed  when  be  went  into  the  Gazette. 


A   VISIT    TO    SOME    COUNTRY    SNOBS        S97 

"  You  infernal  poaching  thieves  ! "  roars  out  a  man  from  the 
hedge  in  the  garb  of  a  gamekeeper.  "  I  wish  I  could  catch  you  on 
this  side  of  the  hedge.  I'd  put  a  brace  of  barrels  into  you,  that  I 
would." 

"Curse  that  Snapper,"  says  Ponto,  moving  off";  "he's  always 
watching  me  like  a  spy." 

"  Carry  off  the  birds,  you  sneaks,  and  sell  'em  in  London,"  roars 
the  individual,  who  it  appears  was  a  keeper  of  Lord  Carabas. 
"  You'll  get  six  shillings  a  brace  for  'em." 

"  You  know  the  price  of  'em  well  enough,  and  so  does  your 
master  too,  you  scoundrel,"  says  Ponto,  still  retreating. 

"We  kill  'em  on  our  ground,"  cries  Mr.  Snapper.  "  IVe  don't 
set  traps  for  other  people's  birds.  We're  no  decoy  ducks.  We're 
no  sneaking  poachers.  We  don't  shoot  'ens,  like  that  'ere  Cockney, 
who's  got  the  tail  of  one  a-sticking  out  of  his  pocket.  Only  just 
come  across  the  hedge,  that's  all." 

"  I  tell  you  what,"  says  Stripes,  who  was  out  with  us  as  keeper 
this  day  (in  fact  he's  keeper,  coachman,  gardener,  valet,  and  bailiff, 
with  Tummus  under  him),  "if  i/au'll  come  across,  John  Snapper,  and 
take  your  coat  off,  I'll  give  you  such  a  whopping  as  you've  never 
had  since  the  last  time  I  did  it  at  Guttlebury  Fair." 

"  Whop  one  of  your  own  weight,"  Mr.  Snapper  said,  whistling 
his  dogs,  and  disappearing  into  tlie  wood.  And  so  we  came  out  of 
this  controversy  rather  victoriously ;  but  I  began  to  alter  my  pre- 
conceived idea  of  rural  fclicitv. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

OiV  SOME  COUNTRY  SNOBS 

BE  hanged  to  your  aristocrats ! "  Ponto  said,  in  some  conver- 
sation we  liad  regarding  tlie  family  at  Carabas,  between 
wliom  and  the  Evergreens  there  was  a  feud.  "  When  I  first 
came  into  the  county — it  was  the  year  before  Sir  Jolm  Buff  con- 
tested in  the  Blue  interest — the  Marquis,  then  Lord  St.  Michaels, 
who,  of  course,  was  Orange  to  the  Core,  paid  me  and  LIrs.  Ponto 
such  attentions,  that  I  fairly  confess  I  was  taken  in  by  the  old 
humbug,  and  thought  that  I'd  met  with  a  rare  neighbour.  'Gad, 
sir,  we  used  to  get  pines  from  Carabas,  and  jiheasants  from  Carabas, 
and  it  was — -'Ponto,  when  will  you  come  over  and  shoot"?' — and — 
'  Ponto,  our  pheasants  want  thinning,' — and  my  Lady  would  insist 
upon  her  dear  Mrs.  Ponto  coming  over  to  Carabas  to  sleep,  and  put 
me  I  don't  know  to  what  expense  for  turbans  and  velvet  gowns  for 
my  wife's  toilette.  Well,  sir,  the  election  takes  place,  and,  though 
I  was  always  a  Liberal,  personal  friendship  of  course  induces  me  to 
plump  for  St.  Michaels,  who  comes  in  at  the  head  of  the  poll. 
Next  year,  Mrs.  P.  insists  upon  going  to  town — with  lodgings  in 
Clarges  Street  at  ten  pounds  a  week,  with  a  hired  liroughain,  and 
new  dresses  for  herself  and  the  girls,  and  the.  deuce  and  all  to  pay. 
Our  first  cards  were  to  Carabas  House ;  my  Lady's  are  returned  by 
a  great  big  flunkey ;  and  I  leave  you  to  fancy  my  poor  Betsy's  dis- 
comfiture as  the  lodging-house  maid  took  in  the  cards,  and  Lady 
St.  Michaels  drives  away,  though  she  actually  saw  us  at  the  draw- 
ing-room window.  Would  you  believe  it,  sir,  that  though  we  called 
four  times  afterwards,  those  infernal  aristocrats  never  returned  our 
visit ;  that  though  Lady  St.  Michaels  gave  nine  dinner-parties  and 
four  dejeuners  that  season,  she  never  asked  us  to  one ;  and  that  she 
cut  us  dead  at  the  Opera,  though  Betsy  was  nodding  to  her  the 
whole  night  1  We  wrote  to  her  for  tickets  for  Almack's  ;  she  writes 
to  say  that  all  hers  were  promised ;  and  said,  in  the  presence  of 
Wiggins,  her  lady's-maid,  who  told  it  to  Diggs,  my  wife's  woman, 
that  she  couldn't  conceive  how  people  in  our  station  of  life  could  so 
far  forget  themselves  as  to  wish  to  appear  in  any  such  place  !  Go 
to  Castle  Carabas  !     I'd  sooner  die  than  set  my  foot  in  the  house 


ON    SOME    COUNTRY    SNOBS  399 

of  that  impertinent,  insolvent,  insolent  jackanapes — and  I  hold  him 
in  scorn  ! "  After  this,  Ponto  gave  me  some  private  information 
regarding  Lord  Carabas's  pecuniary  affairs ;  how  he  owed  money  all 
over  the  country  ;  how  Jukes  the  carpenter  was  utterly  ruined  and 
couldn't  get  a  shilling  of  his  bill ;  how  Biggs  the  butcher  hanged 
himself  for  the  same  reason  ;  how  the  six  big  footmen  never  received 
a  gi.iinea  of  wages,  and  Snaffle,  the  state  coachman,  actually  took  oft' 
his  blown-glass  wig  of  ceremony  and  ffung  it  at  Lady  Carabas's  feet 
on  the  terrace  before  the  Castle ;  all  which  stories,  as  they  are 
private,  I  do  not  think  proper  to  divulge.  But  these  details  did 
not  stifle  my  desire  to  see  the  famous  mansion  of  Castle  Carabas, 
nay,  possibly  excited  my  interest  to  know  more  about  that  lordly 
house  and  its  owners. 

At  the  entrance  of  the  park,  tliere  are  a  pair  of  great  gaunt 
mildewed  lodges — mouldy  Doric  temples  with  black  chimney-pots, 
in  the  finest  classic  taste,  and  the  gates  of  course  are  surmounted 
by  the  chats  botte's,  the  well-known  supporters  of  the  Carabas 
family.  "  Give  the  lodge-keeper  a  shilling,"'  says  Ponto  (who  drove 
me  near  to  it  in  his  four-wheeled  cruelty-chaise).  "I  warrant  it's 
the  first  piece  of  ready  money  he  has  received  for  some  time."  '  I 
don't  know  whether  there  was  any  foundation  for  this  sneer,  but 
the  gratuity  was  received  with  a  curtsey,  and  the  gate  opened  for 
me  to  enter.  "  Poor  old  porteress  !  "  says  I  inwardly.  "You  little 
know  that  it  is  the  Historian  of  Snobs  whom  you  let  in ! "  The 
gates  were  passed.  A  flamp  green  stretch  of  park  spread  right  and 
left  immeasurably,  confined  by  a  chilly  grey  wall,  and  a  damji  long 
straight  road  between  two  huge  rows  of  moist,  dismal  lime  trees 
leads  up  to  the  Castle.  In  the  midst  of  the  park  is  a  great  black 
tank  or  lake,  bristling  over  with  i-ushes,  and  here  and  there  cov^ed 
over  with  patches  of  pea-soup.  A  shabby  temple  rises  on  an  island 
in  this  delectable  lake,  which  is  approached  by  a  rotten  barge  that 
lies  at  roost  in  a  dilapidated  boat-house.  Clumps  of  elms  and  oaks 
dot  over  the  huge  green  flat.  Every  one  of  them  w^ould  have  been 
down  long  since,  but  that  the  Marquis  is  not  allowed  to  cut  the 
timber. 

Up  that  long  avenue  the  Snobograjiher  walked  in  solitude.  At 
the  seventy-ninth  tree  on  tlie  left-hand  side,  the  insolvent  butcher 
hanged  himself.  I  scarcely  wondered  at  the  dismal  deed,  so  woeful 
and  sad  were  the  impressions  connected  with  the  place.  So,  for  a 
mile  and  a  half  I  walked — alone  and  thinking  of  deatli. 

I  forgot  to  say  the  house  is  in  full  view  all  tlie  way — except 
when  intercepted  by  the  trees  on  the  miserable  island  in  the  lake — 
an  enormous  red-brick   mansion,  square,  v;ii-t,  iind   dingy.      It  is 


400  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

tlaiiked  by  four  stone  towers  Avitli  weathercocks.  In  the  midst  of 
the  rjrand  fac^adc  is  a  huge  Ionic  i)ortico,  approached  by  a  vast, 
lonely,  gliastly  staircase.  Rows  of  bhick  windows,  framed  in  stone, 
stretch  on  cither  side,  right  and  left — three  storeys  and  eighteen 
windows  of  a  row.  You  may  sec  a  picture  of  tlic  palace  and  stair- 
case, in  the  "  Views  of  England  and  Wales,"  witli  four  carved  and 
gilt  carriages  waiting  at  the  gravel  walk,  and  several  parties  of 
ladies  and  gentlemen  in  wigs  and  hoops,  dotting  the  fatiguing  lines 
of  tlie  stairs. 

But  tliese  stairs  are  made  in  great  houses  for  people  not  to 
ascend.  The  first  Lady  Carabas  (tliey  are  but  eighty  years  in  the 
peerage),  if  slie  got  out  of  her  gilt  coach  in  a  shower,  would  be  wet 
to  the  skin  before  she  got  half-way  to  the  carved  Ionic  portico, 
where  four  dreary  statues  of  Peace,  Plenty,  Piety  and  Patriotism, 
are  the  only  sentinels.  You  enter  these  palaces  by  back-doors. 
"  That  was  the  way  the  Carabases  got  their  peerage,"  tlie  mis- 
antliropic  Ponto  said  after  dinner. 

Well — I  rang  the  bell  at  a  little  low  side-door ;  it  clanged  and 
jingled  and  echoed  for  a  long,  long  while,  till  at  length  a  face,  as  of 
a  housekeeper,  peered  through  the  door,  and  a.s  slie  saw  my  hand 
in  my  waistcoat  pocket,  opened  it.  Unhappy,  lonely  housekeeper, 
I  thought.  Is  Miss  Crusoe  in  her  island  more  solitary  ?  The  door 
clapped  to,  and  I  was  in  Castle  Carabas. 

"  The  side  entrance  and  All,"  says  the  housekeeper.  "  The 
halligator  hover  the  mantelpiece  was  brought  home  by  Hadmiral  St. 
Michaels,  when  a  Cai)ting  with  Lord  Hanson.  The  harms  on  the 
cheers  is  the  harms  of  the  Carabas  family."  The  hall  was  rather 
comfortable.  We  went  clapping  up  a  clean  stone  backstair,  and 
tlien  into  a  back  passage  cheerfully  decorated  with  ragged  light- 
green  Kidderminster,  and  issued  upon 

"the  great  all. 

"  The  great  all  is  seventy -two  feet  in  length,  fifty-six  in  breath 
and  thirty-eight  feet  'igh.  The  carvings  of  the  chimlies,  represent- 
ing the  buth  of  Venus,  and  Ercules,  and  Eyelash,  is  by  Van  Chislum, 
the  most  famous  sculpture  of  his  hage  and  country.  The  ceiling, 
by  Calimanco,  represents  Painting,  Harchitecture  and  Music  (the 
naked  female  figure  witli  the  barrel  horgan)  introducing  George,  fust 
Lord  Carabas,  to  the  Temple  of  the  Muses.  The  winder  ornaments 
u  by  Vandeqiutty.  The  floor  is  Patagonian  marble;  and  tlie 
chandelier  in  the  centre  was  presented  to  Lionel,  second  Manpiis, 
by  Lewy  the  Sixteentli,  wdiose  'ead  was  cut  hoff  in  the  Fi^nch 
Revelation.     We  now  henter 


ON    SOME    COUNTRY    SNOBS  401 

"the  south  gallery. 

"  One  'undred  and  forty-eight  in  lenth  by  thirty-two  in  breath  ; 
it  is  profusely  hornaminted  by  the  choicest  works  of  Hart.  Sir 
Andrew  Katz,  founder  of  the  Carabas  family  and  banker  of  the 
Prince  of  Horange,  Kneller.  H^r  present  Ladyship,  by  Lawrence. 
Lord  St.  Michaels,  by  the  same — he  is  represented  sittin'  on  a  rock 
in  velvit  pantaloons.  Moses  in  the  buUrushes — the  bull  very  fine, 
by  Paul  Potter.  The  toilet  of  Venus,  Fantaski.  Flemish  Bores 
drinking  Van  Ginnums.  Jupiter  and  Europia,  De  Horn.  The 
Grandj  unction  Canal,  Venis,  by  Candleetty ;  and  Italian  Bandix, 
by  Slavata  Eosa." — And  so  this  worthy  woman  went  on,  from  one 
room  into  another,  from  the  blue  room  to  the  green,  and  the  green 
to  the  grand  saloon,  and  the  grand  saloon  to  the  tapestry  closet, . 
cackling  her  list  of  pictm-es  and  wonders  :  and  furtively  turning  up 
a  corner  of  brown  holland  to  show  the  colour  of  the  old,  faded,  seedy, 
mouldy,  dismal  hangings. 

At  last  we  came  to  her  Ladyship's  bedroom.  In  the  centre  of 
this  dreary  apartment  there  is  a  bed  about  the  size  of  one  of  those 
whizgig  temples  in  which  the  Genius  appears  in  a  ])antomime.  The 
huge  gilt  edifice  is  approached  by  steps,  and  so  tall,  that  it  might 
be  let  off  in  floors,  for  sleeping-rooms  for  all  the  Carabas  family.  An 
awful  bed  !  A  murder  might  be  done  at  one  end  of  that  bed,  and 
people  sleeping  at  the  other  end  be  ignorant  of  it.  Gracious  powers  ! 
fancy  little  Lord  Carabas  in  a  nightcap  ascending  those  steps  after 
putting  out  the  candle  !« 

The  sight  of  that  seedy  and  solitary  splendour  was  too  much  for 
me.  I  should  go  mad  were  I  that  lonely  housekeeper — in  those 
enormous  galleries — in  that  lonely  library,  filled  up  with  ghastly 
folios  that  nobody  dares  read,  with  an  inkstand  on  the  centre  table 
like  the  coffin  of  a  baby,  and  sad  portraits  staring  at  you  from  the 
bleak  walls  with  their  solemn  mouldy  eyes.  No  wonder  that 
Carabas  does  not  come  down  here  often.  It  would  require  two 
thousand  footmen  to  make  the  i)lace  cheerful.  No  wonder  the 
coachman  resigned  his  wig,  that  the  masters  are  insolvent,  and  the 
servants  perish  in  this  huge  dreary  out-at-elbow  place. 

A  single  family  has  no  more  right  to  build  itself  a  temple  of  that 
sort  than  to  erect  a  Tower  of  Babel.  Such  a  habitation  is  not 
decent  for  a  mere  mortal  man.  But,  after  all,  I  sujtpose  poor 
Carabas  had  no  choice.  Fate  put  him  there  as  it  sent  Napoleon  to 
St.  Helena.  Suppose  it  had  been  decreed  by  Nature  that  you  and 
I  should  be  Marquises'?  We  wouldn't  refuse,  I  sup])osc,  but  take 
Castle  Carabas  and  all,  with  debts,  dvms,  and  mean  raakeshiftSj  and 
shabby  pride,  and  §windling  magnificence. 


402  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

Next  season,  when  I  read  of  Lady  Carubas's  splendid  entertain- 
ments in  the  Moniing  Post,  and  see  the  i)Oor  old  insolvent  cantering 
tliroagh  tlie  Park — I  shall  have  a  much  tenderer  interest  in  tliese 
trreat  i)eoplc  than  I  have  had  heretofore.  Poor  old  shabby  Snob ! 
Ride  on  and  fancy  the  world  is  still  on  its  knees  before  the  house 
of  Carabas  !  Give  yourself  airs,  i)oor  old  bankrupt  Magnifico,  who 
are  under  money-obligations  to  your  flunkeys  ;  and  nuist  stoop  so 
as  to  swindle  poor  tradesmen  !  And  for  us,  0  my  brother  Snobs, 
oughtn't  we  to  feel  happy  if  our  walk  through  life  is  more  even,  and 
that  Ave  are  out  of  the  reach  of  that  surprising  arrogance  and  that 
astounding  meanness  to  which  this  wretched  old  victim  is  obliged  to 
mount  and  descend. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

A    VISIT  TO  SOME  COUNTRY  SNOBS 

NOTABLE  as  my  reception  had  been  (under  that  unfortunate 
mistake  of  Mrs.  Ponto  that  I  'was  related  to  Lord  Snobbington, 
which  I  was  not  permitted  to  correct),  it  was  nothing  com- 
pared to  the  bowing  and  kotooing,  the  raptures  and  flurry  which 
preceded  and  welcomed  the  visit  of  a  real  live  lord  and  lord's  son,  a 
brother  officer  of  Cornet  Wellesley  Ponto,  in  the  120th  Hussars,  who 
came  over  with  the  young  Cornet  from  Guttlebury,  where  their 
distinguished  regiment  was  quartered.  This  was  my  Lord  Gules, 
Lord  Saltire's  grandson  and  heir  :  a  very  young,  short,  sandy-haired 
and  tobacco-smoking  nobleman,  who  cannot  have  left  the  nursery 
very  long,  and  who,  though  he  accepted  the  honest  Major's  invita- 
tion to  the  Evergreens  in  a  letter  WTitten  in  a  schoolboy  handwriting, 
with  a  number  of  faults  of  spelling,  may  yet  be  a  very  fine  classical 
scholar  for  what  I  know :  having  had  his  education  at  Eton,  where 
he  and  young  Ponto  were  inseparable. 

At  any  rate,  if  he  can't  write,  he  has  mastered  a  number  of 
other  accomplishments  wonderful  for  one  of  his  age  and  size.  He 
is  one  of  the  best  shots  and  riders  in  England.  He  rode  his  horse 
Abracadabra,  and  won  the  famous  Guttlebury  steeple-chase.  He 
has  horses  entered  at  half  the  races  in  the  country  (under  other 
]>eople's  names ;  for  the  old  lord  is  a  strict  hand,  and  will  not  hear 
of  betting  or  gambling).  He  has  lost  and  won  such  sums  of 
money  as  my  Lord  George  himself  nn'ght  be  proud  of  He  knows 
all  the  stables,  and  all  the  jockeys,  and  has  all  the  "  information," 
and  is  a  match  for  the  best  Leg  at  Newmarket.  Nobody  was  ever 
known  to  be  "  too  much  "  for  him  at  play  or  in  the  stable. 

Although  his  grandfather  makes  him  a  moderate  allowance,  by 
the  aid  oi postolrits  and  convenient  friends  he  can  live  in  a  splendour 
becoming  his  rank.  He  has  not  distinguished  himself  in  the  knocking 
doAvn  of  ])olicenien  much ;  he  is  not  big  enough  for  that.  But,  as 
a  light-weight,  his  skill  is  of  the  very  highest  order.  At  billiards 
he  is  said  to  be  first-rate.  He  drinks  and  smokes  as  much  as  any 
two  of  the  biggest  officers  in  his  regiment.  With  such  high  talents, 
who  can  say  \\o\\  far  he  may  not  go  1  He  may  take  to  politics 
4 


404  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

as  a  di'hxssemetit,  and  be  Prime  Minister  after  Lord  George 
Bentinck. 

My  young  fi-ieud  Wellesley  Ponto  is  a  gaunt  and  bony  youth, 
with  a  pale  face  profusely  blotched.  From  his  continually  ]tulling 
something  on  his  chin,  I  am  led  to  fancy  that  he  believes  he  has 
■what  is  called  an  Imperial  growing  there.  That  is  not  the  only 
tuft  that  is  hunted  in  the  family,  by  the  way.  He  can't,  of  course, 
indulge  in  those  exi)ensive  amusements  which  render  his  aristocratic 
comrade  so  respected  :  he  bets  pretty  freely  when  he  is  in  cash,  and 
rides  when  somebody  mounts  him  (for  he  can't  afford  more  than  his 
regulation  chargers).  At  drinking  ^le  is  by  no  means  inferior ;  and 
why  do  you  think  he  brought  his  noble  friend.  Lord  Gules,  to  the 
Evergreens  1 — Why  *?  because  he  intended  to  ask  his  mother  to 
order  his  father  to  pay  his  debts,  which  she  couldn't  refuse  before 
such  an  exalted  presence.  Young  Ponto  gave  me  all  this  informa- 
tion with  the  most  engaging  frankness.  We  are  old  friends.  I 
used  to  tip  him  when  he  was  at  school. 

'•  Gad ! "  says  he,  "  our  wedgment's  so  doothid  exthpenthif. 
Must  hunt,  you  know.  A  man  couldn't  live  in  the  wedgment  if 
he  didn't.  Mess  expenses  enawmuth.  Must  dine  at  mess.  Must 
drink  champagne  and  claret.  Ours  ain't  a  port  and  sherry  light- 
infantry  mess.  Uniform's  awful.  Fitzstultz,  our  Colonel,  will 
have  'em  so.  Must  be  a  distinction,  you  know.  At  his  own 
expense  Fitzstultz  altered  the  plumes  in  the  men's  caps  (you  called 
them  shaving-brushes.  Snob,  my  boy  :  most  absurd  and  unjust  that 
attack  of  yours,  by  the  way)  ;  that  altewation  alone  cotht  him 
five  hundred  pound.  The  year  befaw  latht  he  horthed  the  wegiment 
at  an  immenthe  expenthe,  and  we're  called  the  Queen'th  Own 
Pyebalds  from  that  day.  Ever  theen  uth  on  pawade?  The 
Empewar  Nicolath  burtht  into  tearth  of  envy  when  he  thaw 
uth  at  Windthor.  And  you  see,"  continued  ray  young  friend,  "I 
brought  Gules  down  with  me,  'as  the  Governor  is  very  sulky  about 
shelling  out,  just  to  talk  my  mother  over,  who  can  do  anything 
with  him.  .  Gules  told  her  that  I  was  Fitzstultz's  favourite  of  the 
whole  regiment ;  and,  Gad !  she  thinks  the  Horse  Guards  will 
give  rae  my  troop  for  nothing,  and  he  humbugged  the  Governor 
that  I  was  the  greatest  screw  in  the  army.  Ain't  it  a  good 
dodge?" 

With  this  Wellesley  left  me  to  go  and  smoke  a  cigar  in  the 
stables  with  Lord  Gules,  and  make  merry  over  the  cattle  there, 
under  Stripes's  superintendence.  Young  Ponto  laughed  with  his 
friend,  at  the  venerable  four-wheeled  cruelty-chaise ;  but  seemed 
amazed  that  the  latter  should  ridicule  still  more  an  ancient  chariot 
of  the  build  of  1824,  emblazoned  immensely  with  the  arms  of  the 


A    VISIT    TO    SOME    COUNTRY    SNOBS       40.5 

Pontos  and  the  Snailej's,  from  which  latter  distinguished  family 
Mrs.  Ponto  issued. 

I  found  poor  Pon  in  his  study  among  his  boots,  in  such  a  rueful 
attitude  of  despondency,  that  I  could  not  but  remark  it.  "  Look  at 
that !  "  says  the  poor  fellow,  handing  me  over  a  document.  "  It's 
the  second  change  in  uniform  smce  he's  been  in  the  army,  and  yet 
there's  no  extravagance  about  the  lad.  Lord  Gules  tells  me  he  is 
the  most  careful  youngster  in  the  regiment,  God  bless  him  !  But 
look  at  that  I  by  Heaven,  Snob,  look  at  that  and  say  how  can  a 
man  of  nine  hundred  keep  out  of  the  Bench  1 "  He  gave  a  sob  as 
he  handed  me  the  paper  across  the  table ;  and  his  old  face,  and 
his  old  corduroys,  and  his  shrunk  shooting-jacket,  and  his  lean 
shanks  looked,  as  he  spoke,  more  miserably  haggard,  bankrupt, 
and  threadbare. 


Lieut.  "Wellesley  Poxto,  I20tk  Qvsen's  Oton  Pyebald  Hiissarsy 
To  Knopf  axd  Stecknadel, 

Conduit  Street,  London. 


£ 

s.  d. 

£ 

s.   d. 

Dress  Jacket,  richly 

Brought  forward 

207 

3  0 

laced  with  gold 

35 

0  0 

Gold  Barrelled  Sash 

.  11 

18  0 

Ditto  Pelisse  ditto. 

Sword 

.  11 

11  0 

and  trimmed  with 

Ditto  Belt  and  Sabre- 

sable 

60 

0  0 

tache     . 

.  16 

16  0 

Undress  Jacket, 

Pouch  and  Belt . 

.  15 

15  0 

trimmed  with  gold  . 

15 

15  0 

Sword  Knot       . 

.     1 

4  0 

Ditto  Pelisse 

30 

0  0 

Cloak 

.   13 

13  0 

Dress  Pantaloons 

12 

0  0 

Valise 

.     3 

13  6 

Ditto  Overalls,  gold 

Piegulation  Saddle 

^ 
1 

17  6 

lace  on  sides  . 

6 

6  0 

Ditto   Bridle,    com- 

Undress ditto  ditto 

5 

5  0 

plete     . 

.   10 

10  0 

Blue  Braided  Frock    . 

U 

U  0 

A   Dress    Housing, 

Forage  Cap 

3 

3  0 

complete 

.  30 

0  0 

Dress     Cap,     gold 

A  pair  of  Pistols 

.   10 

10  0 

lines,  plume  and 

A  Black  Sheepskin, 

chain     . 

25 

0  0 

edged    . 

i 

.     6 

18  0 

Carried  forward     £, 

207 

3  0 

^347 

9  0 

That  evening  Mrs.  Ponto  and  her  family  made  tlieir  darling 
Wellesley  gi^'e  a  full,  true,  and  particular  account  of  everything 
that  had  taken  place  ;it  Lord  Fitzstultz's :  how  many  servants 
waited  at  dinner ;  and  how  the  Ladies  Schneider  dressed  ;  and  what 


406  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

his  Royal  Higliness  said  when  lie  came  down  to  shoot ;  and  who 
was  there  1  "  What  a  blessing  that  boy  is  to  me  ! "  said  she,  as 
my  pimi»lc-faced  yomig  friend  moved  off  to  resume  smoking  ojjora- 
tions  witli  G-iles  in  the  now  vacant  kitchen  ; — and  poor  Ponto's 
dreary  and  desperate  look,  shall  I  ever  forget  that  1 

0  you  parents  and  guardians  !  0  you  men  and  women  of  sense 
in  England  !  0  you  legislators  about  to  assemble  in  Parliament ! 
read  over  that  tailor's  bill  above  printed — read  over  that  absurd 
catalogue  of  insane  gimcracks  and  madman's  tomfoolery — and  say 
how  are  you  ever  to  get  rid  of  Snobbishness  when  society  does  so 
nnich  for  its  education  ? 

Three  hundred  and  forty  pounds  for  a  young  chap's  saddle  and 
breeches  !  Before  George,  I  would  rather  be  a  Hottentot  or  a 
Highlander.  We  laugh  at  poor  Jocko,  the  monkey,  dancing  in 
uniform  ;  or  at  poor  Jcrames,  the  flunkey,  with  his  quivering  calves 
and  plush  tights  ;  or  at  the  nigger  Marquis  of  Marmalade,  dressed 
out  with  sabre  and  epaulets,  and  giving  himself  the  airs  of  a  field- 
marshal.  Lo  !  is  not  one  of  the  Queen's  Pyebalds,  in  full  fig,  as 
great  and  foolish  a  monster  1 


CHAPTER  XXX 

ON  SOME  COUNTRY  SNOBS 

AT  last  came  that  fortuuate  day  at  the  Evergreens,  when  I  was 
/-\  to  be  made  acquainted  with  some  of  the  "  comity  families '"' 
■'  *■  with  whom  only  people  of  Ponto's  rank  condescended  to 
associate.  And  now,  although  poor  Pouto  had  just  been  so  cruelly 
made  to  bleed  on  occasion  of  his  son's  new  uniform,  and  though  he 
was  in  the  direst  and  most  cut-throat  spirits,  Avith  an  overdrawn 
account  at  the  banker's,  and  other  pressing  evils  of  poverty  ;  although 
a  tenpeuny  lx)ttle  of  marsala  and  an  awful  parsimony  presided 
generally  at  his  table,  yet  the  poor  fellow  was  obliged  to  assume  the 
most  frank  and  jovial  air  of  cordiality ;  and  all  the  covers  being 
I'emoved  from  the  hangings,  and  new  dresses  being  procured  for  the 
young  ladies,  and  the  family  plate  being  unlocked  and  displayed, 
the  house  and  all  within  assumed  a  benevolent  and  festive  appear- 
ance. The  kitchen  fires  began  to  blaze,  the  good  wine  ascended 
from  the  cellar,  a  professed  cook  actually  came  over  from  Guttlebury 
to  compile  culinary  abominations.  Stripes  was  in  a  new  coat,  and 
so  was  Ponto,  for  a  wonder,  and  Tummus's  button  suit  was  worn 
en  permanence.'^' 

'  And  all  this  to  show  off  the  little  lord,  thinks  I.  All  this  in 
honour  of  a  stupid  little  cigarrified  Cornet  of  Dragoons,  who  can 
barely  Avrite  his  name — while  an  eminent  and  profound  moralist 
like — somebody — is  fobbed  off  with  cold  nuitton  and  relays  of  pig. 
Well,  well :  a  martyrdom  of  cold  mutton  is  just  bearable.  I  pardon 
Mrs.  Ponto,  from  my  heart  I  do,  especially  as  I  wouldn't  turn  out 
of  the  best  bedroom,  in  spite  of  all  her  hints ;  but  held  my  ground 
in  the  chintz  tester,  vowing  that  Lord  Gules,  as  a  young  man,  was 
quite  small  and  hardy  enough  to  make  himself  comfortable  elsewhere. 
The  great  Ponto  party  was  a  very  august  one.  The  Hawbucks 
came  in  their  family  coach,  -with  the  blood-red  hand  emVjlazoned  all 
over  it  :  and  their  man  in  yellow  livery  waited  in  country  fashion 
at  table,  only  to  be  exceeded  in  splendour  by  the  Hipsleys,  the 
opposition  baronet,  in  light  blue.     The  old  Ladies  Fitzague  drove 

*  I  caught  him  in  this  costume,  tryinj,'  the  flavour  of  the  sauce  of  a  tipsy- 
cake,  whicli  \v;is  made  by  Mrs.  Ponto's  own  hands  for  her  guests'  delectation. 


408  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

over  in  tlieir  little  old  chariot  with  the  fat  black  horses,  the  fat 
coachman,  the  fat  footman — (why  arc  dowagers'  horses  and  footmen 
always  fat?).  And  soon  after  these  ])ersonages  had  arrived,  with 
their  auburn  fronts  and  red  beaks  and  turbans,  came  the  Honourable 
and  Reverend  Lionel  Pcttipois,  who  with  General  and  Mrs.  Sago 
formed  the  rest  of  the  party.  "  Lord  and  Lady  Frederick  Howlet 
were  asked,  but  they  have  friends  at  Ivybush,"  Mrs.  Ponto  told 
me ;  and  that  very  morning,  the  Castlehaggards  sent  an  excuse,  as 
her  Ladyship  had  a  return  of  the  quinsy.  Between  ourselves,  Lady 
Castlehaggard's  quinsy  always  comes  on  when  there  is  dinner  at  the 
Evergreens. 

If  the  keeping  of  polite  company  could  make  a  woman  happy, 
surely  my  kind  hostess  Mrs.  Ponto  was  on  that  day  a  happy 
woman.  Every  person  present  (except  the  unlucky  impostor  who 
pretended  to  a  connection  with  the  Snobbington  Family,  and 
General  Sago,  who  had  brought  home  I  don't  know  how  many 
lacs  of  rupees  from  India)  was  related  to  the  Peerage  or  the 
Baronetage.  Mrs.  P.  had  her  heart's  desire.  If  she  had  been  an 
Earl's  daughter  herself,  could  she  have  expected  better  company? — 
and  lier  fomily  were  in  the  oil-trade  at  Bristol,  as  all  her  friends 
very  well  know. 

What  I  complained  of  in  my  heart  was  not  the  dining — which, 
for  this  once,  was  plentiful  and  comfortable  enough — but  the  pro- 
digious didness  of  the  talking  part  of  the  entertainment.  0  my 
beloved  brother  Snobs  of  the  City,  if  we  love  each  other  no  better 
than  our  country  brethren,  at  least  we  amuse  each  other  more ;  if 
we  bore  ourselves,  we  are  not  called  upon  to  go  ten  miles  to  do  it ! 

For  instance,  the  Hipsleys  came  ten  miles  from  the  south,  and 
the  Hawbucks  ten  miles  from  the  north  of  the  Evergreens ;  and 
were  magnates  in  two  different  divisions  of  the  county  of  Mangel- 
wurzelshire.  Hipsley,  who  is  an  old  baronet,  with  a  bothered 
estate,  did  not  care  to  show  his  contempt  for  Hawbuck,  who  is  a 
new  creation,  and  rich.  Hawbuck,  on  his  part,  gives  himself 
patronising  airs  to  General  Sago,  who  looks  upon  the  Pontos  as 
little  better  than  paupers.  "  Old  Lady  Blanche,"  says  Ponto,  "  I 
hope  will  leave  something  to  her  god-daughter — my  second  girl — 
we've  all  of  us  half-poisoned  ourselves  with  taking  her  physic." 

Lady  Blanche  and  Lady  Rose  Fitzague  have,  the  first,  a 
medical,  and  the  second  a  literary  turn.  I  am  inclined  to  believe 
the  former  had  a  wet  compresse  around  her  body,  on  the  occasion 
when  I  had  the  happiness  of  meeting  her.  She  doctors  everybody 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  which  she  is  the  ornament ;  and  has  tried 
everything  on  her  own  person.  She  went  into  court,  and  testified 
publicly  her  faith  in  St.  John  Long  :  siie  swore  by  Doctor  Buchan ; 


ON    SOME    COUNTRY   SNOBS  409 

she  took  quantities  of  Gambouge's  Universal  Medicine,  and  whole 
boxfuls  of  Parr's  Life  Pills.  She  has  cured  a  multiplicity  of  head- 
aches by  Squinstone's  Eyesnuff ;  she  wears  a  picture  of  Hahnemann 
in  her  bracelet,  and  a  lock  of  Priessnitz's  hair  in  a  brooch.  She 
talked  about  her  own  complaints,  and  those  of  her  confidante  for 
the  time  being,  to  every  lady  in  the  room  successively,  from  our 
hostess  down  to  Miss  Wirt,  taking  them  into  corners,  and  whisper- 
ing about  bronchitis,  hepatitis,  St.  Vitus,  neuralgia,  cephalalgia, 
and  so  forth.  I  observed  poor  fat  Lady  Hawbuck  in  a  dreadful 
alarm  after  some  communication  regarding  the  state  of  her  daughter 
Miss  Lucy  Hawbuck's  health,  and  Mrs.  Sago  turn  quite  yellow, 
and  put  down  her  tliird  glass  of  madeira,  at  a  warning  glance  from 
Lady  Blanche. 

Lady  Rose  talked  literature,  and  about  the  book-club  at  Guttle- 
bury,  and  is  very  strong  in  voyages  and  travels.  She  lias  a  prodi- 
gious interest  in  Borneo,  and  displayed  a  knowledge  of  the  history 
of  the  Punjaub  and  Kaffirland  that  does  credit  to  her  memory.  Old 
General  Sago,  who  sat  perfectly  silent  and  plethoric,  roused  up  as 
from  a  lethargy  when  the  former  country  was  mentioned,  and  gave 
the  company  his  story  about  a  hog-hunt  at  Ramjugger.  I  observed 
her  Ladyship  treated  with  something  like  contempt  her  neighbour 
the  Reverend  Lionel  Pettipois,  a  young  divine  whom  you  may  track 
through  the  country  by  little  "  awakening "  books  at  half-a-crown 
a  hundred,  which  dribble  out  of  his  pockets  wherever  he  goes,  I 
saw  him  give  Miss  Wirt  a  sheaf  of  "  The  Little  Waslierv\'oman 
on  Putney  Common,"  and  to  Miss  Hawbuck  a  couple  of  dozen 
of  "  Meat  in  the  Tray  ;  or  the  Young  Butcher-boy  Rescued  ;  "  and 
on  paying  a  visit  to  Guttlebury  gaol,  I  saw  two  notorious  fellows 
waiting  their  trial  there  (and  temporarily  occupied  with  a  game  of 
cribbage),  to  whom  his  reverence  offered  a  tract  as  he  was  walk- 
ing over  Crackshins  Common,  and  who  robbed  him  of  his  purse, 
umbrella,  and  cambric  handkerchief,  leaving  him  tlie  tracts  to 
distribute  elsewhere. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

A   VISIT   TO  SOME  COUNTRY  SNOBS 

WHY,  dear  Mr.  Snob,"  said  a  young  lady  of  rank  and  fasliion 
(to  whom  I  present  my  best  compliments),  "if  you  found 
everything  so  snobbish  at  the  Evergreens,  if  tlie  j)ig  bored 
you,  ami  the  mutton  was  not  to  your  liking,  and  Mrs.  Ponto  was  a 
humbug,  and  Miss  Wirt  a  nuisance,  with  her  abominable  piano 
practice, — why  did  you  stay  so  long? " 

Ah,  miss,  what  a  question  !  Have  you  never  heard  of  gallant 
British  soldiers  storming  batteries,  of  doctors  passing  nights  in 
plague  wards  of  lazarettos,  and  other  instances  of  martyrdom  ? 
What  do  you  suppose  induced  gentlemen  to  walk  two  miles  up  to 
the  batteries  of  Sobraon,  with  a  hundred  and  fifty  thundering  guns 
bowling  them  down  by  hundreds? — not  pleasure,  surely.  Wliat 
causes  your  respected  father  to  quit  his  comfortable  home  for  his 
chambei-s,  after  dinner,  and  pore  over  the  most  dreary  law-pa{>ers 
until  long  past  midnight  1  Duty,  Mademoiselle ;  duty,  which  nuist 
be  done  alike  by  military,  or  legal,  or  literary  gents.— There's  a 
power  of  martyrdom  in  our  profession. 

You  won't  believe  it?  Your  rosy  lips  assume  a  smile  of  in- 
credulity— a  most  naughty  and  odious  expression  in  a  young  lady's 
face.  Well,  then,  the  fact  is,  that  my  chambers,  No.  24  Pump 
Court,  Temple,  were  being  painted  by  the  Honourable  Society,  and 
Mrs.  Slamkin,  my  laundress,  having  occasion  to  go  into  Durham  to 
see  lM!r  daughter,  who  is  married,  and  has  presented  her  with  the 
sweetest  little  grandson — a  few  weeks  could  not  be  better  spent 
than  in  rusticating.  But  ah,  how  delightful  Pump  Court  looked 
when  I  revisited  its  well-known  chinmey-pots !  Cari  luoijhl. 
Welcome,  welcome,  0  fog  and  smut ! 

P>ut  if  you  think  there  is  no  moral  in  tlie  foregoing  account  of 
tlie  Pontine  lamily,  you  are,  madam,  most  })ainfully  mistaken.  In 
this  very  chapter  we  are  going  to  have  the  moral— why,  the  whole 
of  tlie  papers  are  nothing  hut  the  moral,  setting  forth  as  they  do 
the  filly  of  being  a  Snob. 

You  will  remark  that  in  the  Country  Snobography  my  \yoox 
friend  Ponto  has  l)een  held  up  almost  exclusively  for  the  public  gaze 


A    VISIT    TO    SOME    COUNTRY    SXOBS       411 

— ^^and  why  ?  Because  we  went  to  no  other  liouse  1  Because  other 
families  did  not  welcome  us  to  their  mahogany  1  No,  no.  Sir  John 
Hawbuck  of  tlae  Haws,  Sir  John  Hipsley  of  Briary  Hall,  don't  shut 
the  gates  of  hospitality  :  of  General  Sago's  mulligatawny  I  couhl 
speak  from  experience.  And  the  two  old  ladies  at  Guttlebury,  were 
they  notlung]  Do  you  suppose- that  an  agreeable  young  dog,  who 
shall  be  nameless,  would  not  be  made  welcome  ]  Don't  you  know 
that  people  are  too  glad  to  see  anyhody  iu  the  country  ? 

But  tliose  dignified  personages  do  not  enter  into  the  scheme 
of  the  present  work,  and  are  but  minor  characters  of  our  Snob 
drama ;  just  as,  in  the  play,  kings  and  emperors  are  not  half  so 
important  as  many  humble  persons.  The  Doge  of  Venice,  for 
instance,  gives  way  to  Othello,  who  is  but  a  nigger ;  and  the  King 
of  France  to  Falconbridge,  who  is  a  gentleman  of  positively  no  birth 
at  all.  So  with  the  exalted  characters  above  mentioned.  I  perfectly 
well  recollect  tliat  the  claret  at  Hawbuck's  was  not  by  any  means 
so  good  as  that  of  Hipsley's,  while,  on  the  contrary,  some  white 
hermitage  at  the  Haws  (by  the  way,  the  butler  only  gave  me  half 
a  glass  each  time)  was  supernacular.  And  I  remember  the  con- 
versations. 0  madam,  madam,  how  stupid  they  were  !  The  subsoil 
ploughing ;  tlie  phciisants  and  poaching ;  the  row  about  the  repre- 
sentation of  the  county ;  the  Earl  of  Mangelwurzel shire  being  at 
variance  with  his  relative  and  nominee,  the  Honourable  Marmaduke 
Tomnoddy  :  all  th&>e  I  crould  put  down,  had  I  a  mind  to  violate  the 
confidence  of  private  life ;  and  a  great  deal  of  conversation  about 
the  weather,  the  ]Mangehvurzelshire  Hunt,  new  manures,  and  eating 
and  drinking,  of  course. 

But  cui  bono  .?  In  these  perfectly  stupid  and  honourable  families 
there  is  not  that  Snobbishness  which  it  is  our  purpose  to  expose. 
An  ox  is  an  ox — a  gi-eat  hulking,  fat-sided,  bellowing,  munching 
Beef.  He  ruminates  according  to  Ins  nature,  and  consumes  his 
destined  portion  of  turnips  or  oikrake,  until  the  time  comes  for  his 
disappearance  from  the  pastures,  to  be  succeeded  by  other  deep- 
lunged  and  fat-ribbed  animals.  Perhaps  we  do  not  respect  an  ox. 
We  rather  acquiesce  in  him.  The  Snub,  my  dear  madam,  is  the 
Frog  that  tries  to  swell  liimself  to  ox  size.  Let  us  pelt  the  silly 
brute  out  of  his  folly. 

Look,  I  i)ray  you,  at  the  case  of  my  unfortunate  friend  Ponto, 
a  good-natured  kindly  English  gentleman — not  over-wise,  but  quite 
passable — fond  of  port-wine,  of  his  family,  of  country  sports  and 
agriculture,  liospitably  nunded,  with  a.s  pretty  a  little  patrimonial 
country-house  as  heart  can  desire,  and  a  thousand  pounds  a  year. 
It  is  not  much  ;  but,  entre  vom,  people  can  live  for  less,  and  not 
uncomfortably. 


412  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

For  instance,  there  is  the  doctor,  whom  Mrs.  P.  does  not  con- 
descend to  visit :  that  man  educates  a  mirific  family,  and  is  loved 
by  the  poor  for  miles  round :  and  gives  tliein  port-wine  for  physic 
and  medicine,  gratis.  And  how  those  peoi)le  can  get  on  with  their 
pittance,  as  Mrs.  Ponto  says,  is  a  wonder  to  her. 

Again,  there  is  the  clergyman,  Doctor  Chrysostom, — Mrs.  P. 
says  they  quarrelled  about  Puseyism,  but  I  am  given  to  understand 
it  was  because  Mrs.  C.  had  the  j^^s  of  her  at  the  Ha\^— you  may 
see  what  the  value  of  his  living  is  any  day  in  the  "  Clerical  Guide  "  ; 
but  you  don't  know  what  he  gives  away. 

Even  Pettipois  allows  that,  in  whose  eyes  the  Doctor's  surplice 
is  a  scarlet  abomination ;  and  so  does  Pettipois  do  his  duty  in  his 
way,  and  administer  not  only  his  tracts  and  his  talk,  but  his  money 
and  his  means  to  his  people.  As  a  lord's  son,  by  the  way,  Mrs. 
Ponto  is  uncommonly  anxious  that  he  should  marry  either  of  the 
girls  whom  Lord  Gules  does  not  intend  to  choose. 

Well,  although  Pen's  income  would  make  up  almost  as  much  as 
that  of  these  three  worthies  put  together— oh,  my  dear  madam,  see 
in  what  hopeless  penury  the  poor  fellow  lives  !  What  tenant  can 
look  to  his  forbearance  1  What  poor  man  can  hope  for  his  charity  1 
"  Master's  the  best  of  men,"  honest  Stripes  says,  "  and  when  we 
was  in  the  ridgment  a  more  freehanded  chap  didn't  live.  But  the 
way  in  which  Missus  du  scryou,  I  wonder  the  young  ladies  is  alive, 
that  I  du  !  " 

They  live  upon  a  fine  governess  and  fine  masters,  and  have 
clothes  made  by  Lady  Carabas's  own  milliner ;  and  their  brother 
rides  Avith  earls  to  cover ;  and  only  the  best  people  in  the  county 
visit  at  the  Evergreens,  and  Mrs.  Ponto  thinks  herself  a  paragon 
of  wives  and  mothers,  and  a  wonder  of  the  world,  for  doing  all 
this  misery  and  humbug,  and  snobbishness,  on  a  thousand  a  year. 

What  an  inexpressible  comfort  it  was,  my  dear  madam,  when 
Stripes  put  my  portmanteau  in  the  four-wheeled  chaise,  and  (poor 
Pon  being  touched  with  sciatica)  drove  me  over  to  "  Oarabas  Arms  " 
at  Guttlebury,  where  we  took  leave.  There  were  some  bagmen 
there  in  the  Commercial  Room,  and  one  talked  about  the  house 
he  represented ;  and  another  about  his  dinner,  and  a  third  about 
the  Inns  on  the  road,  and  so  forth — a  talk,  not  very  \vise,  but 
honest  and  to  the  purpose — about  as  good  as  that  of  the  country 
gentlemen :  and  oh,  how  much  pleasanter  than  listening  to  Miss 
Wirt's  show-pieces  on  the  piano,  and  Mrs.  Ponto's  genteel  cackle 
about  the  fashiou  and  the  county  families  ! 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

SNOBBIUM   GATHERUM 

WHEN  I  see  the  great  effect  which  these  papers  are  pro- 
ducing on  an  intelligent  public,  I  have  a  strong  hope 
that  before  long  we  shall  have  a  regular  Snob-department 
in  the  newspapers,  just  as  we  have  the  Police  Courts  and  the 
Court  News  at  present.  When  a  flagrant  case  of  bone-crushing 
or  Poor-law  abuse  occurs  in  the  world,  who  so  eloquent  as  the 
Times  to  point  it  out?  When  a  gross  instance  of  Snobbishness 
happens,  why  should  not  the  indignant  journalist  call  the  public 
attention  to  that  delinquency  too  1 

How,  for  instance,  could  that  wonderful  case  of  the  Earl  of 
Mangelwurzel  and  his  brother  be  examined  in  the  Snobbish  point 
of  view  1  Let  alone  the  hectoring,  the  bullying,  the  vapouring, 
the  bad  grammar,  the  mutual  recriminations,  lie-givings,  challenges, 
retractations,  which  abound  in  the  fraternal  dispute — put  out  of  the 
question  these  points  as  concerning  the  individual  nobleman  and 
his  relative,  with  whose  personal  affairs  we  have  nothing  to  do 
— and  consider  how  intimately  corrupt,  how  habitually  grovelling 
and  mean,  how  entirely  Snobbish  in  a  word,  a  wliole  county 
must  be  which  can  find  no  better  chiefs  or  leaders  than  these 
two  gentlemen.  "We  don't  want,"  the  great  county  of  Mangel- 
wurzelshire  seems  to  say,  "that  a  man  should  be  able  to  write 
good  grammar;  or  that  he  should  keep  a  Christian  tongue  in 
his  head ;  or  that  he  should  have  the  commonest  decency  of 
temper,  or  even  a  fair  share  of  good  sense,  in  order  to  represent 
us  in  Parliament.  All  we  require  is,  that  a  man  should  be 
recommended  to  us  by  tlie  Earl  of  Mangelwurzelshire.  And  all 
that  we  require  of  the  Earl  of  Mangelwurzelshire  is  that  he  should 
have  fifty  thousand  a  year  and  hunt  the  country."  0  you  pride 
of  all  Snobland  !  0  you  crawling,  truckling,  self-confessed  lacqueys 
and  parasites  ! 

But  this  is  growing  too  savage :  don't  let  us  forget  our  usual 

amenity,  and  that  tone  of  playfulness  and  sentiment  with  which  the 

beloved   reader  and   writer  have   pursued   their  mutual   reflections 

hitherto.     Well,  Snobbishness  pervades  the  little  Social  Farce  as 

2  F 


414.  THE    DOOK    OF    SNOBS 

well  as  tlic  yroat  State  ("innedy  ;  and  the  selt-sanio  moral  is  tacked 
t(i  either. 

There  was,  for  instance,  an  account  in  the  papers  of  a  young 
lady  wiio,  misled  by  a  fortune-teller,  actually  went  part  of  the 
way  to  India  (as  far  as  Baynigge  Wells,  I  tlnnk)  in  search  of  a 
husband  who  was  promised  her  there.  Do  you  suppose  this  poor 
deluded  little  sold  would  have  left  her  shop  for  a  man  below  her 
in  rank,  or  for  anything  but  a  darling  of  a  Captain  in  epaulets  and 
a  red  coat  1  It  was  her  Snobbish  sentiment  that  misled  her,  and 
made  her  vanities  a  prey  to  the  swindling  fortune-teller. 

Case  2  Avas  that  of  Mademoiselle  de  Saugrenue,  "  the  interesting 
young  Frenchwoman  with  a  profusion  of  jetty  ringlets,"  who  lived 
for  nothing  at  a  boarding-house  at  Gosport,  was  then  conveyed  to 
Fareham  gratis  :  and  being  there,  and  lying  on  the  bed  of  the  good 
old  lady  her  entertainer,  the  dear  girl  took  occasion  to  rip  open  the 
mattress,  and  steal  a  cash-box,  with  which  she  fled  to  London. 
How  would  you  account  for  the  prodigious  benevolence  exercised 
towards  the  interesting  young  French  lady?  Was  it  her  jetty 
ringlets  or  her  charming  face  1 — Bah  !  Do  ladies  love  others  for 
having  pretty  feces  and  black  hair  ? — she  said  she  im.R  a  relation  of 
Lord  de  Saugrenue :  talked  of  her  Ladyship  her  aunt,  and  of  her- 
self as  a  De  Saugrenue.  The  honest  boarding-house  people  were  at 
her  feet  at  once.  Grood,  honest,  simple,  lord-loving  cliildren  of 
Snobland  ! 

Finally,  tliere  was  the  case  of  "  the  Right  Honourable  Mr. 
Vernon,"  at  York.  The  Right  Honourable  was  the  son  of  a 
nobleman,  and  practised  on  an  old  lady.  He  procured  from  her 
dinners,  money,  wearing-apparel,  spoons,  implicit  credence,  and  an 
entire  refit  of  linen.  Then  he  cast  his  nets  over  a  family  of  father, 
mother,  and  daughters,  one  of  whom  he  proposed  to  marry.  The 
father  lent  him  money,  the  mother  made  jams  and  pickles  for  him, 
the  daugliters  vied  with  each  other  in  cooking  dinners  for  the  Right 
Honourable — and  what  was  the  end?  One  da.y  the  traitor  fled, 
wnth  a  teapot  and  a  basketful  of  cold  victuals.  It  was  the  "  Right 
Honourable  "  which  baited  the  hook  which  gorged  all  these  greedy 
simple  Snobs.  Would  they  have  been  taken  in  by  a  commoner? 
What  old  lady  is  there,  my  dear  sir,  who  would  take  in  you  and 
me,  were  we  ever  so  ill  to  do,  and  comfort  us,  and  clothe  us,  and 
give  us  her  money,  and  her  silver  forks  ?  Alas  and  alas  !  what 
mortal  man  that  speaks  the  truth  can  hope  for  such  a  landlady? 
And  yet,  all  these  instances  of  fond  and  credidous  Snobbishness  have 
occurred  in  the  same  week's  paper,  witli  who  kn(iws  how  many 
score  more. 

Just  as  we  had  concluded  the  above  remarks  comes  a  pretty 


SNOBBIUM    GATHERUM  415 

little  note  sealed  with  a  pretty  little  liutterfly — bearing  a  northern 
postmark — and  to  the  following  effect : — 

19tk  Novemher. 

"  Mr.  Punch, — Taking  great  interest  in  your  Snob  Papers, 
we  are  very  anxious  to  know  under  what  class  of  that  respectable 
fraternity  you  would  designate  us. 

"  We  are  three  sisters,  from  seventeen  to  twenty-two.  Our 
father  is  honestlij  and'  truly  of  a  very  good  family  (you  will  say  it 
is  Snobbish  to  mention  that,  but  I  wish  to  state  the  plain  fact) ; 
our  maternal  grandfather  was  an  Earl.* 

"  We  ca)i  afford  to  take  in  a  stamped  edition  of  you,  and 
all  Dickens's  works  as  fast  as  they  come  out,  but  we  do  not 
keep  such  a  thing  as  a  Peerage,  or  even  a  Baronetage  in  the 
house. 

"  We  live  with  every  comfort,  excellent  cellar,  &c.  &c. ;  but  as 
we  cannot  well  afford  a  butler,  we  have  a  neat  table-maid  (though 
our  father  was  a  military  man,  has  traijelled  much,  been  in  the 
best  society,  &c.).  We  have  a  coachman  and  helper,  but  we  don't 
put  the  latter  into  buttons,  nor  make  them  wait  at  table,  like 
Stripes  and  Tummus.f 

"  We  are  just  tlie  same  to  persons  with  a  handle  to  their  name 
as  to  those  without  it.  We  wear  a  moderate  modicum  of  crinoline,  | 
and  are  never  Ump  §  in  the  morning.  We  have  good  and  abundant 
dinners  on  china,  (though  we  have  plate  ||),  and  just  as  good  wJien 
alone  as  with  company. 

"  Now,  my  dear  Air.  Punch,  will  you  please  give  us  a  short 
answer  in  your  next  number,  and  I  will  be  so  much  obliged  to  you. 
Nobody  knows  we  are  writing  to  you,  not  even  our  father ;  nor  will 
we  ever  tease  H  you  again  if  you  will  only  give  us  an  answer— just 
for  fun,  now  do  ! 

"  If  you  get  as  far  as  this,  which  is  doubtful,  you  will  pro- 
bably fling  it  into  the  fire.  If  you  do,  I  cannot  help  it ;  but  I 
am  of  a  sanguine  disposition,  and  entertain  a  lingering  hope.  At 
all  events  I  shall  be  impatient  for  next  Sunday,  for  you  reach 
us  on   that  day,  and  I  am  ashamed  to  confess,  we  cannot  resist 

*  The  introduction  of  grandpapa  is,  I  fear,  Snobbish. 
t  That  is  as  you  like.     I  don't  object  to  buttons  in  moderation. 
X  Quite  right. 
§  Bless  you  ! 

II  Snobbish  ;  and  I  doubt  whether  you  ought  to  dine  as  well  when  alone  as 
with  company.     You  will  bo  getting  too  good  dinners. 
H  We  like  to  be  teased  ;  but  tell  papa. 


416  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

openin.fc   you  in  tlie   carriage   driving  home   from    churcli.* — I   re- 
main, &c.  &c.,  for  myself  and  sisters.     • 

"Excuse  tliis  scrawl,  ])iit  I  always  write  he.adlon(i.\ 

"  P.aS'. — You  were  rather  stupid  last  w^eek,  don't  you  think  %  \ 
We  keep  no  gamekeeper,  and  yet  have  always  abundant  game  for 
fi-iends  to  shoot,  in  spite  of  tin;  poachers.  We  never  wnte  on  ]ier- 
fumed  paper  — in  short,  I  can't  help  thinking  that  if  you  knew  us 
you  would  not  think  us  Snobs." 

To  this  I  reply  in  the  following  manner : — 

"  My  dear  yoimg  ladies,  I  know^  your  post-town  :  and  shall  be 
at  church  there  the  Sunday  after  next ;  when,  will  you  please  to 
^^  ear  a  tulip  or  some  little  trifle  in  your  bonnets,  so  that  I  may 
know  you?  You  will  re(,'ognise  me  and  my  dress — a  quiet-looking 
young  fellow,  in  a  white  topcoat,  a  crimson  satin  neckcloth,  light- 
blue  trousers,  with  glossy  tipi)ed  boots,  and  an  emerald  breast-pin. 
I  shall  have  a  black  crai)e  round  my  white  hat ;  and  my  usual 
bamboo  cane  with  the  richly-gilt  knob.  I  am  sorry  there  will  be 
no  time  to  get  up  moustaches  between  now  and  next  week. 

"  From  seventeen  to  two-and-twenty  !  Ye  gods  !  what  ages  ! 
Dear  young  creatures,  I  can  see  you  all  three.  Seventeen  suits 
me,  as  nearest  my  own  time  of  life ;  but  mind,  I  don't  say  two- 
and-twenty  is  too  old.  No,  no.  And  that  pretty,  roguish,  demure 
middle  one.      Peace,  peace,  thou  silly  little  fluttering  heart ! 

"  You  Snobs,  dear  young  ladies!  I  will  pull  any  man's  nose  who 
says  so.  There  is  no  harm  in  being  of  a  good  family.  You  can't 
help  it,  poor  dears.  What's  in  a  name?  What  is  in  a  handle  to  it? 
I  confess  openly  that  I  should  not  object  to  being  a  Duke  myself; 
and,  between  ourselves,  you  might  see  a  worse  leg  for  a  garter. 

"  You  Snobs,  dear  little  good-natured  things,  no  ! — that  is,  I 
hope  not — I  think  not — I  won't  be  too  confident — none  of  us  should 
be — that  we  are  not  Snobs.  That  very  confidence  savours  of  arro- 
gance, and  to  be  arrogant  is  to  be  a  Snob.  In  all  the  social  grada- 
tions from  sneak  to  tyrant,  nature  has  placed  a  most  wondrous  and 
various  progeny  of  Snobs.  But  are  there  no  kindly  natures,  no 
tender  hearts,  no  souls  humble,  simple,  and  truth-loving?  Ponder 
well  on  this  question,  sweet  young  ladies.  And  if  you  can  answer 
it,  as  no  doubt  you  can — lucky  are  you — and  lucky  the  respected 
Herr  Papa,  and  lucky  the  three  handsome  young  gentlemen  who 
are  about  to  become  each  other's  brothers-in-law." 

*  0  garter  and  stars  !  what  will  Captain  Gordon  and  Exeter  Hall  say  to  this? 

f  Dear  little  enthusiast ! 

X  You  were  never  more  mistaken,  miss,-  in  your  life. 


CHAPTER   XXXIII 

SNOBS   AND   MARRIAGE 

EVERYBODY  of  the  middle  rank  who  walks  through  this  life 
with  a  sympathy  for  his  companions  on  the  same  journey — 
at  any  rate,  every  man  who  has  been  jostling  in  the  world 
for  some  three  or  four  lustres — must  make  no  end  of  melancholy 
reflections  upon  the  fate  of  those  victims  whom  Society,  that  is, 
Snobbishness,  is  immolating  every  day.  With  love  and  simplicity 
and  natural  kindness  Snobbishness  is  perpetually  at  war.  People 
dare  not  be  happy  for  fear  of  Snobs.  People  dare  not  love  for  fear 
of  Snobs.  People  pine  away  lonely  under  the  tyranny  of  Snobs. 
Honest  kindly  hearts  dry  up  and  die.  Gallant  generous  lads,  bloom- 
ing with  hearty  youth,  swell  into  bloated  old-bachelorhood,  and 
burst  and  tumble  over.  Tender  girls  wither  into  shrunken  decay, 
and  perish  solitary,  from  whom  Snobbishness  has  cut  off'  the  common 
claim  to  happiness  and  afffection  with  which  Nature  endowed  us  all. 
My  heart  grows  sad  as  I  see  the  blundering  tyrant's  handiwork. 
As  I  behold  it  I  swell  with  cheap  rage,  and  glow  with  fury  against 
the  Snob.  Come  down,  I  say,  thou  skulking  dulness  !  Come 
down,  thou  stupid  bully,  and  give  up  thy  brutal  ghost !  And  I 
arm  myself  with  tlie  sword  and  spear,  and  taking  leave  of  my 
family,  go  forth  to  do  battle  with  that  hideous  ogre  and  giant, 
that  brutal  despot  in  Snob  Castle,  who  holds  so  many  gentle 
hearts  in  torture  and  thrall. 

When  Punch  is  king,  I  declare  there  shall  be  no  such  thing 
as  old  maids  and  old  bachelors.  The  Reverend  Mr.  Malthus  shall 
be  burned  annually,  instead  of  Guy  Fawkes.  Those  who  don't 
marry  shall  go  into  the  workliouse.  It  shall  be  a  sin  for  the 
poorest  not  to  have  a  pretty  girl  to  love  him. 

The  above  reflections  came  to  mind  after  taking  a  walk  with 
an  old  comrade,  Jack  Spiggot  by  name,  who  is  just  passing  into 
the  state  of  old-l)achelorhood,  after  the  manly  and  blooming  youth 
in  which  I  remember  him.  Jack  was  one  of  the  handsomest  fellows 
in  England  when  we  entered  together  in  the  Highland  Buffs ;  but 
I  quitted  the  Cuttykilts  early,  and  lost  sight  of  him  for  many  years. 

Ah  !  how  changed  he  is  from   those  days !     He  wears  a  waist- 


418  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

band  now,  and  has  begun  to  dye  his  whiskers.  His  cheeks,  which 
were  red,  are  now  mottled  ;  his  eyes,  once  so  l)right  and  steadfast, 
are  the  colour  of  peeled  plovers'  eggs. 

"  Are  you  married,  Jack  1 "  says  I,  remend)ering  how  consumedly 
in  love  he  was  with  his  cousin  Letty  Lovelacie,  when  the  Cuttykilts 
were  quartered  at  Strathbungo  some  twenty  years  ago. 

"Married?  no,"  says  he.  "Not  money  enough.  Hard  enough 
to  keep  myself,  much  more  a  family,  on  five  hundred  a  year.  Come 
to  Dickinson's ;  there's  some  of  the  best  madeira  in  London  there, 
my  boy."  So  we  went  and  talked  over  old  times.  The  bill  for 
dinner  and  wine  consumed  was  prodigious,  and  the  quantity  of 
brandy-and-water  that  Jack  took  showed  what  a  regular  boozer 
he  was.  "  A  guinea  or  two  guineas.  What  the  devil  do  I  care 
what  I  spend  for  my  dinner?"  says  he. 

"And  Letty  Lovelace?"  says  L 

Jack's  countenance  fell.  However,  he  burst  into  a  loud  laugh 
presently.  "  Letty  Lovelace  !  "  says  he.  "  She's  Letty  Lovelace 
still ;  but  Gad,  such  a  wizened  old  woman  !  She's  as  thin  as  a 
threadpaper  (you  remember  what  a  figure  she  had) :  her  nose  has 
got  red,  and  her  teeth  blue.  She's  always  ill ;  always  quarrelling 
with  the  rest  of  the  family ;  always  psalm-singing,  and  always 
taking  pills.  Gad,  I  had  a  rare  escape  there.  Push  round  the 
grog,  old  boy." 

Straightway  memory  went  back  to  the  days  when  Letty  was  the 
loveliest  of  blooming  young  creatures :  when  to  hear  her  si)ig  was 
to  make  the  heart  jump  into  your  throat ;  when  to  see  her  dance 
was  better  than  Montessu  or  Noblet  (they  were  the  Ballet  Queens 
of  those  days) ;  when  Jack  used  to  wear  a  locket  of  her  hair,  with 
a  little  goltl  chain  round  his  neck,  and,  exhilarated  with  toddy,  after 
a  sederunt  of  the  Cuttykilt  mess,  used  to  pull  out  this  token,  and 
kiss  it,  and  howl  about  it,  to  the  great  amusement  of  the  bottle 
nosed  old  Major  and  the  rest  of  the  table. 

"  My  father  and  hers  couldn't  put  their  horses  together,"  Jack 
said.  "  The  General  wouldn't  come  down  with  more  than  six 
thousand.  My  governor  said  it  shouldn't  be  done  under  eight. 
Lovelace  told  him  to  go  and  be  hanged,  and  so  we  parted  company. 
They  .said  she  was  in  a  decline.  Gammon  !  She's  forty,  and  as 
tough  and  as  sour  as  this  bit  of  lemon-peel.  Don't  put  much  into 
your  punch,  Snob,  my  boy.     No  man  can  stand  punch  after  wine." 

"  And  what  are  your  pursuits.  Jack  1 "  says  I 

"  Sold  out  when  the  governor  died.  Mother  lives  at  Bath.  Go 
down  there  once  a  year  for  a  week.  Dreadful  slow.  Shilling  whist. 
Four  sisters — all  unmarried  except  the  youngest — awful  work. 
Scotland  in   August.     Italy   in   the   winter.     Cursed  rheumatism. 


SNOBS    AND    MARRIAGE  41.0 

Come  to  Loudon  in  March,  and  toddle  about  at  the  Club,  old  boy ; 
and  we  won't  go  hoiiie  till  niaw-aw-miug,  till  daylight  does  aj^pear." 

"  And  here's  the  wreck  of  two  lives  !  "  mused  the  jjresent  Snobo- 
grapher,  after  taking  leave  of  Jack  Spiggot.  "  Pretty  uierry  Letty 
Lovelace's  rudder  lost  and  she  cast  away,  and  handsome  Jack 
Spiggot  stranded  on  the  shore  like  a  drunken  Trinculo." 

What  was  it  that  insulted  Nature  (to  use  no  higher  name),  and 
perverted  her  kindly  intentions  towards  them  ?  What  cursed  frost 
was  it  that  nipped  the  love  that  both  were  bearing,  and  condemned 
the  girl  to  sour  sterility,  and  the  lad  to  selfish  old-bachelorhood  ? 
It  was  the  infernal  Snob  tyrant  who  governs  us  all,  who  says,  "  Thou 
shalt  not  love  without  a  lady's-maid ;  thou  shalt  not  marry  without 
a  carriage  and  horses ;  thou  shalt  have  no  wife  in  tliy  heart,  and  no 
children  on  thy  knee,  without  a  page  in  buttons  and  a  French 
honne ;  thou  shalt  go  to  the  devil  unless  thou  hast  a  brougham  ; 
marry  j)ooi',  and  society  shall  forsake  thee ;  thy  kinsmen  shall  avoid 
thee  as  a  criminal ;  thy  aunts  and  uncles  shall  turn  up  their  eyes 
and  bemoan  the  sad,  sad  manner  in  which  Tom  or  Harry  has  thrown 
himself  away."  You,  young  woman,  may  sell  yourself  without 
shame,  and  marry  old  Croesus ;  you,  young  man,  may  lie  away 
your  heart  and  your  life  for  a  jointm^e.  But  if  you  are  poor,  woe 
be  to  you  !  Society,  the  brutal  Snob  autocrat,  consigns  you  to 
solitary  perdition.  Wither,  poor  girl,  in  your  garret :  rot,  poor 
bachelor,  in  your  Chib. 

When  I  see  those  gi-aceless  recluses — those  unnatm'al  monks  and 
nuns  of  the  order  of  St.  Beelzebub,*  my  hatred  for  Snobs,  and  their 
worship,  and  their  idcJs,  passes  all  continence.  Let  us  hew  down 
that  man-eating  Juggernaut,  I  say,  that  hideous  Dagon  ;  and  I  glow 
with  the  heroic  courage  of  Tom  Thumb,  and  join  battle  with  the 
Giant  Snob. 

*  This,  of  course,  is  understood  to  apply  only  to  those  unmarried  persons 
whom  a  mean  and  Snobbish  fear  about  money  has  kept  from  fulfilting  their 
natural  destiny.  Many  persons  there  are  devoted  to  celibacy  because  they 
cannot  help  it.  Of  these  a  man  would  be  a  brute  who  spoke  roughly.  Indeed, 
after  Miss  O'Toole's  conduct  to  the  writer,  he  would  be  the  last  to  condemn. 
But  never  mind  ;  these  are  personal  matters. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

SNOBS   AKD    MARRIAGE 

IN  that  noble  romance  called  "  Ten  Thousand  a  Year,"  I 
remember  a  profoundly  pathetic  description  of  the  Christian 
manner  in  which  the  hero,  Mr.  Aubrey,  bore  his  misfortunes. 
After  making  a  display  of  the  most  florid  and  grandiloquent  re- 
signation, and  quitting  his  country  mansion,  the  writer  supposes 
Aubrey  to  come  to  town  in  a  postchaise  and  pair,  sitting  bodkin 
I)r(jbably  between  his  wife  and  sister.  It  is  about  seven  o'clock, 
carriages  are  rattling  about,  knockers  are  thundering,  and  tears 
bedim  the  fine  eyes  of  Kate  and  Mrs.  Aubrey  as  they  think  that 
in  happier  times  at  this  hour — their  Aubrey  used  formerly  to  go 
out  to  dinner  to  the  houses  of  the  aristocracy  his  friends.  This  is 
the  gist  of  the  passage — the  elegant  words  I  forget.  But  the  noble, 
noble  sentiment  I  sliall  always  clierish  and  remember.  What  can 
be  more  sublime  than  the  notion  of  a  great  man's  relatives  in  tears 
about — his  dinner  ?  With  a  few  touches,  wJiat  author  ever  more 
happily  described  A  Snob? 

We  were  reading  the  passage  lately  at  the  house  of  my  friend, 
Raymond  Gray,  Esquire,  Barrister-at-Law,  an  ingenuous  youth  with- 
out the  least  practice,  but  who  has  luckily  a  great  share  of  good 
spirits,  which  enables  him  to  bide  his  time,  and  bear  laughingly  his 
humble  position  in  tlie  world.  Meanwhile,  until  it  is  altered,  the 
stern  laws  of  necessity  and  the  expenses  of  the  Northern  Circuit 
oblige  Mr.  Gray  to  live  in  a  very  tiny  mansion  in  a  very  queer 
small  square  in  the  airy  neighbourhood  of  Gray's  Inn  Lane. 

What  is  the  more  remarkable  is,  that  Gray  has  a  wife  there. 
Mrs.  Gray  was  a  Miss  Harley  Baker :  and  I  suppose  I  need  not 
say  titat  is  a  respectable  family.  Allied  to  the  Cavendishes,  the 
Oxfords,  the  Marrybones,  they  still,  though  rather  dechiis  from 
their  original  splendour,  hold  their  heads  as  high  as  any.  Mrs. 
Harley  Baker,  I  know,  never  goes  to  church  without  John  behind 
to  carry  her  prayer-book  ;  nor  will  ]\Iiss  Welbeck,  her  sister,  walk 
twenty  yards  a-shopping  without  the  protection  of  Figby,  her  sugar- 
loaf  page ;  though  the  old  lady  is  as  ugly  as  any  woman  in  the 
parish,  and  a.s  tall  and  whiskery  as  a  grenadier.     The  astonishment 


SNOBS    AND    MARRIAGE  421 

is,  how  Emily  Harley  Baker  could  have  stooped  to  marry  Raymond 
Gray.  She,  who  was  the  prettiest  and  proudest  of  the  family  ;  she, 
who  refused  Sir  Cockle  Byles,  of  the  Bengal  Service  ;  she,  who  turned 
up  her  little  nose  at  Essex  Temple,  Q.C,  and  connected  with  the  noble 
house  of  Albyn  ;  she,  who  had  but  four  thousand  pounds  pcwr  tout 
potage,  to  marry  a  man  who  had  scarcely  as  much  more.  A  scream 
of  wrath  and  indignation  was  uttered  by  the  whole  family  when 
they  heard  of  this  mesall lance.  Mrs.  Harley  Baker  never  speaks 
of  her  daughter  now  but  with  teare  in  her  eyes,  and  as  a  ruined 
creature.  Miss  Welbeck  says,  "  I  consider  that  man  a  villain  ; " 
and  ha.s  denounced  poor  good-natured  i\Irs.  Perkins  as  a  swindler, 
at  whose  ball  the  young  people  met  for  the  first  time. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gray,  meanwhile,  live  in  Gray's  Inn  Lane  afore- 
said, with  a  maid-servant  and  a  nurse,  whose  hands  are  very  full, 
and  in  a  most  jjrovoking  and  unnatural  state  of  happiness.  They 
have  never  once  thought  of  crying  about  their  dinner,  like  the 
wretchedly  ijuling  and  Snobbish  womankind  of  my  favourite  Snob 
Aubrey,  of  "  Ten  Thousand  a  Year";  but,  on  the  contrary,  accept 
such  humble  victuals  a.s  fate  awards  them  with  a  most  perfect  and 
thankful  good  gi-ace — nay,  actually  have  a  portion  for  a  hungry 
friend  at  times — as  the  present  writer  can  gratefully  testify. 

I  was  mentioning  these  dinners,  and  some  admirable  lemon 
puddings,  which  Mrs.  Gray  makes,  to  our  mutual  friend  the  gi'eat 
Mr.  Goldmore,  the  East  Imlia  Director,  when  that  gentleman's  face 
assumed  an  expression  of  almost  apoplectic  terror,  and  he  gasped 
out,  "  What !  Do  they  give  dinners  ? "  He  seemed  to  think  it  a 
crime  and  a  wonder  that  such  people  sliould  dine  at  all,  and  that  it 
was  their  custom  to  huddle  round  their  kitchen  fire  over  a  bone  and 
a  crust.  Whenever  he  meets  them  in  society,  it  is  a  matter  of 
wonder  to  him  (and  he  always  expresses  his  surprise  very  loud)  how 
th  ■  lady  can  appear  decently  dressed,  and  the  man  have  an  un- 
patched  coat  to  his  back.  I  have  heard  him  enlarge  upon  this 
poverty  before  the  whole  room  at  tlie  "  Conflagrative  Club,"  to 
which  he  and  I  and  Gray  have  the  honour  to  belong. 

We  meet  at  tlie  Club  on  most  days.  At  half-past  four  Gold- 
more  arrives  in  St.  James's  Street,  from  the  City,  and  you  may 
see  him  reading  the  evening  papers  in  tlie  bow-window  of  the  Club, 
which  enfilades  Pall  Mall — a  large  plethoric  man,  with  a  bunch  of 
seals  in  a  large  bow-windowed  light  waistcoat.  He  has  large  coat- 
tails,  stutted  with  agents'  let;ters  and  papers  about  companies  of 
which  he  is  a  Director.  His  seals  jingle  as  he  walks.  I  wish  I 
had  such  a  man  for  an  uncle,  and  that  he  himself  were  childless. 
I  would  love  and  cherish  him,  and  Ije  kind  to  him. 

At  six  o'clock  in  the  full  season,  when  all  the  world  is  in  St. 


422  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

James's  Street,  and  tlie  carria,>;e.s  are  cutting  in  and  out  among  the 
cabs  on  the  stand,  and  tlie  tufted  dandies  are  showing  tlieir  listless 
fiices  out  of  "  White's,"  and  you  see  respectable  grey-headed  gentle- 
men waggling  their  heads  to  each  other  through  the  plate-glass 
windows  of  "  Artluir's "  :  and  the  red-coats  wish  to  be  Briareian, 
so  as  to  hold  all  the  gentlemen's  horses  ;  and  that  wonderful  red- 
coated  Royal  porter  is  sunning  himself  before  Marlborough  House  ; 
— at  tlie  noon  of  London  time,  you  see  a  light-yellow  carriage  with 
black  horses,  and  a  coachman  in  a  tight  floss-silk  wig,  and  two  foot- 
men In  powder  and  white  and  yellow  liveries,  and  a  large  woman 
inside  in  shot-silk,  a  poodle,  and  a  pink  parasol,  which  drives  up 
to  the  gate  of  the  "  Conflagrative,"  and  the  page  goes  and  says  to 
Mr.  Goldmore  (who  is  perfectly  aware  of  the  fact,  as  he  is  looking 
out  of  the  windows  with  about  forty  other  "Conflagrative"  bucks), 
"  Your  carriage,  sir."  G.  wags  his  head.  "  Remember,  eight 
o'clock  precisely,"  says  he  to  Mulligatawney,  the  other  East  India 
Director  ;  and,  ascending  the  carriage,  plumps  down  by  the  side  of 
Mrs.  Goldmore  for  a  drive  in  the  Park,  and  then  home  to  Portland 
Place.  As  the  carriage  whirls  off,  all  the  young  bucks  in  the  Club 
feel  a  secret  elation.  It  is  a  part  of  their  establishment,  as  it  were. 
That  carriage  belongs  to  their  Club,  and  their  Club  belongs  to  them. 
They  follow  the  equipage  Avith  interest ;  they  eye  it  knowingly  as 
tliey  see  it  in  the  Park.  But  halt !  we  are  not  come  to  the  Club 
Snobs  yet.  0  my  brave  Snobs,  what  a  flurry  there  will  be  among 
you  when  those  jjapers  appear  ! 

Well,  you  may  judge  from  the  above  descrij^tion  what  sort  of 
a  man  Goldmore  is.  A  dull  and  pompous  Leadenhall  Street  Croesus, 
good-natured  withal,  and  affiible — cruelly  afl^xble.  "  Mr.  Goldmore 
can  never  forget,"  his  lady  used  to  say,  "  that  it  was  Mrs.  Gray's 
grandfather  who  sent  him  to  India  ;  and  though  that  young  woman 
has  made  the  most  imprudent  marriage  in  the  world,  and  has  left 
her  station  in  society,  her  husband  seems  an  ingenious  and  laborious 
young  man,  and  we  shall  do  everything  in  our  power  to  be  of  use  to 
him."  So  they  used  to  ask  the  Grays  to  dinner  twice  or  thrice  in  a 
season,  when,  by  way  of  increasing  the  kindness.  Buff",  the  butler, 
is  ordered  to  hire  a  fly  to  convey  them  to  and  from  Portland  Place. 

Of  course  I  am  much  too  good-natured  a  friend  of  both  parties 
not  to  tell  Gray  of  Goldmore's  opinion  regarding  him,  and  the 
nabob's  astonishment  at  the  idea  of  the  briefless  barrister  having 
any  dinner  at  all.  Indeed,  Goldmore's  saying  became  a  joke  against 
Gray  amongst  us  wags  at  the  Club,  and  we  used  to  ask  him  when 
he  tasted  meat  last  ?  whether  we  should  bring  him  home  something 
from  dinner?  and  cut  a  thousand  other  mad  pranks  with  him  in 
our  facetious  way. 


SNOBS    AND    MARRIAGE  423 

One  day,  then,  coming  home  from  the  Club,  Mr.  Gray  conveyed 
to  his  wife  the  astounding  information  that  he  had  asked  Goldmore 
to  dinner. 

"  My  love,"  says  Mrs.  Gray  in  a  tremor,  "how  could  you  be  so 
cruel?     Why,  the  dining-room  won't  hold  Mrs.  Goldmore." 

"  Make  your  mind  easy,  Mrs.  Gray  ;  her  ladyship  is  in  Paris. 
It  is  only  Croesus  that's  coming,  and  we  are  going  to  the  play  after- 
wards— to  Sadler's  Wells.  Goldmore  said  at  the  Club  that  he 
thought  Shakespeare  was  a  great  dramatic  poet,  and  ought  to  be 
jiatronised  ;  wliereupou,  fired  with  enthusiasm,  I  invited  him  to 
to  our  banquet." 

"Goodness  gracious!  what  can  we  give  him  for  dinner]  He 
has  two  French  cooks  ;  you  know  Mrs.  Goldmore  is  always  telling 
us  about  them ;  and  he  dines  with  Aldermen  every  day." 

"  '  A  plain  leg  of  mutton,  my  Lucy, 
I  prythee  get  ready  at  three  ; 
Have  it  tender,  and  smoking,  and  juicy, 
And  what  better  meat  can  there  be  ? ' " 

says  Gray,  quoting  my  favourite  poet. 

"  But  the  cook  is  ill ;  and  you  know  that  horrible  Pattypan  the 
pastrycook's " 

"  Silence,  Frau  I  "  says  Gray  in  a  deep  tragedy  voice.  "  /  will 
have  the  ordering  of  this  repast.  Do  all  things  as  I  bid  thee. 
Invite  our  friend  Snob  here  to  partake  of  the  feast.  Be  mine  the 
task  of  procuring  it." 

"Don't  be  expensive,  Raymond,"  says  his  wife. 

"  Peace,  thou  timid  partner  of  the  briefless  one.  Goldmore's 
dinner  shall  be  suited  to  our  narrow  means.  Only  do  thou  in  all 
things  ray  commands."  And  seeing  by  the  peculiar  expression  of  the 
rogue's  countenance  that  some  mad  waggery  was  in  preparation,  I 
awaited  the  morrow  witli  anxiety. 


CHAPTER   XXXV 

SNOBS  AND    MARRIAGE 

PUNCTUAL  to  tlie  hour — (by  the  way,  I  cannot  orait  here  to 
mark  down  my  hatred,  scorn,  and  indignation  towards  those 
miserable  Snobs  who  come  to  dinner  at  nine,  when  they  are 
asked  at  eight,  in  order  to  make  a  sensation  in  the  company.  May 
the  loatliing  of  honest  folks,  the  backbiting  of  others,  the  curses  of 
cooks,  pursue  these  wretches,  and  avenge  the  society  on  which  they 
trample  !) — Punctual,  I  say,  to  the  hour  of  five,  which  Mr.  and  Mrs, 
Raymond  Gray  had  appointed,  a  youtli  of  an  elegant  appearance,  in 
a  neat  evening-dress,  whose  trim  whiskers  indicated  neatness,  whose 
light  step  denoted  activity  (for  in  sooth  he  was  hungry,  and  always 
is  at  the  dinner  hour,  whatsoever  that  hour  may  be),  and  whose  rich 
golden  hair,  curling  down  his  shoulders,  was  set  off  by  a  perfectly 
new  four-and-ninepenny  silk  hat,  was  seen  wending  his  way  down 
Bittlestone  Street,  Bittlestone  Squai-e,  Gray's  Inn.  The  person  in 
question,  I  need  not  say,  was  Mr.  Snob.  He  is  never  late  when 
invited  to  dine.     But  to  proceed  with  my  narrative. 

Altliough  Mr.  Snob  may  have  flattered  himself  that  he  made  a 
sensation  as  he  strutted  down  Bittlestone  Street  with  his  richly  gilt 
knobbed  cane  (and  indeed  I  vow  I  saw  heads  looking  at  me  from 
Miss  Squilsby's,  the  brass-plated  milliner  opi^osite  Raymond  Gray's, 
who  has  three  silver-paper  bonnets,  and  two  fly-blown  French  prints 
of  fashion  in  the  window),  yet  what  was  the  emotion  produced  by 
my  arrival,  compared  to  that  with  which  the  little  street  thrilled, 
when  at  five  minutes  past  five  the  floss-wigged  coachman,  the  yellow 
hammer-cloth  and  flunkeys,  the  black  horses  and  blazing  silver 
harness  of  Mr.  Goldmore  whirled  down  the  street?  It  is  a  very 
little  street,  of  very  little  houses,  most  of  them  with  very  large  brass 
plates  like  Miss  Squilsby's.  Coal-merchants,  architects  and  sur- 
veyors, two  surgeons,  a  solicitor,  a  dancing-master,  and  of  course 
several  house-agents,  occupy  the  houses — little  two-storeyed  edifices 
with  little  stucco  porticoes.  Goldmore's  carriage  overtopped  the 
roofs  almost ;  the  first-floors  might  shake  hands  with  Croesus  as  he 
lolled  inside ;  all  the  windows  of  those  first-floors  thronged  with 
children  and  women  in  a  twinkling.     There  was  Mrs.  Hammerlv  in 


SNOBS    AND    MARRIAGE  425 

curl-papers ;  Mrs.  Saxby  with  her  front  awry  ;  Mr.  Wriggles  peering 
through  the  gauze  curtains,  holding  the  while  his  hot  glass  of  rura- 
and- water — in  fine,  a  tremendous  commotion  in  Bittlestone  Street, 
as  the  Goldmore  carriage  drove  up  to  ]\Ir.  Raymond  Gray's  door. 

"  How  kind  it  is  of  him  to  come  with  both  the  footmen  ! "  says 
little  Mrs.  Gray,  peeping  at  the  vehicle  too.  The  huge  domestic,  de- 
scending from  his  perch,  gave  a  rap  at  the  door  which  almost  drove 
in  the  building.  All  the  heads  were  out ;  the  sun  was  shining  ;  the 
very  organ-boy  paused ;  the  footman,  the  coach,  and  Goldmore's  red 
face  and  white  waistcoat  were  blazing  in  splendour.  The  herculean 
plushed  one  went  back  to  open  the  carriage  door. 

Raymond  Gray  opened  his — in  his  shirt-sleeves. 

He  ran  uj)  to  tlie  carriage.  "  Come  in,  Goldmore,"  says  he ; 
"just  in  time,  my  boy.  Open  the  door,  What-d'ye-call-'um,  and  let 
your  master  out," — and  What-d'ye-call-'um  obeyed  mechanically, 
with  a  face  of  wonder  and  horror,  only  to  be  equalled  by  the  look 
of  stupefied  astoiushment  which  ornamented  the  purple  countenance 
of  his  master. 

"  Wawt  taim  will  you  please  have  the  cage,  sir  ? "  says  What- 
d'ye-call-'um,  in  that  peculiar,  unspellable,  inimitable,  flunkefied  pro- 
nunciation which  forms  one  of  the  cliief  charms  of  existence. 

"Best  have  it  to  the  theatre  at  night,"  Gray  exclaims;  "it  is 
but  a  Gtep  from  here  to  the  Wells,  and  we  can  walk  there.  I've 
got  tickets  for  all.     Be  at  Sadler's  Wells  at  eleven." 

"  Yes,  at  eleven,"  exclaims  Goldmore  perturbedly,  and  walks 
with  a  flurried  step  into  the  house,  as  if  he  were  going  to  execution 
(as  indeed  he  was,  witli  that  wicked  Gray  as  a  Jack  Ketch  over 
him).  The  carriage  drove  away,  followed  by  numberless  eyes  from 
doorsteps  and  balconies ;  its  appearance  is  still  a  wonder  in  Bittle- 
stone Street. 

"  Go  in  there  and  amuse  yourself  with  Snob,"  says  Gray, 
opening  the  little  drawing-room  door.  "  I'll  call  out  as  soon  as 
the  chops  are  ready.     Fanny's  below,  seeing  to  the  pudding." 

"  Gracious  mercy  !  "  says  Goldmore  to  me,  quite  confidentially, 
"  how  couM  he  ask  us  1  I  really  had  no  idea  of  this — this  utter 
destitution." 

"  Dinner,  dinner ! "  roars  out  Gray,  from  the  dining-room, 
whence  issued  a  great  smoking  and  frying ;  and  entering  that 
apartment  we  find  Mrs.  Gray  ready  to  receive  us,  and  looking 
perfectly  like  a  Princess  who,  by  some  accident,  had  a  bowl  of 
potatoes  in  her  hand,  which  vegetables  she  placed  on  the  table. 
Her  husband  was  meanwhile  cooking  mutton-chops  on  a  gridiron 
over  the  fire. 

"  Fanny  has  made  the  roly-poly  pudding,"  says  he ;  "  the  chops 


4'i6  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

arc  my  part.  Here's  a  fine  one :  try  this,  Goldmore."  And  he 
popi)ed  a  fizzing  cutlet  on  that  gentleman's  plate.  What  words, 
what  notes  of  exclamation  can  describe  the  nal)ob's  astonishment  1 

The  table-cloth  was  a  very  old  one,  darned  in  a  s(;ore  of  i)laces. 
There  was  mustai-d  in  a  tea-cup,  a  silver  fork  for  Goldmore — all 
ours  were  iron. 

"  I  wasn't  born  with  a  silver  spoon  in  my  mouth,"  says  Gray 
gravely;  "That  fork  is  the  only  one  we  have.  Fanny  has  it 
generally." 

"  Raymond  !  "  cries  Mrs.  Gray,  with  an  imploring  face. 

"  She  was  used  to  better  things,  you  know  :  and  I  hope  one 
day  to  get  her  a  dinner-service.  I'm  told  the  electro-plate  is  un- 
commonly good.  Wiierc  the  deuce  is  that  b(3y  with  the  beer  ?  And 
now,"  said  he,  springing  up,  "  I'll  be  a  gentleman."  And  so  he  put 
on  his  coat,  and  sat  down  quite  gravely,  with  four  fresh  mutton- 
chops  which  he  had  by  this  time  broiled. 

"  We  don't  have  meat  every  day,  Mr.  Goldmore,"  he  continued, 
"  and  it's  a  treat  to  me  to  get  a  dinner  like  this.  You  little  know, 
you  gentlemen  of  England,  who  live  at  home  at  ease,  what  hardships 
briefless  barristers  endure." 

"  Gracious  mercy  !  "  says  Mr.  Goldmore. 

"Where's  the  half-and-half?  Fanny,  go  over  to  the  'Keys' 
and  get  the  beer.  Here's  sixpence."  And  what  was  our  astonish- 
ment when  Fanny  got  up  as  if  to  go  ! 

"  Gracious  mercy  !  let  me,"  cries  Goldmore. 

"  Not  for  worlds,  my  dear  sir.  She's  used  to  it.  They  wouldn't 
serve  you  as  well  as  they  serve  her.  Leave  her  alone.  Law  bless 
you  !  "  Raymond  said,  with  astounding  composure.  And  Mrs.  Gray 
left  the  room,  and  actually  came  back  with  a  tray  on  which  there 
was  a  pewter  flagon  of  beer.  Little  Polly  (to  whom,  at  her  christen- 
ing, I  had  the  honour  of  presenting  a  silver  mug  ex  qfiicio)  followed 
with  a  couple  of  tobacco-pipes,  and  the  queerest  roguish  look  in  her 
round  little  chubbj^  face. 

"Did  you  speak  to  Tapling  about  the  gin,  Fanny  my  dear"?" 
Gray  asked,  after  bidding  Polly  put  the  pij^es  on  the  chimney-piece, 
which  that  little  person  had  some  difficulty  in  reaching.  "  The  last 
was  turpentine,  and  even  your  brewing  didn't  make  good  punch 
of  it. 

"  You  would  hardly  suspect,  Goldmore,  that  my  wife,  a  Harley 
Baker,  would  ever  make  gin-punch?  I  think  my  mother-in-law 
would  commit  suicide  if  she  saw  her." 

"  Don't  be  always  laughing  at  mamma,  Raymond,"  says  Mrs. 
Gray. 

"  Well,  well,  she  wouldn't  die,  and  I  don't  wish  she  would.    And 


SNOBS    AND    MARRIAGE  427 

you  don't  make  gin-punch,  and  you  don't  like  it  either — and — 
Goldmore,  do  you  drink  your  beer  out  of  tlie  glass,  or  out  of  the 
pewter  1 " 

"  Gracious  mercy  !  "  ejaculates  Cra?sus  once  more,  as  little  Polly, 
taking  the  pot  with  both  her  little  bunches  of  hands,  offers  it,  smiling, 
to  that  astonished  Director. 

And  so,  in  a  word,  the  dinner  commenced,  and  was  presently 
ended  in  a  similar  fashion.  Gray  pursued  his  unfortunate  guest 
with  the  most  queer  and  outrageous  description  of  his  struggles, 
misery,  and  poverty.  He  described  how  he  cleaned  tlie  knives  wlien 
they  were  first  married  ;  and  how  he  used  to  drag  the  children  in  a 
little  cart ;  how  his  wife  could  toss  pancakes ;  and  what  parts  of 
his  dress  she  made.  He  told  Tibbits,  his  clerk  (who  was  in  fact 
the  functionary  who  had  brought  the  beer  from  the  public-house, 
which  Mrs.  Fanny  had  fetched  from  the  neighbouring  apartment) — - 
to  fetcli  "  the  bottle  of  port-wine,"  when  the  dinner  was  over ;  and 
told  Goldmore  as  wonderful  a  history  about  the  way  in  "which  that 
bottle  of  wine  had  come  into  his  hands  as  any  of  his  former  stories 
liad  been.  When  the  rei)ast  was  all  over,  and  it  was  near  time  to 
move  to  the  play,  and  Mrs.  Gray  had  retired,  and  we  were  sitting 
ruminating  rather  silently  over  the  last  glasses  of  the  port.  Gray 
suddenly  breaks  the  silence  by  slapi)ing  Goldmore  on  the  shoulder, 
and  saying,  "Now,  Goldmore,  tell  me  something." 

'•  What  ?  "  asks  Crrjesus. 

"  Haven't  you  had  a  good  dinner  1 " 

Goldmore  started,  as  if  a  sudden  truth  had  just  dawned  upon 
him.  He  had  had  a  good  dinner ;  and  didn't  know  it  until  then. 
The  three  mutton-chops  consumed  by  him  were  best  of  the  mutton 
kind  ;  the  potatoes  were  perfect  of  their  order  ;  as  for  the  roly-poly, 
it  was  too  good.  The  porter  was  frothy  and  cool,  and  the  port- 
wine  was  worthy  of  the  gills  of  a  bishop.  I  speak  with  ulterior  views  ; 
for  there  is  more  in  Gray's  cellar. 

"  Well,"  says  Goldmore,  after  a  pause,  during  which  he  took 
time  to  consider  the  momentous  cj[uestion  Gray  put  to  him — "  'Pon 
my  word — now  you  say  so — I — I  have — I  r^lly  have  had  a 
monsous-  good  dinnah — monsous  good,  upon  my  ward  !  Here's  your 
health,  Gray  my  boy,  and  your  amiable  lady ;  and  when  Mrs.  Gold- 
more  comes  back,  I  hope  w^e  shall  see  you  more  in  Portland  Place." 
And  witli  this  the  time  came  for  the  play,  and  we  went  to  see 
Mr.  Pheli)s  at  Sadler's  Wells. 

Tlie  best  of  this  story  (for  the  truth  of  every  word  of  which  I 
pledge  my  honour)  is,  that  after  tliis  banquet,  which  Goldmore 
enjoyed  so,  the  honest  fellow  felt  a  prodigious  com])a.ssion  and  regard 
for  the  starving  and  miserable  giver  of  the  feast,  and  determined  to 


428  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

help  him  in  his  profession.  And  being  a  Director  of  the  newly- 
established  Antibilious  Life  Assurance  Company,  he  has  had  Gray 
apj)ointed  Standing  Counsel,  with  a  i)rctty  annual  fee  ;  and  only 
yesterday,  in  an  apj)eal  from  Bombay  (Bucknuickjee  Bobbachee  v. 
Ramchowder-Bahawder)  in  the  Privy  Council,  Lord  Brougham  com- 
jtlimcnted  Mr.  Gray,  who  was  in  the  case,  on  his  curious  and  exact 
knowledge  of  the  Sanscrit  language. 

Whether  he  knows  Sanscrit  or  not,  I  can't  say ;  but  Goldmore 
got  him  the  business  ;  and  so  I  cannot  help  having  a  lurking  regard 
for  that  pompous  old  Bigwig. 


CHAPTER   XXXVI 

SNOBS  AND    MARRIAGE 

WE  Bachelors  in  Clubs  are  very  much  obliged  to  you,"  says 
my  old  school  and  college  companion,  Essex  Temple,  "for 
the  opinion  which  you  hold  of  us.  You  call  us  selfish, 
purple-faced,  bloated,  and  other  pretty  names.  You  state,  in  the 
simplest  possible  terms,  that  we  shall  go  to  the  deuce.  You  bid 
us  rot  in  loneliness,  and  deny  us  all  claims  to  honesty,  conduct, 
decent  Christian  life.  Who  are  you,  Mr.  Snob,  to  judge  us  so? 
Who  are  you,  with  your  infernal  benevolent  smirk  and  grin,  that 
laugh  at  all  our  generation  1 

"I  will  tell  you  my  case,"  says  Essex  Temple;  "mine  and  my 
sister  Polly's,  and  you  may  make  what  you  like  of  it ;  and  sneer 
at  old  maids,  and  bully  old  bachelors,  if  you  will. 

"  I  will  whisper  to  you  confidentially  that  my  sister  Polly  was 
engaged  to  Serjeant  Shirker — a  fellow  whose  talents  one  cannot 
deny,  and  be  hanged  to  them,  but  whom  I  have  always  known  to 
be  mean,  selfish,  and  a  jirig.  However,  women  don't  see  these 
faults  in  the  men  whom  Love  throws  in  their  way.  Shirker,  who 
has  about  as  much  warmth  as  an  eel,  made  up  to  Polly  years  and 
years  ago,  and  was  no  bad  match  for  a  briefless  barrister,  as  he 
was  then. 

"Have  you  ever  read  Lord  Eldon's  Life?  Do  you  remember 
how  the  sordid  old  Snob  narrates  his  going  out  to  purchase  two- 
pence-worth of  sprats,  which  he  and  Mrs.  Scott  fried  between 
them  1  And  how  he  parades  his  humility,  and  exhibits  his 
miserable  poverty — he  who,  at  that  time,  must  have  been  making 
a  thousand  pounds  a  year  1  Well,  Shirker  was  just  as  proud  of 
his  prudence — ^just  as  thankful  for  his  own  meanness,  and  of  course 
would  not  marry  without  a  competency.  Who  so  honourable'? 
Polly  waited,  and  waited  faintly,  from  year  to  year.  He  wasn't 
sick  at  heart ;  his  passion  never  disturbed  his  six  hours'  sleep,  or 
kept  his  ambition  out  of  mind.  He  would  rather  have  hugged  an 
attorney  any  day  than  have  kissed  Polly,  though  she  was  one  of 
the  prettiest  creatures  in  the  world ;  and  while  she  was  pining 
alone  upstairs,  reading  over  the  stock  of  half-a-dozen  frigid  letters 


4.'50  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

that  the  coiitoundtMl  priij;  had  condescended  to  wi-itc  to  her,  he,  be 
sure,  was  never  busy  with  anytliini^-  but  liis  briefs  in  cluunbers — 
always  frigid,  rigid,  self-satisiied,  and  at  his  duty.  The  marriage 
trailed  on  year  after  year,  wliile  Mr.  Sergeant  Sliirker  grew  to  be 
the  flxmous  lawyer  he  is. 

"Meanwhile,  my  yoimger  brotlier,  Pump  Temi»lc,  wlio  was  in 
the  120th  Hussars,  and  had  the  same  little  patrimony  which  fell 
to  the  lot  of  myself  and  Pollj'',  nuist  fall  in  love  with  our  cousin, 
Fanny  Figtree,  and  marry  her  out  of  hand.  You  should  have  seen 
the  wedding  !  Six  bridesmaids  in  pink,  to  hold  the  fan,  bouquet, 
gloves,  scent-bottle,  and  ])ocket-]iandkercliief  of  the  bride  ;  basketfuls 
of  white  fiivours  in  the  vestry,  to  be  pinned  on  to  the  footmen  and 
horses  ;  a  genteel  congregation  of  curious  ac(juaintance  in  the  pews, 
a  shabby  one  of  poor  on  the  steps  ;  all  tlie  carriages  of  all  our 
acquaintance,  whom  Aunt  Figtree  had  levied  for  the  occasion ;  and 
of  course  four  horses  for  Mr.  Pump's  bridal  vehicle. 

"  Then  comes  the  breakfast,  or  dejeuner,  if  you  please,  with  a 
brass  band  in  the  street,  and  policemen  to  keep  order.  The  happy 
bridegroom  spends  about  a  year's  income  in  dresses  for  the  brides- 
maids and  pretty  presents ;  and  the  bride  must  have  a  trousseau 
of  laces,  satins,  jewel-boxes,  and  tomfoolery,  to  make  her  fit  to  be 
a  lieutenant's  wife.  There  was  no  hesitation  about  Pump.  He 
flung  about  his  money  as  if  it  had  been  dross ;  and  Mrs.  P.  Tempfe, 
on  the  horse  Tom  Tiddler,  which  her  husband  gave  her,  was  the 
most  dashing  of  military  women  at  Brighton  or  Dublin.  How  old 
Mrs.  Figtree  used  to  bore  me  and  Polly  with  stories  of  Pump's 
grandeur  and  the  noble  company  he  kept !  Polly  lives  witli  the 
Figtrees,  as  I  am  not  rich  enough  to  keep  a  home  for  her. 

"  Pump  and  I  have  always  been  rather  distant.  Not  having 
the  slightest  notions  about  horseflesh,  he  has  a  natural  contempt 
for  me ;  and  in  our  mother's  lifetime,  when  the  good  old  lady  was 
always  paying  his  debts  and  petting  him,  I'm  not  sure  there  was 
not  a  little  jealousy.  It  used  to  be  Polly  that  kept  the  peace 
between  us. 

"She  went  to  Dublin  to  visit  Pump,  and  brought  back  grand 
accounts  of  his  doings — gayest  man  about  town — Aide-de-camp  to 
the  Lord-Lieutenant — Fanny  admired  everywhere — Her  Excellency 
godmother  to  the  second  l)()y  :  the  eldest  with  a  string  of  aristocratic 
Christian-names  that  made  the  grandmother  wild  with  delight. 
Presently  Fanny  and  Pump  obligingly  came  over  to  London,  where 
the  third  was  born. 

"  Polly  was  godmotlier  to  this,  and  who  so  loving  as  she  and 
Pump  now?  'Oh,  Essex,'  says  she  to  me,  'he  is  so  good,  so 
generous,  so  fond  of  his  family ;  so  handsome ;  who  can  help  loving 


SNOBS    AND    MARRIAGE  431 

him,  and  pardoning  his  httle  erroi>  ? '  One  day,  while  Mrs.  Pump 
was  yet  in  the  upper  regions,  and  Doctor  Fingerfee's  brougham  at 
her  door  every  day,  having  business  at  Guildhall,  whom  should  I 
meet  in  Cheapside  but  Pump  and  Polly  1  The  poor  girl  looked 
more  happy  and  rosy  than  I  have  seen  her  these  twelve  years. 
Pump,  on  the  contrary,  was  rather  blushing  and  embarrassed. 

"I  couldn't  be  mistaken  in  her  face  and  its  look  of  mischief 
and  triumph.  She  had  been  committing  some  act  of  sacrifice.  I 
went  to  the  family  stockbroker.  She  had  sold  out  two  thousand 
pounds  that  morning  and  given  them  to  Pump.  Quarrelling  was 
useless — Pump  had  the  money ;  he  was  off  to  Dublin  by  the  time 
I  reached  his  motlier's,  and  Polly  radiant  still.  He  was  going  to 
make  his  fortune  ;  he  was  going  to  embark  the  money  in  the  Bog 
of  Allen — I  don't  know  what.  The  fact  is,  he  was  going  to  pay 
his  losses  upon  the  last  Mancliester  steeple-chase,  and  I  leave  you 
to  imagine  how  much  principal  or  interest  poor  Polly  ever  saw 
back  again. 

"  It  was  more  than  half  her  fortune,  and  lie  has  had  another 
thousand  since  from  her.  Then  came  eftbrts  to  stave  off  ruin  and 
prevent  exposure ;  struggles  on  all  our  parts,  and  sacrifi(;es,  that " 
(here  Mr.  Essex  Temj)le  began  to  hesitate) — "  that  needn't  be 
talked  of;  but  they  are  of  no  more  use  than  such  sacrifices  ever 
are.  Pump  and  his  wife  are  abroad — I  don't  like  to  ask  where ; 
Polly  lias  the  three  children,  and  Mr.  Serjeant  Shirker  has  formally 
written  to  break  oft'  an  engagement,  on  the  conclusion  of  wliich 
Miss  Temple  must  herself  have  speculated,  when  she  alienated  the 
greater  part  of  her  fortune. 

"  And  here's  your  famous  theory  of  poor  marriages  ! "  Essex 
Temple  cries,  concluding  the  above  history.  "  How  do  you  know 
that  I  don't  want  to  marry  myself?  How  do  you  dare  sneer  at 
my  poor  sister  1  What  are  we  but  martyrs  of  the  reckless  marriage 
system  which  Mr.  Snob,  forsooth,  chooses  to  advocate  1 "  And  he 
thought  he  liad  the  better  of  the  ai-gument,  which,  strange  to  say, 
is  not  my  opinion. 

"  But  for  the  infernal  Snob-worship,  might  not  every  one  of 
these  people  be  ha])py  1  If  poor  Polly's  happiness  lay  in  linking 
her  tender  arms  round  such  a  heartless  prig  as  the  sneak  who  has 
deceived  her,  she  miglit  have  been  hapjjy  now — as  hap])y  as  Ray- 
mond Raymond  in  the  ballad,  with  the  stone  statue  by  his  side. 
She  is  wretched  because  Mr.  Serjeant  Shirker  worships  money  and 
ambition,  and  is  a  Snob  and  a  coward. 

If  the  unfortunate  Pump  Temple  and  his  giddy  hussy  of  a  wife 
have  ruined  themselves,  and  dragged  down  others  into  their  calamity, 
it  is  because  they  loved  rank,  and  horses,  and  plate,  and  carriages, 


432  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

and  Court  Guides,  and  iiiilliiiery,  and  would  sacrifice  all  to  attain 
those  objects. 

And  who  misguides  them  ?  If  the  world  were  more  simple, 
would  11  )t  those  foolish  people  follow  the  fashion  1  Does  not  the 
world  love  Court  Guides,  and  millinery,  and  plate,  and  carriages? 
Mercy  on  us  !  Read  the  fashionable  intelligence  ;  read  the  Court 
Circular ;  read  the  genteel  novels  ;  survey  mankind,  from  Pimlico 
to  Rod  Lion  Square,  and  see  how  the  Poor  Snob  is  aping  the  Rich 
Snob  ;  how  the  Mean  Snob  is  grovelling  at  the  feet  of  the  Proud 
Snob ;  and  the  Great  Snob  is  lording  it  over  his  humble,  brother. 
Does  the  idea  of  equality  ever  enter  Dives's  head  ?  Will  it  ever  1 
Will  the  Duchess  of  Fitzbattleaxo  (I  like  a  good  name)  ever  believe 
that  Lady  Croesus,  her  next-door  neighbour  in  Belgrave  Square,  is 
as  good  a  lady  as  her  Grace?  Will  Lady  Croesus  ever  leave  off 
pining  for  the  Duchess's  parties,  and  cease  patronising  Mrs.  Broad- 
cloth, whose  husband  has  not  got  Ids  Baronetcy  yet  ?  Will  Mrs. 
Broadcloth  ever  heartily  shake  hands  with  Mrs.  Seedy,  and  give 
up  those  odious  calculations  about  poor  dear  Mrs.  Seedy's  income  ? 
Will  Mrs.  Seedy,  who  is  starving  in  her  great  house,  go  and  live 
comfortably  in  a  little  one,  or  in  lodgings  1  Will  her  landlady, 
Miss  Letsam,  ever  stop  wondering  at  the  familiarity  of  tradespeople, 
or  rebuking  the  insolence  of  Suky,  the  maid,  who  wears  flowers 
under  her  bonnet,  like  a  lady  1 

But  why  hope,  why  wish  for  such  times?  Do  I  wish  all  Snobs 
to  perish  ?  Do  I  wish  these  Snob  Papers  to  determine  ?  Suicidal 
fool !  art  not  thou,  too,  a  Snob  and  a  brother  ? 


CHAPTER   XXXVII 

CLUB  SNOBS 
I 

AS  I  wish  to  be  particularly  agreeable  to  the  ladies  (to  whom 
I  make  my  most  humble  obeisance),  we  will  now,  if  you 
^  please,  commence  maligning  a  class  of  Snobs  against  whom, 
I  believe,  most  female  minds  are  embittered, — I  mean  Club  Snobs. 
I  have  very  seldom  heard  even  the  most  gentle  and  placable  woman 
speak  without  a  little  feeling  of  bitterness  against  tliose  social  insti- 
tutions, those  palaces  swaggering  in  St.  James's,  whicli  are  open  to 
the  men ;  while  tlie  ladies  have  but  their  dingy  three-windowed 
brick  boxes  in  Belgravia  or  in  Paddingtonia,  or  in  the  region  between 
the  road  of  Edgware  and  that  of  Gray's  Inn. 

In  my  grandfather's  time  it  used  to  be  Freemasonry  that  roused 
their  anger.  It  was  my  grand-aunt  (whose  fiortrait  we  still  have 
in  the  family)  who  got  into  the  clock-case  at  the  Royal  Rosicrucian 
Lodge  at  Bungay,  Suffolk,  to  spy  the  proceedings  of  the  Society,  of 
which  her  husband  was  a  member,  and  being  frightened  by  the 
sudden  whirring  and  striking  eleven  of  the  clock  (just  as  the  Deputy- 
Grand-Master  was  bringing  in  the  mystic  gridiron  for  the  reception 
of  a  neophyte),  rushed  out  into  the  midst  of  tlie  lodge  assembled ; 
and  was  elected,  by  a  desperate  unanimity,  Deputy-Grand-Mistress 
for  life.  Though  that  admirable  and  courageous  female  never  sub- 
secpiently  breatlied  a  word  with  regard  to  the  secrets  of  the  initia- 
tion, yet  she  inspired  all  our  family  with  such  a  terror  regarding 
the  mysteries  of  Jachin  and  Boaz,  that  none  of  our  fanu'ly  have 
ever  since  jf)ined  the  Society,  or  worn  the  dreadful  Masonic  insignia. 

It  is  known  that  Orpheus  was  torn  to  ])ieces  by  some  justly 
indignant  Thracian  ladies  for  belonging  to  an  Harmonic  Lodge. 
'Let  him  go  back  to  Enrydice,"  they  said,  "whom  he  is  pretending 
to  regret  so."  But  the  history  is  given  in  Dr.  Lemprii^a-e's  elegant 
dictionary  in  a  manner  much  more  forcible  than  any  which  this 
feeble  pen  can  attempt.  At  once,  then,  and  without  verbiage,  let 
us  take  up  this  subject-matter  of  Clul)s. 

Clubs  ought  not,  in  my  mind,  to  be;  permitted  to  bachelors.     If 


4-CA  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

my  tViond  of  the  Cuttykilts  had  not  our  Club,  the  "  Union  Jaek," 
to  go  to  (I  belong  to  the  "  U.  J."  and  nine  other  .similar  institu- 
tions), who  knows  but  he  never  would  be  a  bachelor  at  this  present 
moment  1  Instead  of  being  made  comfortable,  and  cockered  up  with 
every  luxury,  as  they  are  at  Clubs,  bachelors  ouglit  to  be  rendered 
profoundly  miserable,  in  my  opinion.  Every  encouragement  should 
be  given  to  the  rendering  tlreir  spare  time  disagreeable.  There  can 
be  no  more  odious  object,  according  to  my  sentiments,  than  young 
Smith,  in  the  pride  of  health,  commanding  his  dinner  of  three 
courses  ;  than  middle-aged  Jones  wallowing  (as  I  may  say)  in  an 
easy  padded  arm-chair,  over  the  last  delicious  novel  or  brilliant 
magazine  ;  or  than  old  Brown,  that  selfish  old  reprobate  for  whom 
mere  literature  has  no  charms,  stretched  on  the  best  sofa,  sitting  on 
the  second  edition  of  the  Times,  having  the  Morning  Chronicle 
between  his  knees,  the  Herald  pushed  in  between  his  coat  and 
waistcoat,  the  Standard  under  his  left  arm,  the  Glohe  under  the 
other  i)inion,  and  the  Daily  Newn  in  perusal.  "I'll  trouble  you 
for  Punch,  Mr.  Wiggins,"  says  the  unconscionable  old  gormandiser, 
interrupting  our  friend,  who  is  laughing  over  the  periodical  in 
question. 

This  kind  of  selfishness  ought  not  to  be.  No,  no.  Young 
Smith,  instead  of  his  dinner  and  his  wine,  ought  to  be,  where? — 
at  the  festive  tea-table,  to  be  sure,  by  the  side  of  Miss  Higgs, 
sipping  the  bohea,  or  tasting  the  harmless  muffin ;  while  old  Mrs. 
Higgs  looks  on,  pleased  at  their- innocent  dalliance,  and  my  friend 
Miss  Wirt,  the  governess,  is  performing  Thalberg's  last  sonata  in 
treble  X.,  totally  unheeded,  at  the  piano. 

Where  should  the  middle-aged  Jones  be  1  At  his  time  of  life, 
he  ought  to  be  the  father  of  a  family.  At  such  an  hour — say,  at 
nine  o'clock  at  night — the  nursery-bell  should  have  just  rung  the 
children  to  bed.  He  and  Mrs.  J.  ought  to  be,  by  rights,  seated  on 
each  side  of  the  fire  by  the  dining-room  table,  a  bottle  of  port-wine 
between  them,  not  so  full  as  it  was  an  liour  since.  Mrs.  J.  has  had 
two  glasses ;  Mrs.  Crumble  (Jones's  mother-in-law)  has  had  three  : 
Jones  himself  has  finished  the  rest,  and  dozes  comfortably  until 
bed-time. 

And  Brown,  that  old  newspaper-devouring  miscreant,  what  right 
has  he  at  a  club  at  a  decent  hour  of  night  1  He  ought  to  be  play- 
ing his  rubber  with  Miss  MacWhirter,  his  wife,  and  the  family 
apothecary.  His  candle  ought  to  be  brought  to  him  at  ten  o'clock, 
and  he  should  retire  to  rest  just  as  the  young  people  were  thinking 
of  a  dance.  How  much  finer,  simpler,  nobler  are  the  several  employ- 
ments I  have  sketched  out  for  these  gentlemen  than  their  present 
nightly  orgies  at  the  horrid  Club. 


CLUB    SNOB. 


CLUB    SNOBS  435 

And,  ladies,  think  of  men  who  do  not  merely  frequent  the 
dining-room  and  library,  but  who  use  otiier  apartments  of  those 
horrible  dens  which  it  is  my  jjurpose  to  batter  down  ;  think  of 
Cannon,  the  wretch,  with  his  coat  off,  at  his  age  and  size,  clattering 
the  balls  over  the  billiard-talile  al]  night,  and  making  bets  with  that 
odious  Captain  Si)ot  l^thiuk  of  Pam  in  a  dark  room  with  Bob 
Trumper,  Jack  Deuceace,  and  Cliarley  Vole,  playing,  the  poor  dear 
misguided  wretch,  guinea  iroints  and  five  pounds  on  the  rubber ! — 
above  all,  think — oh,  think  of  that  den  of  abomination,  which,  I 
am  told,  has  been  established  in  some  clubs,  called  the  Smoking- 
Jioom, — think  of  the  debauchees  who  congregate  there,  the  quan- 
tities of  reeking  whisky-punch  or  more  dangerous  sherry-cobbler 
which  they  consume  ;  —  think  of  them  coming  home  at  cock-crow, 
and  letting  themselves  into  the  quiet  house  with  the  Chubb  key  ; — 
think  of  them,  the  hypocrites,  taking  off  their  insidious  boots  before 
they  slink  upstairs,  the  cliiklren  sleeping  overhead,  the  wife  of  their 
bosom  alone  with  the  waning  rushlight  in  the  two-pair  front — ^that 
chamber  so  soon  to  be  rendered  hateful  by  the  smell  of  their  stale 
cigars  !  I  am  not  an  advocate  of  violence  •  I  am  not,  by  nature, 
of  an  incendiary  turn  of  mind  ;  but  if,  my  dear  ladies,  you  are  for 
assassinating  Mr.  Chubb  and  Ijurning  down  the  Club-houses  in 
St.  James's,  there  is  one  Snob  at  least  who  will  not  think  the  worse 
of  you. 

The  only  men  who,  as  I  opine,  ought  to  be  allowed  the  use 
of  Clubs,  are  married  men  without  a  profession.  The  continual 
presence  of  these  in  a  house  cannot  be  thought,  even  by  the  most 
loving  of  wives,  desirable.  Say  the  girls  are  beginning  to  practise 
their  music,  which,  in  an  honourable  English  family,  ought  to  occupy 
every  young  gentlewoman  three  hours  :  it  would  be  rather  hard  to 
call  upon  poor  papa  to  sit  in  the  drawing-room  all  that  time,  and 
listen  to  the  interminable  discords  and  shrieks  which  are  elicited 
from  the  miserable  piano  during  the  above  necessary  operation.  A 
man  with  a  good  ear,  especially,  would  go  mad,  if  compelled  daily 
to  submit  to  this  horror. 

Or  suppose  you  have  a  fancy  to  go  to  the  milliner's,  or  to 
Howell  and  James's,  it  is  manifest,  my  dear  madam,  that  your 
husband  is  much  better  at  the  Club  during  these  operations  than 
by  your  side  in  the  carriage,  or  perched  in  wonder  upon  one  of  the 
stools  at  Shawl  and  Gimcrack's,  Avhilst  young  counter-dandies  are 
displaying  their  wares. 

This  sort  of  husbands  should  be  sent  out  after  breakfest,  and 
if  not  Members  of  Parliament,  or  Directors  of  a  Railroad,  or  an 
Insurance  Company,  should  be  put  into  their  Clubs,  and  told  to 
remain  tliere  until  dinner-time.     No  sight  is  more  agreeable  to  my 


436  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

truly  woll-reuiuliitwl  luind  than  to  see  tlic  noble  churai-ters  so  worthily 
omploycMl.  Whenever  I  ])ass  by  St.  James's  Street,  having  the 
l)rivilege,  like  the  rest  of  the  world,  of  lookhig  in  at  the  windows 
of  "  BHght's,"  or  "  Foodie's,"  or  "  Snook's,"  or  the  great  bay  at  the 
"Contemplative  Club,"  I  behold  witli  respeetful  appreeiation  the 
figures  within — the  honest  rosy  old  fcjgies,  the  mouldy  old  dandies, 
the  waist-belts  and  glossy  wigs  and  tight  cravats  of  those  most 
vacuous  and  respectable  men.  Such  men  are  best  there  during  the 
day-time  surely.  When  you  part  with  them,  dear  ladies,  think  of 
the  rapture  consequent  on  their  return.  You  have  transacted  your 
household  affairs  ;  you  have  made  your  purchases ;  you  have  paid 
your  visits  ;  you  have  aired  your  poodle  in  the  Park ;  your  French 
maid  has  completed  the  toilette  which  renders  you  so  ravishingly 
beautiful  by  candlelight,  and  you  ai'c  fit  to  make  home  pleasant  to 
him  who  has  been  absent  all  day. 

Such  men  surely  ought  to  have  their  Clubs,  and  we  will  not 
class  them  among  Club  Snobs  therefore : — on  whom  let  us  reserve 
our  attack  for  the  next  chai>ter. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

CLUB  SNOBS 

II 

SUCH  a  sensation  has  been  created  in  the  Chibs  by  the  appear- 
ance of  the  last  paper  on  Club  Snobs,  as  can't  but  be  compU- 
mentar}'  to  nie  who  am  one  of  their  number. 

I  belong  to  many  Clubs.  Tlie  "  Union  Jack,"  the  "  Sash  and 
Marlinspike "  — Military  Clubs.  "The  True  Blue,"  the  "No 
Surrender,"  the  "  Blue  and  Butf,"  the  "  Guy  Fawkes,"  and  the 
"Cato  Street "  — Political  Clubs.  "The  Brummel "  and  the 
"  Regent  "—Dandy  Clubs.  The  "Acropolis,"  the  "Palladium," 
the  "Areopagus,"  the  "  Pnyx,"  the  "  Pentelicus,"  the  "  Uissus," 
and  the  "  Poluiihloisboio  Thalasses  " — Literary  Clubs.  .  I  never 
could  make  out  how  the  latter  set  of  Clubs  got  their  names ;  / 
don't  know  Greek  for  one,  and  I  wonder  how  many  other  members 
of  those  institutions  do. 

Ever  since  the  Club  Snobs  have  been  announced,  I  observe  a 
sensation  created  on  my  entrance  into  any  one  of  these  places. 
Members  get  up  and  hustle  together ;  tliey  nod,  they  scowl,  as  they 
glance  towards  the  present  Snob.  ''  Infernal  imjjudent  jackanapes  ! 
If  he  shows  me  up,"  says  Colonel  Bludyer,  "  I'll  break  every  bone 
in  his  skin."  "  I  told  you  what  would  come  of  admitting  literary 
men  into  the  Club,"  says  Ranville  Ranville  to  his  colleague  Spooney, 
of  the  Tape  and  8ealing-Wax  Office.  "  These  people  are  very  well 
in  their  proper  |)laces,  and,  as  a  public  man,  I  make  a  point  of 
shaking  liands  with  them,  and  that  sort  of  thing ;  but  to  have  one's 
privacy  obtruded  upon  l)y  such  j)eople  is  really  too  nuich.  Come 
along.  Spooney,"  and  the  pair  of  prigs  retire  superciliously. 

As  I  came  into  the  coffee-room  at  the  "No  Surrender,"  old 
Jawkins  was  holding  out  to  a  knot  of  men,  who  were  yawning,  as 
usual.  There  lie  stood,  waving  the  Standard,  and  swaggering 
before  the  fire.  "  What,"  says  he,  "  did  I  tell  Peel  last  year  ?  If 
you  touch  the  Corn  Laws,  you  toucli  the  Sugar  Question  ;  if  you 
touch  the  Sugar,  yow  touch  the  Tea.  I  am  no  monopolist.  I  am 
a  liberal  man,  but  I  cannot  forget  that  I  stand  on  the  brink  of  a 


438  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

precipice;  and  if  we  are  to  have  Free  Trade,  give  me  reciprocity. 
And  what  was  Sir  Robert  Peel's  answer  to  mel  'Mr.  Jawkins,' 
he  said " 

Here  Jawkins's  eye  suddenly  turning  on  your  humble  servant, 
ho  stopped  his  sentence,  with  a  guilty  look — his  stale  old  stupid 
sentence,  winch  every  one  of  us  at  the  Club  has  heard  over  and 
over  again. 

Jawkins  is  a  most  pertinacious  Club  Snob.  Every  day  he  is  at 
that  fireplace,  holding  that  Standard,  of  which  he  reads  up  the 
leading  article,  and  pours  it  out  ore  rottmdo,  with  the  most  astonish- 
ing composure,  in  the  face  of  his  neighbour,  who  has  just  read  every 
word  of  it  in  the  paper.  Jawkins  has  money,  as  you  may  see  by 
the  tie  of  his  neckcloth.  He  passes  the  morning  swaggering  about 
the  City,  in  bankers'  and  brokers'  parlours,  and  says : — "  I  spoke 
with  Peel  yesterday,  and  his  intentions  are  so  and  so.  Graham  and 
I  were  talking  over  the  matter,  and  I  pledge  you  my  word  of  honour, 
his  opinion  coincides  with  mine ;  and  that  What-d'ye-call-'um  is  the 
only  measure  Government  will  venture  on  trying."  By  evening- 
paper  time  he  is  at  the  Club :  "  I  can  tell  you  the  opinion  of  the 
City,  my  Lord,"  says  he,  "and  the  way  in  which  Jones  Loyd  looks 
at  it  is  briefly  this  :  Rothschilds  told  me  so  themselves.  In  Mark 
Lane,  people's  minds  are  quite  made  up."  He  is  considered  rather 
a  well-informed  man. 

He  lives  in  Belgravia,  of  course  ;  in  a  drab-coloured  genteel  house, 
and  has  everything  about  him  that  is  properly  grave,  dismal,  and 
comfortable.  His  dinners  are  in  the  Morning  Herald,  among  the 
parties  for  the  week ;  and  his  wife  and  daughters  make  a  very 
handsome  appearance  at  the  Drawing-room,  once  a  year,  when  he 
comes  down  to  the  Club  in  his  Deputy-Lieutenant's  uniform. 

He  is  fond  rtf  beginning  a  speech  to  you  by  saying,  "  When 
I  was  in  the  House,  I,  &c." — in  foct  he  sat  for  Skittlebury  for 
three  weeks  in  the  first  Reformed  Parliament,  and  was  unseated  for 
bribery;  since  which  he  has  three  times  unsuccessfully  contested  that 
honourable  borough. 

Another  sort  of  Political  Snob  I  have  seen  at  most  Clubs,  and 
that  is  the  man  who  does  not  care  so  much  for  home  politics,  but  is 
great  upon  foreign  affairs.  I  think  this  sort  of  man  is  scarcely  found 
anywhere  hut  in  Clubs.  It  is  for  him  the  papers  provide  their 
foreign  articles,  at  the  expense  of  some  ten  thousand  a  year  each. 
He  is  the  man  who  is  really  seriously  uncomfortable  about  the 
designs  of  Russia,  and  the  atrocious  treachery  of  Louis-Philii)pe. 
He  it  is  who  expects  a  French  fleet  in  the  Thames,  and  has  a 
constant  eye  upon  the  American  President,  every  word  of  whose 
speech  (goodness  help  him  !)  he  reads.     He  knows  the  names  of  the 


CLUB    SNOBS  4>3g 

contending  leaders  in  Portugal,  and  what  they  are  figliting  about ; 
and  it  is  he  who  says  that  Lord  Aberdeen  ought  to  be  impeached, 
and  Lord  Palnierston  lianged,  or  vice  versa. 

Lord  Palmerston's  being  sold  to  Russia,  the  exact  number  of 
roubles  paid,  by  what  house  in  the  City,  is  a  favourite  theme 
with  this  kind  of  Snob.  I  once  overheard  him — it  was  Captain 
Spitfire,  R.N.  (who  had  been  refused  a  ship  by  the  Whigs,  by  the 
way) — indulging  in  the  following  conversation  with  Mr.  Minns 
after  dinner — 

"  Wliy  wasn't  the  Princess  Scragamoflfsky  at  Lady  Palmerston's 
])arty,  Minns  1  Because  she  can't  sho7v — and  why  can't  she  show  1 
Shall  I  tell  you,  Minns,  wdiy  she  can't  show  1  The  Princess  Scraga- 
motfsky's  back  is  flayed  alive,  Minns — I  tell  you  it's  raw,  sir !  On 
Tuesday  last,  at  twelve  o'clock,  three  drummers  of  the  Preobajinski 
Regiment  arrived  at  Ashburnham  House,  and  at  half-past  tw^elve, 
in  the  yellow  drawing-room  at  the  Russian  Embassy,  before  the 
ambassadress  and  four  ladies'-maiils,  the  Greek  Papa,  and  the 
Secretary  of  Embassy,  ]\Iadame  de  Scragamoffsky  received  thirteen 
dozen.  She  was  knouted,  sir,  knouted  in  the  midst  of  England — in 
Berkeley  Square,  for  having  said  that  the  Grand  Duchess  Olga's  hair 
was  red.  And  now,  sir,  will  you  tell  me  Lord  Palmerston  ought  to 
continue  Minister  1 " 

Minns  :  "  Good  Ged  !  " 

Minns  follows  Spitfire  about,  and  thinks  him  the  greatest  and 
wisest  of  human  beings. 


CHAPTER   XXXIX 

CLUB  SNOBS 

III 

WHY  does  not  some  great  author  write  "  The  Mysteries  of 
tlie  Chib-houses;  or,  St.  James's  Street  unveiled"?  It 
would  be  a  fine  subject  for  an  imaginative  writer.  We 
must  all,  as  boys,  remember  when  we  went  to  the  fair,  and  had 
spent  all  our  money — the  sort  of  awe  and  anxiety  with  which  we 
loitered  round  the  outside  of  the  show,  speculating  upon  the  nature 
of  tlie  entertainment  going  on  within. 

Man  is  a  Drama — of  Wonder  and  Passion,  and  Mystery  and 
Meanness,  and  Beauty  and  Truthfulness,  and  Etcetera.  Each 
Bosom  is  a  Booth  in  Vanity  Fair.  But  let  us  stop  this  capital 
style.  I  should  die  if  I  kept  it  up  for  a  column  (a  pretty  thing  a 
column  all  capitals  would  be,  by  the  way).  In  a  club,  tlnnigh 
there  mayn't  be  a  soul  of  your  acquaintance  in  the  room,  you  have 
alw\ays  the  chance  of  watching  strangers,  and  speculating  on  what 
is  going  on  within  those  tents  and  curtains  of  their  souls,  their  coats 
and  waistcoats.  This  is  a  never-failing  sport.  Indeed  I  am  told 
there  are  some  Clubs  in  the  town  where  nobody  ever  speaks  to  any- 
body. They  sit  in  the  coffee-room,  quite  silent,  and  watching 
each  other. 

Yet  how  little  you  can  tell  from  a  man's  outw^ard  demeanour ! 
There's  a  man  at  our  Club— large,  heavy,  middle-aged — gorgeously 
dressed — rather  bald — with  lacquered  boots — and  a  boa  when  he 
goes  out;  quiet  in  demeanour,  always  ordering  and  consuming  a 
recherche  little  dinner  :  whom  I  have  mistaken  for  Sir  John 
Pocklington  any  time  these  five  years,  and  respected  as  a  man  with 
five  hundred  pounds  jwr  diem ;  and  I  find  he  is  but  a  clerk  in  an 
oftice  in  the  City,  with  not  two  hundred  pounds  income,  and  his 
name  is  Jubber.  Sir  John  Pocklington  was,  on  the  contrary,  the 
dirty  little  snuffy  man  who  cried  out  so  about  the  bad  quality  of 
the  beer,  and  grimibled  at  being  overcharged  three-halfpence  for  a 
herring,  seated  at  the  next  table  to  Jubber  on  the  day  when 
some  one  pointed  the  Baronet  out  to  me. 


CLUB    SNOBS  441 

Take  a  different  sort  of  mystery.  I  see,  for  instance,  old 
FaAvney  stealing  roimd  the  rooms  of  the  Club,  with  glassy  meaning- 
less eyes,  and  an  endless  greasy  simper — he  fawns  on  everybody 
he  meets,  and  shakes  hands  with  you,  and  blesses  you,  and  betrays 
the  most  tender  and  astonishing  interest  in  vour  welfare.  You 
know  him  to  be  a  quack  and  a  rogue,  and  he  knows  you  know  it. 
But  he  wriggles  on  his  way,  and  leaves  a  track  of  slimy  flattery 
after  him  wherever  he  goes.  Who  can  penetrate  that  man's 
mystery  ?  What  earthly  good  can  he  get  from  you  or  me  ?  You 
don't  know  what  is  working  under  that  leering  tranquil  mask.  You 
have  only  the  dim  instinctive  repulsion  that  warns  you  you  are  in 
the  presence  of  a  knave — beyond  wliich  fact  all  FaM^nej^'s  soul  is  a 
secret  to  you. 

I  think  I  like  to  speculate  on  the  young  men  best.  Their  play 
is  opener.  You  know  the  cards  in  their  hand,  as  it  were.  Take, 
for  example,  Messrs.  Spavin  and  Cockspm-. 

A  specimen  or  two  of  the  above  sort  of  young  fellows  may  be 
found,  I  believe,  at  most  Clubs.  They  know  nobody.  They  bring 
a  fine  smell  of  cigars  into  the  room  with  them,  and  they  growl 
together,  in  a  corner,  about  sporting  matters.  They  recollect  the 
history  of  that  sliort  period  in  which  they  have  been  ornaments  of 
the  world  by  the  names  of  winning  horses.  As  political  men  talk 
about  "the  Reform  year,"  "the  year  the  Whigs  went  out,"  and  so 
forth,  these  young  sporting  bucks  speak  of  Tarnation's  year,  or 
Opodeldoc's  year,  or  the  year  when  Catawampus  ran  second  for 
the  Chester  Cup.  They  play  at  billiards  in  the  morning,  they 
absorb  pale-ale  for  breakfast,  and  "  top  up  "  with  glasses  of  strong 
waters.  They  read  BelVs  Life  (and  a  very  pleasant  paper  too, 
with  a  great  deal  of  erudition  in  the  answers  to  correspondents). 
They  go  down  to  Tattersall's,  and  swagger  in  the  Park,  with  their 
hands  plunged  in  the  pockets  of  their  paletots. 

What  strikes  me  especially  in  the  outward  demeanour  of  sporting 
youth  is  their  amazing  gravity,  their  conciseness  of  speech,  and 
careworn  and  moody  air.  In  the  smoking-room  at  the  "  Regent," 
when  Joe  Millerson  will  be  setting  tlie  whole  room  in  a  roar  with 
laughter,  you  hear  young  Messrs.  Spavin  and  Cockspur  grumbling 
together  in  a  corner.  "  I'U  take  your  five-and-twenty  to  one 
about  brother  to  Bluenose,"  whispers  Spavin.  "  Can't  do  it  at  the 
price,"  Cockspur  says,  wagging  his  head  ominously.  The  betting- 
book  is  always  present  in  the  minds  of  those  unfortunate  youngsters. 
I  think  I  hate  that  work  even  more  than  the  "  Peerage."  There 
is  some  good  in  the  latter — though,  generally  speaking,  a  vain 
record  :  though  De  Mogyns  is  not  descended  from  the  giant  Hogyn 
Mog}'n ;    though  half  the  other   genealogies  are  equally  false  and 


442  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

foolish  ;  yet  the  mottoes  are  good  reading — some  of  them  ;  and  the 
book  itself  a  sort  of  gold-laced  and  liveried  lacquey  to  History,  and 
in  so  far  serviceable.  But  what  good  ever  came  out  of,  or  went 
into,  a  betting-book  1  If  I  could  be  Caliph  Omar  for  a  week,  I 
would  pitch  every  one  of  those  despicable  manuscripts  into  the 
flames  ;  from  my  Lord's,  who  is  "  in  "  with  Jack  Snaffle's  stable, 
and  is  overreaching  worse-informed  rogues  and  swindling  greenhorns, 
down  to  Sam's,  the  butcher-boy's,  who  books  eighteenpenny  odds 
in  the  tap-room,  and  "stands  to  win  five-and-twenty  bob." 

In  a  turf  transaction,  either  Spavin  or  Cockspur  would  try 
to  get  the  better  of  his  father,  and,  to  gain  a  point  in  the  odds, 
victimise  his  best  friends.  One  day  we  shall  hear  of  one  or  other 
levanting ;  an  event  at  which,  not  being  sporting  men,  we  shall  not 
break  our  hearts.  See — Mr.  Spavin  is  settling  his  toilette  previous 
to  departure ;  giving  a  curl  in  the  glass  to  his  side-wisps  of  hair. 
Look  at  him  !  It  is  only  at  the  hulks,  or  among  turf-men,  that  you 
ever  see  a  face  so  mean,  so  knowing,  and  so  gloomy. 

A  much  more  humane  being  among  the  youthful  Clubbists  is  the 
Lady-killing  Snob.  I  saw  Wiggle  just  now  in  the  dressing-room, 
talking  to  Waggle,  his  inseparable. 

Waggle.   "  'Pon  my  honour,  Wiggle,  she  did." 

Wiggle.  "Well,  Waggle,  as  you  say — I  own  I  think  she  did  look 
at  me  rather  kindly.     We'll  see  to-night  at  the  French  play." 

And  having  arrayed  their  little  persons,  these  two  harmless 
young  bucks  go  upstairs  to  dinner. 


CHAPTER   XL 

.       CLUB  SNOBS 


BOTH  sorts  of  young  iiieii,  mentioned  in  my  last  under  the 
flippant  names  of  Wiggle  and  Waggle,  may  be  found  in  toler- 
able plenty,  I  think,  in  Clubs.  Wiggle  and  Waggle  are  both 
idle.  They  come  of  the  middle  classes.  One  of  them  very  likely 
makes  believe  to  be  a  barrister,  and  the  other  has  smart  apartments 
about  Piccadilly.  They  are  a  sort  of  second-chop  dandies;  they 
cannot  imitate  that  superb  listlessness  of  demeanour,  and  that 
admirable  vacuous  folly  which  distinguish  the  noble  and  high-born 
chiefs  of  the  race ;  but  they  lead  lives  almost  as  bad  (were  it  but 
for  the  example),  and  are  personally  quite  as  useless.  I  am  not 
going  to  arm  a  thunderbolt,  and  launch  it  at  the  heads  of  these 
little  Pall  Mall  butterflies.  They  don't  commit  much  public  harm, 
or  private  extravagance.  They  don't  spend  a  thousand  pounds  for 
diamond  ear-rings  for  an  ojjera-dancer,  as  Lord  Tarquin  can  :  neither 
of  them  ever  set  up  a  public-house  or  broke  the  bank  of  a  gambling- 
club,  like  tlie  young  Earl  of  Martingale.  Tliey  have  good  points, 
kind  feelings,  and  deal  honourably  in  money-transactions — only  in 
their  characters  of  men  of  second-rate  pleasure  about  town,  they  and 
their  like  are  so  utterly  mean,  self-contented,  and  absurd,  that  they 
must  not  be  omitted  in  a  work  treating  on  Snobs. 

Wiggle  has  been  abroad,  where  he  gives  you  to  understand  that 
his  success  among  the  German  countesses  and  Italian  princesses, 
whom  he  met  at  the  tables-d'-hote,  was  perfectly  terrific.  His  rooms 
are  hung  round  with  pictures  of  actresses  and  ballet-dancers.  He 
passes  his  mornings  in  a  fine  dressing-gown,  burning  pastilles,  and 
reading  "  Don  Juan  "  and  French  novels  (by  the  way,  the  life  of  tlie 
author  of  "  Don  Juan,"  as  described  by  himself,  was  the  model  of 
the  life  of  a  Snob).  He  has  twopenny-halfpenny  French  prints  of 
women  with  languishing  eyes,  dressed  in  dominoes, — guitars,  gon- 
dolas, and  so  forth, — and  tells  you  stories  about  them. 

"  It's  a  bad  i)rint,"  says  he,  "I  know,  but  I've  a  reason  for  liking 
it.     It  reminds  me  of  somebody — somebody  I  knew  iu  other  climes. 
2  H 


444  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

You  liavc  hcanl  of  the  Principessa  di  Monte  Pulciano?  I  met  her 
at  Rimini.  Dear,  dear  Francescui !  That  fair-liaired  briglit-eyed 
tiling  in  tlie  Bird  of  Paradise  and  the  Turkish  Simar  with  the 
love-bird  on  her  finger,  I'm  sure  must  have  been  taken  from — from 
somebody  perhaps  whom  you  don't  know — but  she's  known  at 
Munich,  Waggle,  my  boy, — everybody  knows  the  Countess  Ottiba 
de  Eulenschreckenstein.  Gad,  sir,  what  a  beautiful  creature  she 
was  when  I  danced  with  her  on  the  birthday  of  Prince  Attila  of 
Bavaria,  in  '44  !  Prince  Carloman  was  our  vis-a-vis,  and  Prince 
Pepin  danced  the  same  contredanse.  She  had  a  polyanthus  in 
her  bouquet.  Waggle,  /  have  it  now."  His  countenance  assumes 
an  agonised  and  mysterious  expression,  and  he  buries  his  head  in 
the  sofa  cushions,  as  if  plunging  into  a  whirli)0()l  of  passionate 
recollections. 

Last  year  he  made  a  consideral)le  sensation  by  having  on 
his  table  a  morocco  miniature-case  loc^ked  by  a  gold  key,  which 
he  always  wore  round  his  neck,  and  on  which  was  stamped  a 
ser])ent — emblem  of  eternity — with  the  letter  M  in  the  circle. 
Sometimes  he  laid  this  upon  his  little  morocco  writing-table,  as 
if  it  were  on  an  altar — generally  he  had  flowers  upon  it ;  in  the 
middle  of  a  conversation  he  Avould  start  up  and  kiss  it.  He 
would  call  out  from  his  bedroom  to  his  valet,  "  Hicks,  bring  me 
my  casket !  " 

"  I  don't  know  who  it  is,"  Waggle  would  say.  "  Who  does  know 
that  fell'ow's  intrigues  !  Desborough  Wiggle,  sir,  is  the  slave  of 
passion.  I  suppose  you  have  heard  the  story  of  the  Italian  princess 
locked  up  in  the  convent  of  Saint  Barbara,  at  Rimini  1  He  hasn't 
told  you  ?  Then  I'm  not  at  liberty  to  speak.  Or  the  countess, 
about  whom  he  nearly  had  the  duel  with  Prince  Witikind  of  Bavaria? 
PerhaiJS  you  haven't  even  heard  about  that  beautiful  girl  at  Penton- 
ville,  daughter  of  a  most  respectal;»le  Dissenting  clergyman.  She 
broke  her  heart  when  she  found  he  was  engaged  (to  a  most  lovely 
creature  of  high  family,  who  afterwards  proved  false  to  him),  and 
she's  now  in  Han  well." 

"  Waggle's  belief  in  his  friend  amounts  to  frantic  adoration. 
"  What  a  genius  he  is,  if  he  would  but  apply  himself! "  he  whispers 
to  me.  "  He  could  be  anything,  sir,  but  for  his  passions.  His 
poems  are  the  most  beautiful  things  you  ever  saw.  He's  written  a 
continuation  of  '  Don  Juan,'  from  his  own  adventures.  Did  you 
ever  read  his  lines  to  Mary  1  They're  superior  to  Byron,  sir — ■ 
superior  to  Byron." 

I  was  glad  to  hear  this  from  so  acc(jmplished  a  critic  as  Waggle ; 
for  the  fact  is,  I  had  composed  the  verses  myself  for  honest  Wiggle 
one  day,  whom  I  found  at  his  chambers  plunged  in  thought  over  a 


CLUB    SNOBS  445 

very  dirty  old-fashioned  album,  in  which  he  had  not  as  yet  written 
a  single  word. 

"  I  can't,"  says  he.  "  Sometimes  I  can  write  whole  cantos, 
and  to-day  not  a  line.  0  Snob !  such  an  opportunity  !  Such  a 
divine  creature  !  She's  asked  me  to  write  verses  for  her  album, 
and  I  can't." 

"  Is  she  rich  1 "  said  I.  "  I  thought  you  would  never  marry 
any  but  an  heiress." 

"  0  Snob  !  she's  the  most  accomplished  highly-connected  crea- 
ture ! — and  I  can't  get  out  a  line." 

"  How  will  you  have  it  1 "  said  I.      "  Hot,  with  sugar  1 " 

"  Don't,  don't !  You  trample  on  the  most  sacred  feelings.  Snob. 
I  want  something  wild  and  tender, — like  Byron.  I  want  to  tell 
her  that  amongst  the  festive  halls,  and  that  sort  of  thing,  you  know 
— I  only  think  about  her,  you  know — that  I  scorn  the  world,  and 
am  weary  of  it,  you  know,  and — something  about  a  gazelle,  and  a 
bulbul,  you  know." 

"  And  a  yataghan  to  finish  otf  with,"  the  present  writer  observed, 
and  we  began  :— 

"TO  MARY 

"  I  seem,  in  the  midst  of  the  crowd, 

The  lightest  of  all  ; 
My  laughter  rings  cheery  and  loud, 

In  banquet  and  ball. 
My  lip  hath  its  smiles  and  its  sneers, 

For  all  men  to  see  ; 
But  my  soul,  and  my  truth,  and  my  tears 

Are  for  thee,  are  for  thee  !  " 

"  Do  you  call  that  neat.  Wiggle  1 "  says  I.  "  I  declare  it  almost 
makes  me  cry  myself" 

"Now  suppose,"  says  Wiggle,  "we  say  that  all  the  world  is  at 
my  feet — make  her  jealous,  you  know,  and  that  sort  of  thing — and 
that — that  I'm  going  to  travel,  you  know?  That  perhaps  may 
work  upon  her  feelings." 

So  We  (as  this  wretched  prig  said)  began  again  : — 

"  Around  me  they  flatter  and  fawn — 

The  young  and  the  old, 
The  fairest  are  ready  to  pawn 

Their  hearts  for  my  gold. 
They  sue  me — I  laugh  as  I  spurn 

The  slaves  at  my  knee, 
But  in  faith  and  in  fondness  I  turn 

Unto  thee,  unto  thee  !  " 


44.6  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

"  Now  for  the  travelling,  Wiggle,  my  boy  !  "  And  I  began,  in  a 
voice  choked  with  emotion  : — 

"  Away  !  for  my  heart  knows  no  rest 

Since  you  taught  it  to  feel  ; 
The  secret  must  die  in  my  breast 

I  burn  to  reveal  ; 
The  passion  I  may  not " 

"  I  say,  Snob  !  "  Wiggle  here  interrupted  the  excited  bard  (just 
as  I  was  about  to  break  out  into  four  lines  so  pathetic  that  they 
would  drive  you  into  hysterics).  "  I  say — ahem — couldn't  you  say 
that  I  was— a — military  man,  and  that  there  was  some  danger  of 
my  life  1 " 

"You  a  military  inan  ? — danger  of  your  life'?  What  the  deuce 
do  you  mean  1 " 

"  Why,"  said  Wiggle,  blushing  a  good  deal,  "  I  told  her  I  was 
going  out — on — the — Ecuador — expedition. " 

"  You  abominable  young  impostor,"  I  exclaimed.  "  Finish 
the  poem  for  yourself!"  And  so  he  did,  and  entirely  out  of 
all  metre,  and  bragged  about  the  work  at  the  Club  as  his  own 
performance. 

Poor  Waggle  fully  believed  in  his  friend's  genius,  until  one 
day  last  week  he  came  with  a  grin  on  his  countenance  to  the  Club, 
and  said,  "  Oh,  Snob,  I've  made  such  a  discovery  !  Going  down 
to  the  skating  to-day,  whom  should  I  see  but  Wiggle  walking  with 
that  splendid  woman — that  lady  of  illustrious  family  and  immense 
fortune,  Mary,  you  know,  whom  he  Avrote  the  beautiful  verses 
about.  She's  five-and-forty.  She's  red  hair.  She's  a  nose  like 
a  pump-handle.  Her  father  made  his  fortune  by  keeping  a  ham- 
and-beef  shop,  and  Wiggle's  going  to  marry  her  next  week." 

"  So  much  the  better.  Waggle,  my  young  friend,"  I  exclaimed. 
"  Better  for  the  sake  of  womankind  that  this  dangerous  dog  should 
leave  otf  lady-killing — this  Bluebeard  give  up  practice.  Or,  better 
rather  for  his  own  sake.  For  as  there  is  not  a  word  of  truth  in 
any  of  those  prodigious  love-stories  which  you  used  to  swallow, 
nobody  has  been  hurt  except  Wiggle  himself,  whose  affections  will 
now  centre  in  the  ham-and-beef  shop.  There  are  people,  Mr. 
Waggle,  who  do  these  things  in  earnest,  and  hold  a  good  rank  in 
the  world  too.  But  these  are  not  subjects  for  ridicule,  and  thougii 
certainly  Snobs,  are  scoundrels  likewise.  Their  cases  go  up  to  a 
higher  Court." 


CHAPTER  XLI 

CLUB  SNOBS 


BACCHUS  is  the  divinity  to  whom  Waggle  devotes  his  especial 
worship.  "Give  me  wine,  my  boy,"  says  he  to  his  friend 
Wiggle,  who  is  prating  about  lovely  woman ;  and  holds  up 
his  glass  full  of  the  rosy  fluid,  and  winks  at  it  portentously,  and  sips 
it,  and  smacks  his  lips  after  it,  and  meditates  on  it,  as  if  he  were 
the  greatest  of  connoisseurs. 

I  have  remarked  this  excessive  wine-amateurship  especially  in 
youth.  Snoblings  from  college,  Fledglings  from  the  army.  Goslings 
from  the  public  sclipols,  who  ornament  our  Clubs,  are  frequently  to 
be  heard  in  great  force  upon  wine  questions.  "  This  bottle's  corked," 
says  Snobling;  and  Mr.  Sly,  the  butler,  taking  it  away,  returns 
presently  with  the  same  wine-  in  another  jug,  which  the  young 
amateur  pronounces  excellent.  "  Hang  champagne  !  "  says  Fledgling, 
"  it's  only  fit  for  gals  and  children.  Give  me  pale  sherry  at  dinner, 
and  my  twenty-three  claret  afterwards."  "  What's  port  now  ? "  says 
Gosling :  "  disgusting  thick  sweet  stuff" — where's  the  old  dry  wine 
one  used  to  get?"  Until  the  last  twelvemonth.  Fledgling  drank  small 
beer  at  Dr.  Swishtail's ;  and  Gosling  used  to  get  his  dry  old  port  at 
a  gin-shop  in  Westminster — till  he  quitted  that  seminary,  in  1844. 

Anybody  who  has  looked  at  the  caricatures  of  thirty  years  ago, 
must  remember  how  frequently  bottle-noses,  pimpled  faces,  and 
otlier  Bardolphian  features  are  introduced  by  the  designer.  They 
are  much  more  rare  now  (in  nature,  and  in  pictures,  therefore)  than 
in  those  good  old  times ;  but  there  are  still  to  be  found  amongst  the 
youth  of  our  Clubs  lads  wlio  glory  in  drinking-bouts,  and  whose 
faces,  quite  sickly  and  yellow,  for  the  most  part,  are  decorated  with 
tliose  marks  which  Rowland's  Kalydor  is  said  to  cff"ace.  "  I  was  so 
cut  last  niglit — old  boy  !  "  Hopkins  says  to  Tomkins  (with  amiable 
confidence).  "  I  tell  you  what  we  did.  We  breakfasted  with  Jack 
Herring  at  twelve,  and  kept  up  with  brandy  and  soda-water  and 
weeds  till  four ;  then  we  toddled  into  the  Park  for  an  hour ;  then 
we  dined  and  drajik  mulled  port  till  half-price  ;  tlien  we  looked  in  for 
an  hour  at  the  Haymarket ;  then  we  came  back  to  the  Club,  and  had 


448  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

grills  and  whisky-punch  till  all  was  blue. — Hullo,  waiter!  Get  me  a 
glass  of  cherry -brandy."  Club  waiters,  the  civilest,  the  kindest,  the 
patientest  of  men,  die  under  the  infliction  of  these  cruel  young  topers. 
But  if  the  reader  wishes  to  see  a  perfect  picture  on  the  stage  of 
this  class  of  young  fellows,  I  would  recommend  him  to  witness  the 
ingenious  comedy  of  "  London  Assurance  " — the  amiable  heroes  of 
which  are  represented,  not  only  as  drunkards  and  five-o'clock  in-the- 
morniiig  men,  but  as  showing  a  hundred  other  delightful  traits  of 
swindling,  lying,  and  general  debauchery,  quite  edifying  to  witness. 

How  different  is  the  conduct  of  these  outrageous  youths  to  the 
decent  behaviour  of  my  friend,  Mr.  Papworthy  ;  who  says  to  Poppins, 
the  butler  at  the  Club — 

Papivorthy.  "  Poppins,  I'm  thinking  of  dining  early  :  is  there 
any  cold  game  in  the  house  1 " 

Poppins.  "  There's  a  game  pie,  sir  ;  there's  cold  grouse,  sir ; 
there's  cold  pheasant,  sir ;  there's  cold  peacock,  sir ;  cold  swan,  sir ; 
coUl  ostrich,  sir,"  &c.  &c.  (as  the  case  may  be). 

Papworthy.  "Hem  !  What's  your  liest  claret  now,  Poppins'? — 
in  pints  I  mean." 

Pox)pins.  "  There's  Cooper  and  Magnum's  Lafitte,  sir ;  there's 
Lath  and  Sawdust's  St.  Julien,  sir ;  Bung's  Leoville  is  considered  re- 
markably fine  ;  and  I  think  you'd  like  Jugger's  Chateau-Margaux." 

Pajnvorthy.  "Hum! — hah! — Well — give  me  a  crust  of  bread 
and  a  glass  of  beer.     I'll  only  lunch,  Poppins." 

Captain  Shindy  is  another  sort  of  Club  bore.  He  has  been 
known  to  throw  all  the  Ckib  in  an  uproar  about  the  quality  of  his 
mutton-chop. 

"Look  at  it,  sir!  Is  it  cooked,  sir?  Smell  it,  sir!  Is  it 
meat  fit  for  a  gentleman  ? "  he  roars  out  to  the  steward,  Avho  stands 
trembling  before  him,  and  who  in  vain  tells  him  that  the  Bishop  of 
Bullocksmithy  has  just  had  three  from  the  same  loin.  All  the 
waiters  in  the  Club  are  huddled  round  the  Captain's  mutton-chop. 
He  roars  out  the  most  horrible  curses  at  John  for  not  bringing  the 
pickles ;  he  utters  the  most  dreadful  oaths  because  Thomas  has  not 
arrived  with  the  Harvey  sauce ;  Peter  comes  tumbling  with  the 
water-jug  over  Jeames,  who  is  bringing  "the  glittering  canisters 
with  bread."  Whenever  Shindy  enters  the  room  (such  is  the  force 
of  character),  every  table  is  deserted,  every  gentleman  must  dine 
as  he  best  may,  and  all  those  big  footmen  are  in  terror. 

He  makes  his  account  of  it.  He  scolds,  and  is  better  waited 
upon  in  consequence.  At  the  Club  he  has  ten  servants  scudding 
about  to  do  his  bidding. 

Poor  Mrs.  Shindy  and  the  children  are,  meanwliile,  in  dingy 
lodgings  somewhere,  waited  upon  by  a  charity-girl  in  pattens. 


CHAPTER  XLII 

CLUB  S^'OBS 

VI 

EVERY  well-bred  English  female  will  sympathise  with  the 
subject  of  the  harrowing  tale,  the  history  of  Sackville  Maine, 
I  am  now  about  to  recount.  The  pleasures  of  Clubs  have 
been  spoken  of :  let  us  now  glance  for  a  moment  at  the  dangers  of 
those  institutions,  and  for  this  purpose  I  must  introduce  you  to  my 
yoimg  acquaintance,  Sackville  Maine. 

It  was  at  a  ball  at  the  house  of  my  respected  friend,  Mrs. 
Perkins,  that  I  was  introduced  to  this  gentleman  and  his  charming 
lady.  Seeing  a  young  creature  before  me  in  a  white  dress,  Avith 
white  satin  shoes ;  with  a  pink  ribbon,  about  a  yard  in  breadth, 
flaming  out  as  she  twirled  in  a  polka  in  the  arms  of  Monsieur  de 
Springbock,  the  German  diplomatist  ;  Avith  a  green  wreath  on  her 
head,  and  the  blackest  hair  tliis  individual  ever  set  eyes  on — seeing, 
I  say,  before  me  a  charming  young  woman  whisking  beautifully  in 
a  beautiful  dance,  and  presenting,  as  she  wound  and  wound  round 
the  room,  now  a  full  face,  then  a  three-quarter  face,  tlien  a  profile 
— a  face,  in  fine,  which  in  every  way  you  saw  it  looked  pretty,  and 
rosy,  and  happy,  I  felt  (as  I  trust)  a  not  unbecoming  curiosity 
regarding  the  owner  of  this  pleasant  countenance,  and  asked  Wagley 
(who  was  standing  by,  in  conversation  with  an  acquaintance)  who 
was  the  lady  in  (juestion  ] 

"  Which  ? "  says  Wagley. 

"  That  one  with  the  coal-black  eyes,"  I  replied. 

"  Hush  ! "  says  he  :  and  the  gentleman  with  whom  he  was 
talking  moved  off,  with  rather  a  discomfited  air. 

When  he  was  gone  Wagley  burst  out  laughing.  "  Coal-hlack 
eyes  !  "  said  he  ;  "  you've  just  hit  it.  That's  Mrs.  Sackville  Maine, 
and  that  was  her  husband  who  just  went  away.  He's  a  coal- 
merchant,  Snob,  my  boy,  and  I  have  no  doubt  Mr.  Perkins's  Walls- 
ends  are  supplied  from  his  wharf.  He  is  in  a  flaming  furnace 
when  he  hears  coals  mentioned.  He  and  his  wife  and  his  mother 
are  very  proud  of  Mrs.  Sackville's  family ;  she  was  a  Miss  Chuff", 


450  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

dauifliter  of  Captain  Chuff,  R.N.  That  is  the  widow;  that  stout 
woman  in  crimson  tabinet,  battling  about  the  odd  trick  with  old 
Mr.  Dumps,  at  the  card-table." 

And  so,  in  fact,  it  was.  Sackville  Maine  (whose  name  is  a 
hundred  times  more  elegant,  surely,  than  that  of  Chutf)  was  blest 
with  a  pretty  wife,  and  a  genteel  mother-in-law,  both  of  whom  some 
I)eopIe  may  envy  him. 

Soon  after  his  marriage  the  old  lady  was  good  enough  to  come 
and  i)ay  him  a  visit — ^just  for  a  fortnight — at  his  pretty  little 
cottage,  Kennington  Oval ;  and,  such  is  her  affection  for  the  place, 
has  never  quitted  it  these  four  years.  She  has  also  brought  her 
son,  Nelson  CoUingwood  Chuff,  to  live  with  her ;  but  he  is  not 
so  nuich  at  home  as  his  mamma,  going  as  a  day-boy  to  Merchant 
Taylors'  School,  where  he  is  getting  a  sound  classical  education. 

If  these  beings,  so  closely  allied  to  his  wife,  and  so  justly  dear 
to  her,  may  be  considered  as  drawbacks  to  Maine's  happiness,  what 
man  is  tliere  that  has  not  some  things  in  life  to  complain  of?  And 
when  I  first  knew  Mr.  Maine,  no  man  seemed  more  comfortable  than 
he.  His  cottage  was  a  picture  of  elegance  and  comfort ;  his  table 
and  cellar  were  excellently  and  neatly  supplied.  There  was  every 
enjoyment,  but  no  ostentation.  The  omnibus  took  him  to  business 
of  a  morning  ;  the  boat  brought  him  back  to  the  happiest  of  homes, 
where  he  woidd  while  away  the  long  evening  by  reading  out  the 
fashionalde  novels  to  tlie  ladies  as  they  worked ;  or  accompany  his 
wife  on  tlie  flute  (which  he  played  elegantly) ;  or  in  any  one  of  the 
hundred  pleasing  and  innocent  amusements  of  the  domestic  circle. 
Mrs.  Chuff  covered  the  drawing-rooms  with  prodigious  tapestries, 
the  work  of  her  hands.  Mrs.  Sackville  had  a  particular  genius  for 
making  covers  of  tape  or  network  for  these  tapestried  cushions. 
She  could  make  home-made  wines.  She  could  make  preserves  and 
pickles.  She  had  an  album,  into  which,  during  the  time  of  his 
courtship,  Sackville  Maine  had  written  choice  scraps  of  Byron's  and 
Moore's  poetry,  analogous  to  his  own  situation,  and  in  a  fine  mercan- 
tile hand.  She  had  a  large  manuscript  receipt-book — every  quality, 
in  a  word,  which  indicated  a  virtuous  and  well-bred  English  female 
mind. 

"And  as  for  Nelson  CoUingwood,"  Sackville  would  say,  laugh- 
ing, "  we  couldn't  do  without  him  in  the  house.  If  he  didn't  spoil 
the  tapestry  we  should  be  over-cushioned  in  a  few  months ;  and 
whom  could  we  get  but  him  to  drink  Laura's  home-made  wine  ? " 
The  truth  is,  the  gents  who  came  from  the  City  to  dine  at  the 
Oval  could  not  be  induced  to  drink  it — in  which  fastidiousness,  I 
myself,  when  I  grew  to  be  intimate  with  the  family,  confess  that 
I  shared. 


CLUB    SNOBS  451 

"And  yet,  sir,  that  green  ginger  has  been  drunk  by  some  of  ' 
England's  proudest  heroes,"  Mrs.  Chuff  woukl  exdaim.  "  Admiral 
Lord  Exmouth  tasted  and  praised  it,  sir,  on  board  Captain  Chuff's 
ship,  the  Nebuchadnezzar,  74,  at  Algiers  ;  and  he  had  three  dozen 
with  him  in  the  Pitchfork  frigate,  a  part  of  which  was  served  out 
to  the  men  before  he  went  into  his  immortal  action  with  the  Furi- 
honcle.  Captain  Choufleur,  in  tlie  Gulf  of  Panama." 

All  this,  though  the  old  dowager  told  us  the  story  every  day 
when  the  wane  was  produced,  never  served  to  get  rid  of  any  quantity 
of  it — and  the  green  ginger,  though  it  had  fired  British  tars  for 
combat  and  victory,  was  not  to  the  taste  of  us  peaceful  and  de- 
generate gents  of  modern  times. 

I  see  Sackville  now,  as  on  the  occasion  when,  presented  by 
Wagley,  I  paid  my  first  visit  to  him.  It  was  in  July — a  Sunday 
afternoon — Sackville  Maine  w'as  coming  from  church,  with  his 
wife  on  one  arm,  and  his  mother-in-law  (in  red  tabinet,  as  usual) 
on  the  other.  A  half-grown,  or  hobbadehoyish  footman,  so  to 
speak,  walked  after  them,  carrying  their  shining  golden  prayer- 
books — the  ladies  had  splendid  parasols  with  tags  and  fringes. 
Mrs.  Chuffs  great  gold  watch,  fastened  to  her  stomach,  gleamed 
there  like  a  ball  of  fire.  Nelson  Collingwood  was  in  the  distance, 
shying  stones  at  an  old  horse  on  Kennington  Common.  'Twas  on 
that  verdant  spot  we  met — nor  can  I  ever  forget  the  majestic 
courtesy  of  Mrs.  Chuff,  as  she  remembered  liaving  had  the  pleasure 
of  seeing  me  at  Mrs.  Perkins's — nor  the  glance  of  scorn  which  she 
threw  at  an  unfortunate  gentleman  who  was  preaching  an  exceed- 
ingly desultory  discourse  to  a  sceptical  audience  of  omnibus-cads 
and  nursemaids,  on  a  tub,  as  we  passed  by.  "  I  cannot  help  it, 
sir,"  says  she  ;  "  I  am  the  widow  of  an  officer  of  Britain's  Navy  : 
I  was  taught  to  honour  my  Church  and  my  King :  and  I  cannot 
bear  a  Radical  or  a  Dissenter." 

With  these  fine  principles  I  found  Sackville  Maine  impressed. 
"Wagley,"  said  he,  to  my  introducer,  "if  no  better  engagement, 
wliy  shoiddn't  self  and  friend  dine  at  the  Oval  ?  Mr.  Snob,  sir,  th6 
mutton's  coming  off  tlie  spit  at  this  very  minute.  Laura  and  Mrs. 
Chutt""  (he  said  Laurar  and  Mrs.  (Jhutt';  but  I  hate  people  who 
make  remarks  on  tliese  peculiarities  of  pronunciation)  "  will  be  most 
happy  to  see  you  ;  and  I  can  ])romise  you  a  hearty  welcome,  and  as 
good  a  glass  of  port-wine  as  any  in  England." 

"This  is  better  tlian  dining  at  the  '  Sarcoi)hagus,'  "  tliinks  I  to 
myself,  at  whicli  Club  Wagley  and  I  had  intended  to  take  our 
meal ;  and  so  we  accepted  the  kindly  invitation,  whence  arose 
afterwards  a  considerable  intimacy. 

Everything  about  this  family  and  house  was  so  good-natur('(l, 
7 


452  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

comfortable,  and  well  conditioned,  that  a  cynic  would  have  ceased 
to  srowl  there.  Mrs.  Laui-a  was  all  graciousness  and  smiles,  and 
looked  to  as  great  advantage  in  her  pretty  morning-gown  as  in^ 
lier  dress-robe  at  Mrs.  Perkins's.  Mrs.  Chuff  lired  off  her  stories 
about  the  Nehuduulnezzar,  74,  the  action  between  the  Pitchfork 
and  the  Furihondc — the  heroic  resistance  of  Captain  Choutleur, 
and  the  (juantity  of  snuff  he  took,  &c.  &c.  ;  which,  as  they 
were  heard  for  tlie  first  time,  were  pleasanter  than  I  have  subse- 
((uontly  found  them.  Sackville  Maine  was  the  best  of  hosts.  He 
agreed  in  everything  everybody  said,  altering  his  opinions  without 
the  slightest  reservation  upon  the  sliglitest  possible  contradiction. 
He  was  not  one  of  those  beings  who  would  emulate  a  Schonbein  or 
Friar  Bacon,  or  act  the  part  of  an  incendiary  towards  the  Tliames, 
his  neighbour — but  a  good,  kind,  simple,  honest,  easy  fellow — in 
love  with  his  wife — well  disposed  to  all  the  world — content  with 
himself,  content  even  with  his  mother-in-law.  Nelson  Collingwood, 
I  remember,  in  the  course  of  the  evening,  when  whisky-and-water 
was  for  some  reason  produced,  grew  a  little  tipsy.  This  did  not 
in  tlie  least  move  Sackville's  equanimity.  "  Take  him  upstairs, 
Joseph,"  said  he  to  the  hobbadehoy,  "  aud-^ Joseph — don't  tell 
his  mamma." 

What  could  make  a  man  so  happily  disposed  uidiappy  %  What 
could  cause  discomfort,  bickering,  and  estrangement  in  a  family  so 
friendly  and  united?  Ladies,  it  was  not  my  fault — it  was  Mrs. 
Chuffs  tloiug  —  but  the  rest  of  the  tale  you  shall  have  on  a 
future  day. 


CHAPTER   XLIII 

CLUB  SXOBS 
VII 

THE  misfortune  which  befell  the  simple  and  good-natured  young 
Sackville  arose  entirely  from  that  abominable  "  Sarcophagus 
Club  " ;  and  that  he  ever  entered  it  was  partly  the  fault  of 
the  present  writer. 

For  seeing  Mrs.  Chuff,  his  mother-in-law,  had  a  taste  for  the 
genteel — (indeed,  her  talk  was  all  about  Lord  CoUingwood,  Lord 
Gambler,  Sir  Jahaleel  Brenton,  and  the  Gosport  and  Plymouth 
balls) — Wagley  and  I,  according  to  our  wont,  trumped  her  conversa- 
tion, and  talked  about  Lords,  Dukes,  Marquises,  and  Baronets,  as 
if  those  dignitai-ies  were  our  familiar  friends. 

"  Lord  Sextonbury,"  says  I,  "  seems  to  have  recovered  her 
Ladyship's  death.  He  and  the  Duke  were  very  jolly  over  their 
wine  at  the  '  Sarcophagus  '  last  night ;  weren't  they,  Wagley  1 " 

"  Good  fellow,  the  Duke,"  Wagley  replied.  "  Pray,  ma'am " 
(to  Mrs  Chuff),  "  you  who  know  the  world  and  etiquette,  will  you 
tell  me  what  a  man  ought  to  do  in  my  case  1  Last  June,  his  Grace, 
his  son  Lord  Castlerampant,  Tom  Smith,  and  myself  were  dining 
at  the  Club,  when  I  offered  the  odds  against  Daddylonglegs  for  the 
Derby — forty  to  one,  in  sovereigns  only.  His  Grace  took  the  bet, 
and  of  course  I  won.  He  has  never  paid  me.  Now,  can  I  ask 
such  a  great  man  for  a  sovereign  ? — One  more  lump  of  sugar,  if  you 
please,  my  dear  madam." 

It  was  lucky  Wagley  gave  her  this  opportunity  to  elude  the 
question,  for  it  ])rostrated  the  whole  worthy  family  among  whom 
we  were.  They  telegrajjhed  each  other  with  wondering  eyes.  Mrs. 
Chuffs  stories  alxjut  the  naval  nobility  grew  quite  faint :  and  kind 
little  Mrs.  Sackville  became  uneasy,  and  went  upstairs  to  look  at 
the  children — not  at  that  young  monster.  Nelson  CoUingwood,  who 
was  sleeping  off  the  whisky-and-water — but  at  a  couple  of  little  ones 
who  had  made  their  appearance  at  dessert,  and  of  whom  she  and 
Sackville  were  the  happy  parents. 

The  end  of  this  and  subsequent  meetings  with  Mr.  Maine  was, 


454  TllK    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

tliat  we  proposed  and  ijot  him  elected  as  a  ineinher  of  the  "  Sarco- 
pha<,nis  Chib." 

It  was  not  done  without  a  deal  of  ojjpositioii — the  secret  having 
been  whispered  that  the  candidate  was  a  coal-merchant.  You  may 
be  sure  some  of  the  i)roud  i)eoi)le  and  most  of  the  parvemis  of  the 
Club  were  ready  to  blackball  him.  We  combated  this  opposition 
successfully,  however.  We  pointed  out  to  the  parvenus  that  the 
Lambtons  and  the  Stuarts  sold  coals  :  we  mollitied  tlie  i)i-oud  by 
accounts  of  liis  good  birth,  good-nature,  and  good  behaviour ;  and 
Wagley  went  about  on  the  day  of  election,  describing  with  great 
elot]uen(;e  the  action  between  the  Pitchfork  and  the  Furihonde 
and  the  valour  of  Captain  Maine,  our  friend's  father.  There  was  a 
slight  mistake  in  the  narrative ;  but  we  carried  our  man,  with  only 
a  tritiing  sprinkling  of  black  beans  in  the  boxes  :  Byles's,  of  course, 
who  blackballs  everybody ;  and  Bung's,  who  looks  down  upon  a 
coal-merchant,  liaving  himself  lately  retired  from  the  wine-trade. 

Some  fortnight  afterwards  I  saw  Sackville  Maine  under  the 
following  circumstances  : — 

He  was  showing  the  Club  to  his  family.  He  had  brought  them 
thither  in  the  light-blue  fly,  waiting  at  the  Club  door ;  with  Mrs. 
Chuff's  hobbadehoy  footboy  on  the  box,  by  the  side  of  the  flyman, 
in  a  sham  livery.  Nelson  Collingwood ;  pretty  Mrs.  Sackville  ; 
Mrs.  Captain  Chuff"  (Mrs.  Commodore  Chuff  we  call  her),  w^ere  all 
there  ;  the  latter,  of  course,  in  the  vermilion  tabinet,  which,  splendid 
as  it  is,  is  nothing  in  comparison  to  the  splendour  of  the  "  Sarco- 
j)hagus."  Tiie  delighted  Sackville  Maine  was  pointing  out  the 
beauties  of  the  place  to  them.  It  seemed  as  beautiful  as  Paradise 
to  that  little  party. 

The  "  Sarcophagus  "  displays  every  known  variety  of  architecture 
and  decoration.  The  great  library  is  Elizabethan  ;  the  small  library 
is  Pointed  Gothic ;  the  dining-room  is  severe  Doric ;  the  strangers' 
room  has  an  Egyptian  look ;  the  drawing-rooms  are  Louis  Quatorze 
(so  called  because  the  hideous  ornaments  displayed  were  used  in  the 
time  of  Louis  Quinze) ;  the  cortilc,  or  hall,  is  Morisco-Italian.  It 
is  all  over  marble,  maplewood,  looking-glasses,  arabesques,  ormolu, 
and  scagliola.  Scrolls,  ciphers,  dragons,  Cupids,  polyanthuses,  and 
other  flowers  writhe  up  th#  walls  in  every  kind  of  cornucopiosity. 
Fancy  every  gentleman  in  Jullien's  band  playing  with  all  his 
might,  and  each  performing  a  different  tune  :  the  ornaments  at 
our  Club,  the  "  Sarcophagus,"  so  bewilder  and  affect  me.  Dazzled 
with  emotions  which  I  cannot  describe,  and  which  she  dared  not 
reveal,  Mrs.  Chuff',  followed  by  her  children  and  son-in-law,  walked 
wondering  amongst  these  blundering  splendours. 

In  the  great  library  (225  feet  long  by  150)  tlie  only  man  Mrs. 


MR.   SACKVILLE   MAINE'S    FAMILY   VISIT    THE    CLUB. 


CLUB    SNOBS  455 

Chuff  saw  was  Tiggs.  He  was  lying  on  a  crirason-velvet  sofa,  reading 
a  French  novel  of  Paul  de  Kock.  It  was  a  very  little  book.  He 
is  a  very  little  man.  In  that  enormous  hall  he  looked  like  a  mere 
speck.  As  the  ladies  passed  breathless  and  trembling  in  the  vastness 
of  the  magnificent  solitude,  he  threw  a  knowing  killing  glance  at  the 
fair  strangers,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Ain't  I  a  fine  fellow  1 "  They 
thought  so,  I  am  sure. 

"  Who  is  that?"  hisses  out  Mrs.  Chuff,  when  we  were  about 
fifty  yards  off  him  at  the  other  end  of  the  room. 

"  Tiggs  !  "  says  I,  in  a  similar  wliisper. 

"  Pretty  comfortable  this,  isn't  it,  my  dear  ? "  says  Maine  in  a 
free-and-easy  way  to  Mrs.  Sackville  :  "all  the  magazines,  you  see- 
writing  materials — new  works — choice  library,  containing  evgry  work 
of  importance — what  have  we  here? — '  Dugdale's  Monasticon,'  a 
most  valuable  and,  I  believe,  entertaining  book." 

And  jiroposing  to  take  down  one  of  the  books  for  Mrs.  Maine's 
inspection^  he  selected  Volume  VII.,  to  which  he  was  attracted  by 
the  singular  fact  that  a  brass  door-handle  grew  out  of  the  back. 
Instead  of  pulling  out  a  book,  however,  he  pulled  open  a  cupboard, 
only  inhabited  by  a  lazy  housemaid's  broom  and  duster,  at  which  he 
looked  exceedingly  discomfited  ;  while  Nelson  Collingwood,  losing  all 
respect,  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter. 

"  That's  the  rummest  book  I  ever  saw,"  says  Nelson.  "  I  wish 
we'd  no  others  at  Merchant  Taylors'." 

"  Hush,  Nelson  !  "  cries  Mrs.  Chuff',  and  we  went  into  the  other 
magnificent  apartments. 

How  they  did  admire  the  drawing-room  hangings  (pink  and 
silver  brocade,  most  excellent  wear  for  London),  and  calculated  the 
price  per  yard ;  and  revelled  on  the  luxurious  sofas ;  and  gazed  on 
the  immeasurable  looking-glasses. 

"  Pretty  well  to  shave  by,  eh  1 "  says  Maine  to  his  mother-in- 
law.     (He  was  getting  more  abominably  conceited  every  minute.) 

"Get  away,  Sackville,"  says  she,  quite  delighted,  and  threw  a 
glance  over  her  shoulder,  and  spread  out  the  wings  of  the  red  tabinet, 
and  took  a  good  look  at  herself;  so  did  Mrs.  Sackville — just  one, 
and  I  thought  the  glass  reflected  a  very  smiling  pretty  creature. 

But  what's  a  woman  at  a  looking-glass "?  Bless  the  little  dears, 
it's  their  place.  They  fly  to  it  naturally.  It  pleases  them,  and 
they  adorn  it.  What  I  like  to  s^e,  and  \vatch  with  increasing  joy 
and  adoration,  is  the  Club  men  at  the  great  looking-glasses.  Old 
Gills  pushing  up  his  collars  and  grinning  at  his  own  mottled  face. 
Hulker  looking  solenmly  at  his  great  person,  and  tightening  his  coat 
to  give  himself  a  waist.  Fred  Minchin  simpering  l)y  as  he  is  going 
out  to  dine,  and  casting  upon  the  reflection  of  his  white  neckcloth  a 


45()  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

pleased  moony  smile.  What  a  deal  of  vanity  that  Club  mirror  has 
reflected,  to  be  sure  ! 

Well,  the  ladies  went  through  the  whole  establishment  with 
perfect  pleasure.  They  beheld  the  coffee-rooms,  and  the  little 
tables  laid  for  dinner,  and  the  gentlemen  who  were  taking  their 
lunch,  and  old  Jawkins  thundering  away  as  usual ;  they  saw  the 
reading-rooms,  and  the  rush  for  the  evening  papers ;  they  saw  the 
kitchens — those  wonders  of  art — where  the  Chef  was  presiding  over 
twenty  pretty  kitchen-maids,  and  ten  thousand  shining  saucepans : 
and  they  got  into  the  light-blue  fly  perfectly  bewildered  with 
pleasure. 

Sackville  did  not  enter  it,  though  little  Laura  took  the  back 
seat  on_  purpose,  and  left  him  the  front  place  alongside  of  Mrs. 
Chuff's  red  tabinet. 

"  We  have  your  favourite  dinner,"  says  she,  in  a  timid  voice ; 
"won't  you  come,  Sackville?" 

"  I  shall  take  a  chop  here  to-day,  my  dear,"  Sackville  replied. 
"  Home,  James."  And  he  went  up  the  steps  of  the  "  Sarcophagus," 
and  the  pretty  face  looked  very  sad  out  of  the  carriage,  as  the  blue 
fly  drove  away. 


CHAPTER  XLIV 

CLUB  SNOBS 
VIII 

WHY — why  did  I  and  Wagley  ever  do  so  cruel  an  action 
as  to  introduce  young  Sackville  Maine  into  that  odious 
"Sarcophagus'"?  Let  our  imprudence  and  his  example 
be  a  warning  to  other  gents  ;  let  his  fate  and  that  of  his  poor  wife 
be  remembered  by  every  British  female.  The  consequences  of  his 
entering  the  Club  were  as  follow  : — 

One  of  the  first  vices  the  unhappy  wretch  acquired  in  this  abode 
of  frivolity  was  that  of  smokinf/.  Some  of  the  dandies  of  the  Club, 
such  as  the  Marquis  of  Macabaw,  Lord  Doodeen,  and  fellows  of 
that  high  order,  are  in  the  habit  of  indulging  in  this  propensity 
upstairs  in  the  billiard-rooms  of  the  "  Sarcophagus  " — and,  partly 
to  make  their  acquaintance,  partly  from  a  natural  aptitude  for 
crime,  Sackville  Maine  followed  them,  and  became  an  adept  in  the 
odious  custom.  Where  it  is  introduced  into  a  family,  I  need  not 
say  how  sad  the  consequences  are,  both  to  the  furniture  and  the 
morals.  Sackville  smoked  in  his  dining-room  at  home,  and  caused 
an  agony  to  his  wife  and  motlier-in-law  which  I  do  not  venture  to 
describe. 

He  then  became  a  professed  billiard-jdayer,  wasting  hours  upon 
hours  at  that  amusement ;  betting  freely,  playing  tolerably,  losing 
awfully  to  Captain  Spot  and  Colonel  Cannon.  He  played  matches 
of  a  hundred  games  with  these  gentlemen,  and  would  not  only 
continue  until  four  or  five  o'clock  in  the  morning  at  this  work,  but 
would  be  found  at  the  Club  of  a  forenoon,  indulging  himself  .to  the 
detriment  of  his  business,  the  ruin  of  his  health,  and  the  neglect  of 
his  wife. 

From  billiards  to  whist  is  but  a  step — -and  when  a  man  gets 
to  whist  and  five  pounds  on  the  rubber,  my  opinion  is  that  it  is 
all  up  with  him.  How  was  the  coal  business  to  go  on,  and  the 
connection  of  the  firm  to  be  kept  up,  and  the  senior  partner  always 
at  the  card-table  ? 

Consorting  now  with    genteel    persons  and   Pall    Mall  bucks, 


458  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

Sackville  became  ashamed  of  his  snug  little  residence  in  Kennington 
Oval,  and  transported  his  family  to  Pimlico,  where,  though  Mrs. 
Chuff,  his  mother-in-law,  was  at  &"st  happy,  as  the  quarter  was 
elegant  and  near  her  Sovereign,  poor  little  Laura  and  the  children 
found  a  woeful  difference.  Where  were  her  friends  who  came  in 
witli  their  work  of  a  morning? — At  Kennington  and  in  the  vicinity 
of  Claj)ham.  AVIiere  were  her  children's  little  playmates'? — On 
Kennington  Common.  The  great  tliundering  carriages  that  roareil 
up  and  down  the  drab-coloured  streets  of  the  new  quarter,  contained 
no  friends  for  the  sociable  little  Laura.  The  children  that  paced 
the  squares,  attended  by  a  bonne  or  a  prim  governess,  were  not 
like  those  happy  ones  that  flew  kites,  or  played  hop-scotch,  on  the 
well-beloved  old  Common.  And  ah  !  what  a  difference  at  church 
too ! — between  St.  Benedict's  of  Pimlico,  with  open  seats,  service 
in  sing-song — tapers — albs — -surplices — garlands  and  processions,  and 
the  honest  old  ways  of  Kennington  !  The  footmen,  too,  attending 
St.  Benedict's  were  so  splendid  and  enormous,  that  James,  Mrs. 
Chuff's  boy,  trembled  amongst  them,  and  said  he  would  give  warning 
rather  than  carry  the  books  to  that  church  any  more. 

The  furnishing  of  the  house  was  not  done  without  expense. 

And,  ye  gods !  what  a  difference  there  was  between  Sackville's 
dreary  French  banquets  in  Pimlico,  and  the  jolly  dinners  at  the 
Oval !  No  more  legs-of-mutton,  no  more  of  "  the  best  port-wine 
in  England  "  ;  but  entrees  on  plate,  and  dismal  twopenny  champagne, 
and  waiters  in  gloves,  and  the  Club  bucks  for  company — among 
whom  Mrs.  Cluiff  was  uneasy,  and  Mrs.  Sackville  quite  silent. 

Not  that  he  dined  at  home  often.  The  wretch  had  become  a 
perfect  epicure,  and  dined  commonly  at  the  Club  with  the  gorman- 
dising clique  there :  with  old  Doctor  Maw,  Colonel  Cramley  (who 
is  as  lean  as  a  greyhound  and  has  jaws  like  a  jack),  and  the  rest  of 
them.  Here  you  might  see  the  wretch  tippling  Sillery  champagne 
and  gorging  himself  with  French  viands ;  and  I  often  looked  with 
sorrow  from  my  table  (on  which  cold  meat,  the  Club  small-beer, 
and  a  half-pint  of  marsala  form  the  modest  banquet),  and  sighed  to 
think  it  was  my  work. 

Aud  there  w^ere  other  beings  present  to  my  repentant  thoughts. 
Where's  his  wife,  thought  I  ?  Where's  poor,  good,  kind  little 
Laura  ?  At  this  very  moment — it's  about  the  nursery  bed-time, 
and  while,  yonder  good-for-nothing  is  swilling  his  wine — the  little 
ones  are  at  Laura's  knees  lisping  their  prayers ;  and  she  is  teaching 
them  to  say — "  Pray  God  bless  papa." 

When  she  has  put  them  to  bed,  her  day's  occupation  is  gone ; 
and  she  is  utterly  lonely  all  night,  and  sad,  and  waiting  for  him. 

Oh,  for  shame  !     Oh,  for  shame  !     Go  home,  thou  idle  tippler. 


CLUB    SNOBS  459 

How  Sackville  lost  his  health ;  how  he  lost  his  business ;  how 
he  got  into  scrapes ;  how  he  got  into  debt ;  how  he  became  a  rail- 
road director ;  how  the  Pimlico  house  was  shut  up ;  how  he  went 
to  Boulogne, — all  this  I  could  tell,  only  I  am  too  much  ashamed  of 
my  part  of  the  transaction.  They  returned  to  England,  because, 
to  the  surprise  of  everybody,  Mrs.  Chuff  came  down  with  a  great 
sum  of  money  (which  nobody  knew  she  had  saved),  and  paid  his 
liabilities.  He  is  in  England  ;  but  at  Kennington.  His  name 
is  taken  off  the  books  of  the  "  Sarcophagus  "  long  ago.  When  we 
meet,  he  crosses  over  to  the  other  side  of  the  street ;  and  I  don't 
call,  as  I  should  be  soixy  to  see  a  look  of  reproach  or  sadness  in 
Laura's  sweet  face. 

Not,  however,  all  evil,  as  I  am  proud  to  think,  has  been  the 
influence  of  the  Snob  of  England  upon  Clubs  in  general : — Captain 
Shindy  is  afraid  to  bully  the  waiters  any  more,  and  eats  his  mutton- 
chop  without  moving  Acheron.  Gobemouche  does  not  take  more 
than  two  papers  at  a  time  for  his  private  reading.  Tiggs  does  not 
ring  the  bell  and  cause  the  library-waiter  to  walk  about  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  in  order  to  give  him  Vol.  II.,  which  lies  on  the  next  table. 
Growler  has  ceased  to  walk  from  table  to  table  in  the  coffee-room, 
and  inspect  wliat  people  are  having  for  dinner.  Trotty  Veck  takes 
his  own  umbrella  from  the  hall  —  the  cotton  one ;  and  Sydney 
Scraper's  paletot  lined  with  silk  has  been  brought  back  by  Jobbins, 
who  entirely  mistook  it  for  his  own.  Wiggle  has  discontinued 
telling  stories  about  the  ladies  he  has  killed.  Snooks  does  not 
any  more  think  it  gentlemanlike  to  blackball  attorneys.  Snuffler 
no  longer  publicly  spreads  out  his  great  red-cotton  pocket-handker- 
chief before  the  fire,  for  the  admiration  of  two  hundred  gentlemen  ; 
and  if  one  Club  Snob  has  been  brought  back  to  the  paths  of  recti- 
tude, and  if  one  poor  John  has  been  spared  a  journey  or  a  scolding 
— say,  friends  and  brethren,  if  these  sketches  of  Club  Snobs  have 
been  in  vain. 


CONCLUDING    OBSERVATIONS    ON   SNOBS 

How  it  is  that  we  have  come  to  No.  45  of  this  present  series 
of  papers,  my  dear  friends  and  brother  Snobs,  I  hardly 
know — but  for  a  whole  mortal  year  have  we  been  together, 
prattling,  and  abusing  the  human  race ;  and  were  we  to  live  for  a 
hundred  years  more,  I  believe  there  is  plenty  of  subject  for  con- 
versation in  the  enormous  theme  of  Snobs. 

The  national  mind  is  awakened  to  the  subject.  Letters  pour  in 
every  day,  conveying  marks  of  sympathy  ;  directing  the  attention 
of  the  Snob  of  England  to  races  of  Snobs  yet  undescribed.  "  Where 
are  your  Theatrical  Snobs ;  your  Commercial  Snobs ;  your  Medical 
and  Chirurgical  Snobs ;  your  Official  Snobs ;  your  Legal  Snobs ; 
your  Artistical  Snobs  ;  your  Musical  Snobs  ;  your  Sporting  Snobs  1 " 
write  my  esteemed  correspondents.  "  Surely  you  are  not  going  to 
miss  the  Cambridge  Chancellor  election,  and  omit  showing  up  your 
Don  Snobs,  who  are  coming,  cap  in  hand,  to  a  young  Prince  of 
six-and-twenty,  and  to  implore  him  to  be  the  chief  of  their  re- 
nowned University  ? "  writes  a  friend  who  seals  with  the  signet 
of  the  Cam  and  Isis  Club.  "  Pray,  pray,"  cries  another,  "  now 
the  Operas  are  opening,  give  us  a  lecture  about  Omiiilnis  Snobs." 
Indeed,  I  should  like  to  write  a  chapter  about  the  Snolibish  Dons 
very  much,  and  another  about  the  Snobbish  Dandies.  Of  my  dear 
Theatrical  Snobs  I  think  with  a  pang ;  and  I  can  hardly  break 
away  from  some  Snobbish  artists,  with  whom  I  have  long,  long 
intended  to  have  a  palaver. 

But  what's  the  use  of  delaying  1  When  these  were  done  there 
would  be  fresh  Snobs  to  portray.  The  labour  is  endless.  No  single 
man  could  complete  it.  Here  are  but  fifty-two  bricks — and  a 
pyramid  to  build.  It  is  best  to  stop.  As  Jones  always  quits  the 
room  as  soon  as  he  has  said  his  good  thing, — as  Cincinnatus  and 
General  Washington  both  retired  into  private  life  in  the  height  of 
their  popularity, — as  Prince  Albert,  when  he  laid  the  first  stone  of 
the  Exchange,  left  the  bricklayers  to  complete  that  edifice,  and 
went  home  to  his  Royal  dinner, — as  the  poet  Bunn  comes  forward 
at  the  end  of  the  season,  and  with  feelings  too  tumultuous  to  de- 
scribe, blesses  his  hjiml  friends  over  the  footlights :  so,  friends,  in 


CONCLUDING    OBSERVATIONS    ON    SNOBS     461 

the  flush  of  conquest  and  the  splendour  of  victory,  amid  the  shouts 
and  tlie  plaudits  of  a  people — triumphant  yet  modest — the  Snob 
of  En^i,dand  bids  ye  farewell. 

But  only  for  a  season.  Not  for  ever.  No,  no.  There  is  one 
celebrated  author  whom  I  admire  very  much — who  has  been  taking 
leave  of  the  public  any  time  tliese  ten  years  in  his  prefaces,  and 
always  comes  back  again  when  everybody  is  glad  to  see  him.  ^  How 
can  he  have  the  heart  to  be  saying  good-bye  so  often  1  I  believe 
that  Bunn  is  affected  when  he  blesses  the  people.  Parting  is 
always  painful.  Even  the  f;i miliar  bore  is  dear  to  you.  I  should 
be  sorry  to  shake  hands  even  with  Jawkins  for  the  last  time.  I 
think  a  well-constituted  convict,  on  coming  home  from  transporta- 
tion, ought  to  be  rather  sad  when  he  takes  leave  of  Van  Diemen's 
Land.  When  the  curtain  goes  down  on  the  last  night  of  a 
pantomime,  poor  old  Clown  must  be  very  dismal,  depend  on 
it.  Ha !  with  what  joy  he  rushes  forward  on  the  evening  of 
the  26th  of  December  next,  and  says — "  How  are  you  1 — Here 
we  are  ! "  But  I  am  growing  too  sentimental : — to  return  to  the 
theme. 

The  national  mind  is  awakened  to  the  subject  op  snobs. 
The  word  Snob  has  taken  a  place  in  our  honest  English  vocabulary. 
We  can't  define  it,  perhaps.  We  can't  say  what  it  is,  any  more 
than  we  can  define  wit,  or  humour,  or  humbug ;  but  we  hiow  what 
it  is.  Some  weeks  since,  happening  to  have  the  felicity  to  sit  next 
to  a  young  lady  at  an  hospitable  table,  where  poor  old  Jawkins  was 
holding  forth  in  a  very  absurd  pompous  manner,  I  wrote  ujjon  the 

spotless  damask  "  S B,"  and  called  my  neighbour's  attention  to 

the  little  remark. 

That  young  lady  smiled.  She  knew  it  at  once.  Her  mind 
straightway  filled  up  the  two  letters  concealed  by  apostrophic 
reserve,  and  I  read  in  her  assenting  eyes  that  she  knew  Jawkins 
was  a  Snob.  You  seldom  get  them  to  make  use  of  the  word  as  yet, 
it  is  true ;  but  it  is  inconceivable  how  pretty  an  expression  their 
little  smiling  mouths  assume  when  they  speak  it  out.  If  any  young 
lady  doubts,  just  let  her  go  up  to  her  own  room,  look  at  herself 
steadily  in  the  glass,  and  say  "  Snob."  If  she  tries  this  simple 
experiment,  my  life  for  it,  she  will  smile,  and  own  that  the  word 
becomes  her  mouth  amazingly.  A  pretty  little  round  word,  all 
composed  of  soft  letters,  with  a  hiss  at  the  beginning,  just  to  make 
it  piipiant,  as  it  were. 

Jawkins,  meajiwhile,  went  on  blundering,  and  bragging,  and 
boring,  quite  unconsciously.  And  so  lie  will,  no  doubt,  go  on 
roaring  and  braying  to  the  end  of  time,  or  at  least  so  long  as 
people  will   hear  him      You  caimot  alter  the  nature  of  men  and 


462  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

Snobs  by  any  force  of  satiro ;  as,  by  laying  ever  so  many  stripes  on 
a  donkey's  back,  you  can't  turn  him  into  a  zebra. 

But  we  can  warn  the  neighbourhood  tliat  the  iierson  whom  they 
and  Jawkins  a(bnire  is  an  imi)ostor.  We  can  apply  the  Snob  test 
to  him,  and  try  whether  he  is  conceited  and  a  quack,  whether 
pompous  and  lacking  humility — whether  uncharitable  and  proud 
of  his^  narrow  soul.  How  does  he  treat  a  great  man — how  regard 
a  small  one  1  How  does  he  comport  himself  in  the  presence  of  his 
Grace  the  Duke  ?  and  how  in  that  of  Smith  tlie  tradesman  1 

And  it  seems  to  me  that  all  English  society  is  cursed  by  this 
mammoniacal  su])erstition  ;  and  that  we  are  sneaking  and  bowing 
and  cringing  on  the  one  hand,  or  bullying  and  scorning  on  the  other, 
from  the  lowest  to  the  highest.  My  wife  speaks  with  great  circum- 
spection— "  proper  pride,"  she  calls  it — to  our  neighbour  the  trades- 
man's lady:  and  she,  I  mean  Mrs.  Snob — Eliza — would  give  one  of 
her  eyes  to  go  to  Court,  as  her  cousin,  the  Captain's  wife,  did.  She, 
again,  is  a  good  soul,  but  it  costs  her  agonies  to  be  obliged  to  confess 
that  we  live  in  Upper  Thompson  Street,  Soraers  Town.  And 
though  I  believe  in  her  heart  Mrs.  Whiskerington  is  fonder  of  us 
than  of  her  cousins,  the  Smigsmags,  you  should  hear  how  she  goes 
on  prattling  about  Lady  Smigsmag — and  "  I  said  to  Sir  John,  my 
dear  John  ; "  and  about  tlie  Smigsmags'  house  and  parties  in  Hyde 
Park  Terrace. 

Lady  Smigsmag,  when  she  meets  Eliza,  who  is  a  sort  of  a  kind 
of  a  species  of  a  connection  of  the  family,  pokes  out  one  finger, 
which  my  wife  is  at  liberty  to  embrace  in  the  most  cordial  manner 
she  can  devise.  But  oh,  you  should  see  her  Ladyship's  behaviour 
on  her  first-chop  dinner-party  days,  when  Lord  and  Lady  Longears 
come ! 

I  can  bear  it  no  longer — this  diabolical  invention  of  gentility 
which  kills  natural  kindliness  and  honest  friendship.  Proper  pride, 
indeed  !  Rank  and  precedence,  forsooth  !  The  table  of  ranks  and 
degrees  is  a  lie,  and  should  be  flung  into  the  fire.  Organise  rank 
and  precedence  !  that  was  well  for  the  masters  of  ceremonies  of 
former  ages.  Come  forward,  some  great  marshal,  and  organise 
Equality  in  society,  and  your  rod  shall  swallow  up  all  the  juggling 
old  Court  gold-sticks.  If  this  is  not  gospel-truth — if  the  world 
does  not  tend  to  this — if  hereditary-great-man  worship  is  not  a 
humbug  and  an  idolatry — let  us  have  the  Stuarts  back  again,  and 
crop  the  Free  Press's  ears  in  the  pillory. 

If  ever  our  cousins,  the  Smigsmags,  asked  me  to  meet  Lord 
Longears,  I  would  like  to  take  an  opportunity  after  dinner  and  say, 
in  the  most  good-natured  way  in  the  world : — Sir,  Fortune  makes 
you  a  present  of  a  number  of  thousand  pounds  every  year.     The 


CONCLUDING    OBSERVATIONS    ON    SNOBS     463 

ineffable  wisdom  of  our  ancestors  has  placed  you  as  a  chief  and 
hereditary  legislator  over  me.  Our  admirable  Constitution  (the 
pride  of  Britons  and  envy  of  surrounding  nations)  obliges  me  to 
receive  you  as  my  senator,  superior,  anil  guardian.  Your  eldest 
son,  Fitz-Heehaw,  is  sure  of  a  place  in  Parliament ;  your  younger 
sons,  the  De  Brays,  will  kindly  (Tondescend  to  be  post-captains  and 
lieutenant-colonels,  and  to  represent  us  in  foreign  courts,  or  to  take 
a  good  living  when  it  falls  convenient.  Tliese  prizes  our  admirable 
Constitution  (the  pride  and  envy  of,  &e.)  pronounces  to  be  your 
due :  without  count  of  your  dulness,  your  vices,  your  selfishness ; 
or  your  entire  incapacity  and  folly.  Dull  as  you  may  be  (and  we 
have  as  good  a  right  to  assume  that  my  Lord  is  an  ass,  as  the 
other  proposition,  that  he  is  an  enlightened  patriot) ; — dull,  I  say, 
as  you  may  be,  no  one  Avill  accuse  you  of  such  monstrous  folly,  as 
to  suppose  that  you  are  indifferent  to  the  good  luck  which  you 
possess,  or  have  any  inclination  to  part  with.it.  No — and  patriots 
as  we  are,  under  happier  circumstances.  Smith  and  I,  I  have  no 
doubt,  were  we  dukes  ourselves,  would  stand  by  our  order. 

We  would  submit  good-naturedly  to  sit  in  a  high  place.  We 
would  acquiesce  in  that  admiralile  Constitution  (pride  and  envy 
of,  &c.)  which  made  us  chiefs  and  the  world  our  inferiors  :  we  would 
not  cavil  particularly  at  that  notion  of  hereditary  superiority  which 
brought  so  many  simple  people  cringing  to  our  knees.  Maybe  we 
would  rally  round  the  Corn  Laws ;  we  would  make  a  stand  against 
the  Reform  Bill ;  we  would  die  rather  than  repeal  the  Acts  against 
Catholics  and  Dissenters  ;  we  would,  by  our  noble  system  of  class 
legislation,  bring  Ireland  to  its  present  admirable  condition. 

But  Smith  and  I  are  not  Earls  as  yet.  We  don't  believe 
that  it  is  for  the  interest  of  Smith's  army  that  young  De  Bray 
should  be  a  Colonel  at  five-and- twenty, — of  Smith's  diplomatic 
relations  that  Lord  Longears  should  go  Ambassador  to  Constanti- 
nople,— of  our  politias,  that  Longears  should  put  his  hereditary  foot 
into  them. 

This  bowing  and  cringing,  Smith  believes  to  be  the  act  of  Snobs  ; 
and  he  will  do  all  in  his  might  and  main  to  be  a  Snob,  and  to 
submit  to  Snobs  no  longer.  To  Longears  he  says,  "We  can't  help 
seeing,  Longears,  that  we  are  as  good  as  you.  We  can  spell  even 
better ;  we  can  tliink  quite  as  riglitly ;  we  will  not  have  you  for 
our  master,  or  black  your  shoes  any  more.  Your  footmen  do  it^ 
but  they  are  paid  ;  and  the  fellow  who  comes  to  get  a  list  of  the 
company  when  you  give  a  bancjuet  or  a  dancing  breakfast  at 
Longueoreille  Hmise,  gets  money  from  the  newspapers  for  perfornnng 
that  servi(X'.  But  for  us,  thank  you  for  notliing,  Longears,  my  boy, 
and  we  don't  wish  to  pay  you  any  more  than  we  owe.     We  will 


K)4  THE    BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

take  off  our  hats  to  Wellington  because  lie  is  Weliiiioton ;  but  to 
you — who  are  you  ?  " 

I  am  sick  of  Court  Circulars.  I  loathe  haut-ton  intelligence. 
I  believe  such  words  as  Fashionable,  Exclusive,  Aristocratic,  and 
the  like,  to  be  wicked,  unchristian  epithets,  that  ouglit  to  be  ban- 
ished from  honest  vocabularies.  A  court  system  that  sends  men 
of  genius  to  the  second  table,  I  hold  to  be  a  Snobbish  system.  A 
society  that  sets  up  to  be  polite,  and  ignores  Arts  and  Letters,  I 
hold  to  be  a  Snobbish  society.  You  who  despise  your  neighbour, 
are  a  Snob  ;  you  who  forget  your  own  friends,  meanly  to  follow 
after  those  of  a  higher  degree,  are  a  Snob ;  you  who  are  ashamed 
of  your  poverty,  and  blush  for  your  calling,  are  a  Snob ;  as  are  you 
who  boast  of  your  pedigree,  or  are  proud  of  your  wealth. 

To  laugh  at  such  is  Mr.  Punch's  business.  May  he  laugh 
honestly,  hit  no  foul  blow,  and  tell  the  truth  when  at  his  very 
broadest  grin — never  forgetting  that  if  Fun  is  good.  Truth  is  still 
better,  and  Love  best  of  all. 


NOYELS 

BY 

EMINENT    HANDS 


NOVELS 

BY 

EMINENT    HANDS 

GEORGE  DE  BARNWELL 
By  Sir  E.  L.  B.  L.,  Bart. 

Vol.  I 

IN  the  Morning  of  Life  the  Truthful  wooed  the  Beautiful,  and 
their  offspring  was  Love.  Like  his  Divine  parents,  He  is 
eternal.  He  has  his  Mother's  ravishing  smile :  his  Father's 
steadfast  eyes.  He  rises  every  day,  fresh  and  glorious  as  the  untired 
Sun-God.  He  is  Eros,  the  ever  young.  Dark,  dark  were  this  world 
of  ours  had  either  Divinity  left  it — dark  without  the  day-beams  of 
the  Latonian  Charioteer,  darker  yet  without  the  daedal  Smile  of  the 
God  of  the  Other  Bow  !     Dost  know  him,  reader  ? 

Old  is  he,  Eros,  the  ever  young.  He  and  Time  were  children 
together.  Chronos  shall  die,  too ;  but  Love  is  imperishable. 
Brightest  of  the  Divinities,  where  hast  thou  not  been  sung? 
Other  worships  pass  away  ;  the  idols  for  whom  pyramids  were 
raised  lie  in  the  desert  crumbling  and  almost  nameless ;  the 
Olympians  are  fled,  their  fanes  no  longer  rise  among  the  quiver- 
ing olive-groves  of  Illissus,  or  crown  the  emerald-islets  of  the 
amethyst  ^gean  !  The.se  are  gone,  but  thou  remainest.  There 
is  still  a  garland  for  thy  temple,  a  heifer  for  thy  stone.  A 
heifer?  Ah,  many  a  darker  sacrifice.  Other  blood  is  shed  at 
thy  altars.  Remorseless  One,  and  the  Poet  Priest  who  ministers 
at  thy  Shrine  draws  his  auguries  from  the  bleeding  hearts  of 
men ! 

While  Love  hath  no  end,  Can  tlie  Bard  ever  cease  singing? 
In  Kingly  and  Heroic  ages,  'twas  of  Kings  and  Heroes  that  the 


468  NOVELS    BY    EMINENT    HANDS 

Poet  spake.  But  in  these,  our  times,  the  Artisan  li.ith  his  voice 
as  well  as  the  Monarch.  The  peojile  To-day  is  King,  and  we 
chronicle  his  woes,  as  They  of  old  did  the  sacrifice  of  the  princely 
Iphigenia,  or  the  fate  of  the  crowned  Agamemnon. 

Is  Odysseus  less  august  in  his  rags  than  in  his  purple  1  Fate, 
Passion,  Mystery,  the  Victim,  the  Avenger,  the  Hate  that  harms, 
the  Furies  that  tear,  the  Love  that  l)leeds,  are  not  these  with  us 
Still  ?  are  not  these  still  the  weapons  of  the  Artist  ?  the  colours  of 
Ills  palette?  the  chords  of  his  lyre?  Listen  !  I  tell  thee  a  tale — 
not  of  Kings — but  of  Men — not  of  Thrones,  but  of  Love,  and 
Grief,  and  Crime.  Listen,  and  but  once  more.  'Tis  for  the  last 
time  (probably)  these  fingers  shall  sweep  the  strings. 

E.  L.  B.  L. 


NOONDAY    IN    CHEPE. 

'Twas  noonday  in  Chepe.  High  Tide  in  the  mighty  River 
City ! — its  banks  well-nigh  overflowing  with  the  myriad-waved 
Stream  of  Man  !  The  tojjpling  wains,  bearing  tlie  produce  of  a 
thousands  marts ;  the  gilded  equipage  of  the  Millionary ;  the 
humbler,  but  yet  larger  vehicle  from  the  green  metropolitan 
suburbs  (the  Hanging  Gardens  of  our  Babylon),  in  which  every 
traveller  might,  for  a  modest  remuneration,  take  a  republican  seat ; 
the  mercenary  caroche,  with  its  private  freight ;  the  biisk  curricle 
of  the  letter-carrier,  robed  in  Royal  scarlet :  these  and  a  thousand 
others  were  labouring  and  pressing  onward,  and  locked  and  bound 
and  hustling  together  in  the  narrow  chaimel  of  Chepe.  The  im- 
precations of  the  charioteers  were  terrible.  From  the  noble's 
broidered  hammercloth,  or  the  driving-seat  of  the  common  coach, 
each  driver  assailed  the  other  with  floods  of  ribald  satire.  The 
pavid  matron  within  the  one  vehicle  (speeding  to  the  Bank  for  her 
semestrial  pittance)  shrieked  and  trembled;  the  angry  Dives 
hastening  to  his  office  (to  add  another  thousand  to  his  heap) 
thrust  his  head  over  the  blazoned  panels,  and  displayed  an 
eloquence  of  objurgation  which  his  very  Menials  could  not  equal ; 
the  dauntless  street  urchins,  as  they  gaily  threaded  the  Labyrinth 
of  Life,  enjoyed  the  perplexities  and  quarrels  of  the  scene,  and 
exacerbated  the  already  furious  combatants  by  their  poignant 
infantile  satire.  And  the  Philosopher,  as  he  regarded  the  hot 
strife  and  struggle  of  these  Candidates  in  the  race  for  Gold, 
thought  with  a  sigh  of  the  Truthful  and  the  Beautiful,  and  walked 
on,  melancholy  and  serene. 

Twas  noon   in  Chepe.     The  ware-rooms  were  thronged.     The 
flaunting  windows  of  the  mercers  attracted  many  a  purchaser ;  the 


GEORGE    DE    BARNWELL  469 

glittering  panes  behind  which  Birmingham  had  glazed  its  simulated 
silver,  induced  rustics  to  pause ;  although  only  noon,  the  savoury 
odours  of  the  Cook-Shops  tempted  the  over-hungry  citizen  to 
the  bun  of  Bath,  or  to  the  fragrant  potage  that  mocks  the  turtle's 
flavour — the  turtle  !  0  clapihus  sujjremi  grata  testudo  Jovis  I  I 
am  an  Alderman  when  I  think  of  thee  !  Well :  it  was  noon  in 
Chepe. 

But  were  all  battling  for  gain  there  ?  Among  the  many  brilliant 
shops  whose  casements  shone  upon  Chepe,  there  stood  one  a  century 
back  (about  which  period  our  tale  opens)  devoted  to  the  sale  of 
Colonial  produce.  A  rudely  carved  image  of  a  negro,  with  a 
fantastic  plume  and  apron  of  variegated  feathers,  decorated  the 
lintel.  The  East  and  West  had  sent  their  contributions  to  re- 
plenish the  window. 

The  poor  slave  had  toiled,  died  perhaps,  to  produce  yon  pyramid 
of  swarthy  fugar  marked  "Only  6id." — that  catty  box,  on  which 
was  the  epigraph  "  Stron(;  Family  Congou  only  3s.  9d.,"  was 
from  the  country  of  Confutzee — that  heap  of  dark  produce  bore  the 
legend  "TRY  OUR  REAL  NUT  "—'twas  Cocoa— and  that  nut 
the  Cocoa-nut,  whose  milk  has  refreshed  the  traveller  and  perplexed 
the  natural  philosopher.  The  shop  in  question  was,  in  a  word,  a 
Grocer's. 

In  the  midst  of  the  shop  and  its  gorgeous  contents  sat  one 
who,  to  ju<lge  from  his  appearance  (though  't^\'as  a  difficult  task, 
as,  in  sooth,  his  back  was  turned),  had  just  reached  that  happy 
period  of  life  when  the  Boy  is  expanding  into  the  Man.  0  Youth, 
Youth  !  Happy  and  Beautiful !  0  fresh  and  roseate  dawn  of  life  ; 
when  the  ilew  yet  lies  on  the  flowers,  ere  they  have  been  scorched 
and  withered  by  Passion's  fiery  Sun  !  Lnmersed  in  thought  or 
study,  and  indifferent  to  the  din  around  him,  sat  the  boy. 
A  careless  guardian  was  he  of  the  treasures  confided  to  him. 
The  crowd  passed  in  Chepe :  he  never  marked  it.  The  sun 
shone  on  Chepe  :  he  only  asked  that  it  should  illumine  the  page 
he  read.  The  knave  might  filch  his  treasures  :  he  was  heedless  of 
the  knave.  The  customer  might  enter :  but  his  book  was  all  in 
all  to  him. 

And  indeed  a  customer  ivas  there ;  a  little  hand  was  tapping 
on  the  counter  with  a  pretty  impatience  ;  a  pair  of  arch  eyes  were 
gazing  at  the  boy,  admiring,  perhaps,  his  manly  proportions  througli 
the  homely  and  tightened  garments  he  wore. 

"  Ahem  !  sir  !  I  say,  young  man  !  "  the  customer  exclaimed. 

"  Ton  d'aj'anieibornenos  prosephe,"  read  on  tlie  student,  his 
voice  choked  with  emotion.  "  What  language  !  "  he  said  ;  "  how 
rich,  how  noble,  how  sonorous  !  ^^rose/vAe  podas " 


470  NOVELS    BY    EMINENT    HANDS 

The  customer  burst  out  into  a  tit  of  laughter  so  shrill  and 
cheery,  that  the  young  Student  could  not  but  turn  round,  and 
blushing,  for  the  first  time  remarked  her.  "  A  pretty  grocer's  boy 
you  are,"  she  cried,  "with  your  applepiebomenos  and  your  French 
and  lingo.     Am  I  to  be  kept  waiting  for  liever  1 " 

"  Pardon,  fair  Maiden,"  said  he,  with  high-bred  courtesy  ; 
"  'twas  not  French  I  read,  'twas  the  Godlike  language  of  the  blind 
old  bard.  In  what  can  I  be  serviceable  to  ye,  lady  ? "  and  to 
spring  from  his  desk,  to  smooth  his  apron,  to  stand  before  her 
the  obedient  Shop-Boy,  the  Poet  no  more,  was  the  work  of  a 
moment. 

"  I  might  have  prigged  this  box  of  figs,"  the  damsel  said  good- 
naturedly,  "  and  you'd  never  have  turned  round." 

"  They  came  from  the  country  of  Hector,"  the  boy  said. 
"  Would  you  have  currants,  lady  1  These  once  bloomed  in  the 
island  gardens  of  the  blue  ^gean.  They  are  uncommon  fine  ones, 
and  the  figure  is  low  ;  they're  four])ence-halfpenny  a  pound.  Would 
ye  mayhap  make  trial  of  our  teas  1  We  do  not  advertise,  as  some 
folks  do  :  but  sell  as  low  as  any  other  house." 

"  You're  precious  young  to  have  all  these  good  things,"  the 
girl  exclaimed,  not  unwilling,  seemingly,  to  prolong  the  conver- 
sation. "  If  I  was  you,  and  stood  behind  the  counter,  I  should  be 
eating  figs  the  whole  day  long." 

"Time  was,"  answered  the  lad,  "and  not  long  since,  I  thought 
so  too.  I  thought  I  never  should  be  tired  of  figs.  But  my  old 
uncle  bade  me  take  my  fill,  and  now  in  sooth  I  am  aweary  of 
them." 

"  I  think  you  gentlemen  are  always  so,"  the  coquette  said. 

"  Nay,  say  not  so,  fair  stranger !  "  the  youth  replied,  his  face 
kindling  as  he  spoke,  and  his  eagle  eyes  flashing  fire.  "  Figs  pall ; 
but  oh  !  the  Beautiful  never  does.  Figs  rot ;  but  oh  !  the  Truthful 
is  eternal.  I  was  born,  lady,  to  grapple  with  the  Lofty  and  the 
Ideal.  My  soul  yearns  for  the  Visionary.  I  stand  behind  the 
counter,  it  is  true ;  but  I  ponder  here  "upon  the  deeds  of  heroes, 
and  muse  over  the  thoughts  of  sages.  What  is  grocery  for  one  who 
has  ambition  ?  What  sweetness  hath  muscovado  to  him  who  hath 
tasted  of  Poesy  1  The  Ideal,  lady,  I  often  think,  is  the  true  Real, 
and  the  Actual  but  a  visionary  hallucination.  But  pardon  me ; 
with  what  may  I  serve  thee  1 " 

"  I  came  only  for  sixpenn'orth  of  tea-dust,"  the  girl  said  with 
a  faltering  voice;  "but  oh,  I  should  like  to  hear  you  speak  on 
for  ever  !  " 

Only  for  sixpenn'orth  of  tea-dust  1  Girl,  thou  camest  for  other 
things  !     Thou  lovedst  his  voice  1     Siren  !  what  was  the  witchery 


GEORGE  DE  BARNWELL. 


GEORGE    DE    BARNWELL  471 

of  thine  own?  He  deftly  made  up  the  packet,  and  placed  it  in 
the  little  hand.  She  paid  for  her  small  purchase,  and  with  a 
farewell  glance  of  her  lustrous  eyes  she  left  him.  She  passed 
slowly  through  the  portal,  and  in  a  moment  more  was  lost  in  the 
crowd.  It  was  noon  in  Chepe.  And  George  de  Barnwell  was 
alone. 


Vol.  II 

We  have  selected  the  following  episodical  chapter  in  preference 
to  anything  relating  to  the  mere  story  of  George  de  Barnwell, 
with  wliich  most  readers  are  familiar. 

Up  to  this  passage  (extracted  from  the  beginning  of  Vol.  II.) 
the  tale  is  briefly  thus  : — 

The  rogue  of  a  Millwood  has  come  back  every  day  to  the 
grocer's  shop  in  Chepe,  wanting  some  sugar,  or  some  nutmeg,  or 
some  figs,  half-a-dozen  times  in  the  week. 

She  and  George  de  Barnwell  have  vowed  to  each  other  an 
eternal  attachment. 

This  flame  acts  violently  upon  George.  His  bosom  swells  with 
ambition.  His  genius  breaks  out  prodigiously.  He  talks  about  the 
Good,  the  Beautiful,  the  Ideal,  &c.,  in  and  out  of  all  season,  and 
is  virtuous  and  eloquent  almost  beyond  belief — in  fact  like  Devereux, 
or  P.  Cliff"ord,  or  E.  Aram,  Esquires. 

Inspired  by  Millwood  and  love,  George  robs  the  till,  and  mingles 
in  the  world  which  he  is  destined  to  ornament.  He  outdoes  all  the 
dandies,  all  the  wits,  all  tlie  scholars,  and  all  the  voluptuaries  of  the 
age — an  indefinite  period  of  time  between  Queen  Anne  and  George  II. 
— dines  with  Curll  at  St.  John's  Gate,  pinks  Colonel  Charteris  in  a 
duel  beliind  Montague  House,  is  initiated  into  the  intrigues  of  the 
Chevalier  St.  George,  whom  he  entertains  at  his  sumptuous  i)avilion 
at  Hampstead,  and  likewise  in  disguise  at  the  shop  in  Cheapside. 

His  uncle,  the  owner  of  the  shop,  a  surly  curmudgeon  with  very 
little  taste  for  the  True  and  Beautiful,  has  retired  from  business 
to  the  pastoral  village  in  Cambridgeshire  from  which  the  noble 
Bamwells  came.  George's  cousin  Annabel  is,  of  course,  consumed 
with  a  secret  passion  for  him. 

Some  trifling  inacciu-acies  may  be  remarked  in  the  ensuing 
brilliant  little  chapter ;  but  it  must  be  remembered  that  the  author 
wished  to  present  an  age  at  a  glance  ;  and  the  dialogue  is  quite 
as  fine  and  correct  as  that  in  the  "Last  of  the  Barons,"  or  in 
"  Eugene  Aram,"  or  other  works  of  our  author,  in  which  Sentiment 
and  History,  or  the  True  and  Beautiful,  are  united. 
2  K 


Chapter  XXIV 

button's  in  pall  mall 

Thosk  who  frequent  the  dismal  and  enormous  Mansions  of  Silence 
wliicli  society  has  raised  to  Ennui  in  that  Omphalos  of  town,  Pall 
Mall,  and  which,  because  they  knock  you  down  with  their  dulness, 
are  called  Clubs  no  doubt ;  those  who  yawn  from  a  bay-window  in 
St.  James's  Street,  at  a  half-score  of  other  dandies  gaping  from 
another  bay-window  over  the  way;  those  who  consult  a  dreary 
evening  paper  for  news,  or  satisfy  themselves  witli  the  jokes  of  the 
miserable  Punch  by  way  of  wit ;  the  men  about  town  of  the  present 
day,  in  a  word,  can  have  but  little  idea  of  London  some  six  or  eight 
score  years  back.  Thou  pudding-sided  old  dandy  of  St.  James's 
Street,  with  thy  lacquered  boots,  thy  dyed  whiskers,  and  thy 
suftbcating  waistband,  what  art  thou  to  thy  brilliant  predecessor 
in  the  same  (piarter  1  The  brougham  from  which  thou  descendest 
at  the  portal  of  tlie  "  Carlton  "  or  the  "  Traveller's  "  is  like  every- 
body else's;  thy  black  coat  has  no  more  plaits,  nor  buttons,  nor 
fancy  in  it  than  thy  neighbour's ;  thy  hat  was  made  on  the  very 
block  on  which  Lord  Addlepate's  was  cast,  who  has  just  entered 
the  Club  before  thee.  You  and  he  yawn  together  out  of  the  same 
omnibus-box  every  night ;  you  fancy  yourselves  men  of  pleasure ; 
you  fancy  yourselves  men  of  fashion ;  you  fancy  yourselves  men  of 
taste;  in  fancy,  in  taste,  in  opinion,  in  philosophy,  the  newspaper 
legislates  for  you ;  it  is  there  you  get  your  jokes  and  your  thoughts, 
and  your  facts  and  your  wisdom — poor  Pall  Mall  dullards.  Stupid 
slaves  of  the  press,  on  that  ground  which  you  at  present  occupy, 
there  were  men  of  wit  and  pleasure  and  fashion,  some  five-and- 
twenty  lustres  ago. 

We  are  at  Button's— the  well-known  sign  of  the  "  Turk's  Head." 
The  crowd  of  periwigged  heads  at  the  windows — the  swearing  chair- 
men round  the  steps  (the  blazoned  and  coronalled  panels  of  whose 
vehicles  denote  the  lofty  rank  of  their  owners), — the  throng  of 
embroidered  beaux  entering  or  departing,  and  rendering  the  air 
fragrant  with  the  odours  of  pulvillio  and  pomander,  proclaim  the 
celebrated  resort  of  London's  AVit  and  Fashion.  It  is  the  corner 
of  Piegent  Street.     Carlton  House  has  not  yet  been  taken  down. 

A  stately  gentleman  in  crimson  velvet  and  gold  is  sii)iiing 
chocolate  at  one  of  the  tables,  in  earnest  converse  with  a  friend 
whose  suit  is  likewise  embroidered,  but  stained  by  time,  or  wine 
mayhap,  or  wear.  A  little  deformed  gentleman  in  iron-grey  is  read- 
ing the  Morning  Chronicle  newspaper  by  the  &'e,  while  a  divine, 


GEORGE   DE    BARNWELL  473 

with  a  broad  brogue,  and  a  shovel  hat  and  cassock,  is  talking  freely 
with  a  gentleman,  whose  star  and  riband,  as  well  as  the  unmis- 
takable beauty  of  his  Phidian  countenance,  proclaim  him  to  be  a 
member  of  Britain's  aristocracy. 

Two  ragged  youths,  tlie  one  tall,  gaunt,  clumsy,  and  scrofulous, 
the  other  with  a  wild,  careless,  beautiful  look,  evidently  indicating 
Race,  are  gazing  in  at  the  window,  not  merely  at  the  crowd  in  the 
celebrated  Club,  but  at  Timothy  the  waiter,  who  is  removing  a 
plate  of  that  exquisite  dish,  the  muffin  (then  newly  invented),  at 
the  desire  of  some  of  the  revellers  within. 

"  I  would,  Sam,"  said  the  wild  youth  to  his  companion,  "  that 
I  had  some  of  my  mother  Macclesfield's  gold,  to  enable  us  to  eat  of 
those  cates  and  mingle  with  yon  springalds  and  beaux." 

"  To  vaunt  a  knowledge  of  tlie  stoical  philosophy,"  said  the 
youth  addressed  as  Sam,  "  might  elicit  a  smile  of  incredvUity  upon 
the  cheek  of  the  parasite  of  pleasure ;  but  there  are  moments  in 
life  when  History  fortifies  endurance :  and  past  study  renders 
present  deprivation  more  bearable.  If  our  pecuniary  resources  be 
exiguous,  let  our  resolution,  Dick,  supply  the  deficiencies  of  Fortune. 
The  muffin  we  desire  to-day  would  little  benefit  us  to-morrow. 
Poor  and  hungry  as  we  are,  are  we  less  hap]:)y,  Dick,  than  yon 
listless  voluptuary  who  banquets  on  the  food  which  you  covet  ? " 

And  the  two  lads  turned  away  up  Waterloo  Place,  and  past 
the  "  Parthenon  "  Club-liouse,  and  disappeared  to  take  a  meal  of 
cow-heel  at  a  neighbouring  cook's  shop.  Their  names'were  Samuel 
Jolmson  and  Richard  Savage. 

Meanwhile  tlie  conversation  at  Button's  was  fast  and  brilliant. 
"  By  Wood's  thirteens,  and  tlie  divvle  go  wid  'em,"  cried  the  Church 
dignitary  in  tlie  cassock,  "  is  it  in  blue  and  goold  ye  are  this  morn- 
ing, Sir  Richard,  wdien  you  ought  to  be  in  seebles  1 " 

"  Who's  dead,  Dean  ?  "  said  the  nobleman,  the  dean's  companion. 

"  Faix,  mee  Lard  Bolingbroke,  as  sure  as  mee  name's  Jonathan 
Swift — and  I'm  not  so  sure  of  that  neither,  for  who  knows  his 
father's  namel — there's  been  a  mighty  cruel  murther  committed 
entirely.  A  child  of  Dick  Steele's  has  been  barbarously  slain, 
dthrawn,  and  quarthered,  and  it's  Joe  Addison  yondther  has  done 
it.  Ye  should  have  killed  one  of  your  own,  Joe,  ye  thief  of  the 
world." 

"  I !  "  said  the  amazed  and  Ri^lit  Honouiable  Joscpli  Addison  ; 
"  I  kill  Dick's  child  !     I  was  godfutlier  to  tlie  last." 

"And  promised  a  cuj)  and  never  sent  it,"  Dick  ejaculated. 
Josejih  looked  gra\e. 

"  The  child  I  mean  is  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley,  Knight  and 
Baronet.     What  made  ye  kill  him,  ye  savage  Mohock  ?     The  whole 


474  NOVELS    BY    EMINENT    HANDS 

town  is  in  tears  about  tlie  good  knight ;  all  the  ladies  at  Cluirch 
this  afternoon  were  in  mourning ;  all  the  booksellers  are  wild ;  and 
Lintot  says  not  a  third  of  the  copies  of  the  Spectator  are  sold  since 
the  death  of  the  brave  old  gentleman."  And  the  Dean  of  St. 
Patrick's  pulled  out  the  Spectator  newsi)aper,  containing  the  well- 
known  ])assage  regarding  Sir  Eoger's  death.  "  I  bought  it  but 
now  in  Wellington  Street,"  he  said  ;  "  the  news-boys  were  howling 
all  down  the  Strand." 

"What  a  miracle  is  Genius — Genius,  the  Divine  and  Beautiful," 
said  a  gentleman  leaning  against  the  same  fireplace  with  the  de- 
formed cavalier  in  iron-grey,  and  addressing  that  individual,  who 
was  in  fact  Mr.  Alexander  Pope.  "What  a  marvellous  gift  is 
this,  and  Royal  privilege  of  Art !  To  make  the  Ideal  more  credible 
than  the  Actual  :  to  enchain  our  hearts,  to  couunand  our  hopes, 
our  regrets,  our  tears,  for  a  mere  brain-born  Emanation  :  to  invest 
with  life  the  Inc^orporeal,  and  to  glamour  the  cloudy  into  substance, 
—  these  are  the  lofty  privileges  of  the  Poet,  if  I  have  read  poesy 
aright ;  and  I  am  as  familiar  with  the  sounds  that  rang  from 
Homer's  lyre,  as  with  the  strains  which  celebrate  the  loss  of 
Belinda's  lovely  locks" — (Mr.  Pope  blushed  and  bowed,  highly 
delighted) — "  these,  I  say,  sir,  are  the  privileges  of  the  Poet — the 
Poietes — the  Maker — he  moves  the  world,  and  asks  no  lever;  if  he 
cannot  charm  death  into  life,  as  Orpheus  feigned  to  do,  he  can 
create  Beauty  out  of  Nought,  and  defy  Death  by  rendering  Thought 
Eternal.     Ho  !  Jemmy,  another  fiask  of  Nantz." 

And  the  boy — for  he  who  addressed  the  most  brilliant  company 
of  wits  in  Europe  was  little  more — emptied  the  contents  of  the 
brandy-flask  into  a  silver  flagon,  and  quaffed  it  gaily  to  the  health 
of  the  company  assembled.  'Twas  the  third  lie  had  taken  du]-ing 
the  sitting.  Presently,  and  with  a  graceful  salute  to  the  Society, 
he  cpiitted  the  coftee-house,  and  was  seen  cantering  on  a  magnificent 
Arab  past  the  National  Gallery. 

"  Who  is  yon  spark  in  blue  and  silver  1  He  beats  Joe  Addison 
himself,  in  drinking,  and  pious  Joe  is  the  greatest  toper  in  tire  three 
kingdoms,"  Dick  Steele  said  good-naturedly. 

"His  paper  in  the  SjMctator  beats  thy  best,  Dick,  thou 
sluggard,"  the  Right  Honourable  Mr.  Addison  exclaimed.  "  He 
is  the  author  of  that  famous  No.  99G,  for  which  you  have  all  been 
giving  me  the  credit." 

"  The  rascal  foiled  me  at  capping  verses,"  Dean  Swift  said, 
"and  won  a  tenpenny  piece  of  me,  plague  take  him  !  " 

"■  He  has  suggested  an  emendation  in  my  '  Homer,'  which  proves 
him  a  delicate  scholar,"  Mr.  Pojie  exclaimed. 

"  He  knows  more  of  the  French  King  than  any  man  I  have  met 


GEORGE    DE    BARNWELL  475 

with ;  and  we  must  have  an  eye  upon  him,"  said  Lord  Bolingbroke, 
then  Secretary  of  State  for  Foreign  Aftairs,  and  beckoning  a  sus- 
picious-looking person  who  was  drinking  at  a  side-table,  whispered 
to  him  something. 

Meantime  who  was  he?  where^was  he,  this  youth  who  had  struck 
all  the  wits  of  London  with  admiration  1  His  galloping  charger  had 
returned  to  the  City ;  his  splendid  court-suit  was  dotfed  for  the 
citizen's  gabardine  and  grocer's  humble  apron. 

George  de  Barnwell  was  in  Chepe^iu  Chepe,  at  the  feet  of 
Martha  Millwood. 


Vol.  Ill 

THE   CONDEMNED   CELL 

"Quid  me  mollibus  imjilicas  lacertis,  my  Ellinor?  Nay,"  George 
added,  a  faint  smile  illumining  his  wan  but  noble  features,  "why 
speak  to  thee  in  the  accents  of  the  Roman  poet,  which  tliou  com- 
prehendest  not  ?  Bright  One,  there  be  other  things  in  Life,  in 
Nature,  in  this  Lascrutable  Labyrintli,  this  Heart  on  which  thou 
leanest,  which  are  equally  unintelligible  to  thee  !  Yes,  my  pretty 
one,  what  is  the  Unintelligible  but  the  Ideal  ?  what  is  the  Ideal 
but  the  Beautiful  1  what  the  Beautiful  but  the  Eternal  1  And  the 
Spirit  of  Man  that  woidd  commune  with  these  is  like  Him  who 
wanders  by  the  thina  poluphloishoio  thalasses,  and  shrinks  awe- 
struck before  that  Azure  Mystery." 

Emily's  eyes  filled  with  fresh-gushing  dew.  "  Speak  on,  speak 
ever  thus,  my  George,"  she  exclaimed.  Barnwell's  chains  rattled 
as  the  confiding  girl  clung  to  him.  Even  Snoggin,  the  Turnkey 
appointed  to  sit  with  the  Prisoner,  was  afiected  by  his  noble  and 
appropriate  language,  and  also  burst  into  tears. 

"  You  weep,  my  Snoggin,"  the  Boy  said  ;  "  and  why  1  Hath 
Life  been  so  charming  to  me  that  I  should  wish  to  retain  it  1  Hath 
Pleasure  no  after-Weariness  ?  Ambition  no  Deception  ;  Wealth  no 
Care ;  and  Glory  no  Mockery  ?  Psha !  I  am  sick  of  Success, 
palled  of  Pleasure,  weary  of  Wine  and  Wit,  and — nay,  start  not, 
my  Adelaide — and  Woman.  I  fling  away  all  these  things  as  the 
Toys  of  Boyhood.  Life  is  the  Soul's  Nursery.  I  am  a  Man,  and  pine 
for  the  Illimitable  !  Mark  you  me  !  Has  the  Morrow  any  terrors 
for  me,  tliink  ye?  Did  Socrates  falter  at  his  poison?  Did  Seneca 
blench  in  his  bath  ?  Did  Brutus  shirk  the  sword  when  his  great 
stake  was  lost  ?  Did  even  weak  Cleoi)atra  slirink  from  the  Serpent's 
fatal  nip?  And  why  should  I?  My  great  Hazard  hath  been 
played ,»  and  I  pay  my  forfeit.     Lie  sheathed  in  my  heart,  thou 


476  NOVELS    BY    EMINENT    HANDS 

flasliiiiijj  Blade  !  AVclconie  to  my  bosom,  thou  faithful  Serpent ;  I 
liui;:;  thee,  peace-bearing  Image  of  the  Eternal !  Ha,  the  hemlock 
cup  !  Fill  high,  boy,  for  my  soul  is  thirsty  for  the  Infinite  !  Get 
ready  tlie  bath,  friends ;  prepare  me  for  the  feast  To-morrow — 
bathe  ihy  limbs  in  odours,  and  put  ointment  in  my  hair." 

"  Has  for  a  bath,"  Snoggin  interposed,  "they're  not  to  be  'ad  in 
this  ward  of  the  prison ;  but  I  dussay  Hemmy  will  git  you  a  little 
hoil  for  your  'air." 

The  Prisoned  One  laughed  loud  and  merrily.  "  My  guardian 
understands  me  not,  pretty  one — and  tliou?  what  sayest  thou? 
From  those  dear  lips  methinks — plura  sunt  oscula  quam  sententi.ee 
— I  kiss  away  thy  tears,  dove  ! — they  will  flow  apace  when  I  am 
gone,  then  they  will  dry,  and  presently  these  foir  eyes  will  shine 
on  another,  as  tliey  have  beamed  on  poor  George  Barnwell.  Yet 
wilt  thou  not  all  forget  him,  sweet  one.  He  was  an  honest  fellow, 
and  had  a  kindly  heart  for  all  the  M'^orld  said " 

"That,  that  he  had,"  cried  the  gaoler  and  the  girl  in  voices 
gurgling  with  emotion.  And  you  who  read !  you  unconvicted 
Convict — you  murderer,  though  haply  you  have  slain  no  one — you 
Felon  in  jjosse  if  not  in  esse — deal  gently  with  one  who  has  used 
the  Opportunity  that  has  failed  thee — and  believe  that  the  Truthful 
and  the  Beautiful  bloom  sometimes  in  the  dock  and  the  convict's 
tawny  Gabardine  ! 

In  the  matter  for  which  he  suffered,  George  could  never  be 
brought  to  acknowledge  that  he  was  at  all  in  the  wrong.  "  It  may 
be  an  error  of  judgment,"  he  said  to  the  Venerable  Chaplain  of  the 
gaol,  "  but  it  is  no  crime.  Were  it  Crime,  I  should  feel  Remorse. 
Where  there  is  no  remorse,  Crime  cannot  exist.  I  am  not  sorry : 
therefore,  I  am  innocent.     Is  the  proposition  a  fair  one  1 " 

The  excellent  Doctor  admitted  that  it  was  not  to  be  contested. 

"  And  wherefore,  sir,  should  I  have  sorrow,"  the  Boy  resumed, 
"  for  ridding  the  world  of  a  sordid  worm  ;  *  of  a  man  whose  very 
soul  was  dross,  and  -who  never  had  a  feeling  for  the  Truthful  and 
the  BeautifuH  Wlien  I  stood  before  my  uncle  in  the  moonlight, 
in  the  gardens  of  the  ancestral  halls  of  the  De  Barnwells,  I  felt 
that  it  was  the  Nemesis  come  to  overtlu-ow  him.      '  Dog,'  I  said  to 

*  This  is  a  gross  plagiarism  :  the  above  sentiment  is  expressed  much  more 
elo(iuently  in  the  ingenious  romance  of  "Eugene  Aram"  : — "  The  l;>urning  desires 
I  have  known — the  resplendent  visions  I  have  nursed — the  sublime  aspirings 
tiiat  have  lifted  me  so  often  from  sense  and  clay  :  these  tell  me,  that  whether 
for  good  or  ill,  I  am  the  thing  of  an  immortality,  and  the  creature  of  a  God. 
...  I  have  destroyed  a  man  noxious  to  the  world  !  with  the  wealth  by  which 
he  afflicted  society,  1  have  been  the  means  of  blessing  many." 


GEORGE    DE    BARNWELL  477 

the  trembling  slave,  '  tell  me  where  tliy  Gold  is.  Thou  hast  no 
use  for  it.  I  can  spend  it  in  relieving  the  Poverty  on  which  thou 
tramplest ;  in  aiding  Science,  which  thou  knowest  not ;  in  uplifting 
Art,  to  which  thou  art  blind.  Give  Gold,  and  thou  art  free.'  But 
he  spake  not,  and  I  slew  him." 

"  I  would  not  have  this  doctrine  vulgarly  promulgated,"  said 
the  admirable  chaplain,  "  for  its  general  practice  might  chance  to 
do  harm.  Thou,  my  son,  the  Refined,  the  Gentle,  the  Loving  and 
Beloved,  the  Poet  and  Sage,  urged  by  what  I  cannot  but  think  a 
grievous  error,  hast  appeared  as  Avenger.  Think  what  would  be 
the  world's  condition,  were  men  without  any  Yearning  after  the 
Ideal  to  attempt  to  reorganise  Society,  to  redistribute  Property, 
to  avenge  Wrong." 

"A  rabble  of  pigmies  scaling  Heaven,"  said  the  noble  though 
misguided  young  Prisoner.  "  Prometheus  was  a  Giant,  and  he 
feU." 

"  Yes,  indeed,  my  brave  youth  !  "  the  benevolent  Doctor  Fuzwig 
exclaimed,  clasping  the  Prisoner's  marble  and  manacled  hand  ;  "  and 
the  Tragedy  of  To-morrow  will  teach  the  World  that  Homicide  is 
not  to  be  permitted  even  to  the  most  amiable  Genius,  and  that  the 
lover  of  the  Ideal  and  the  Beautiful,  as  thou  art,  my  son,  must 
respect  the  Real  likewise." 

"  Look  !  here  is  supper  !  "  cried  Barnwell  gaily.  "  This  is  the 
Real,  Doctor;  let  us  respect  it  and  fall  to."  He  partook  of  the 
meal  as  joyously  as  if  it  had  been  one  of  his  early  festals ;  but  the 
worthy  chaplain  could  scarcely  eat  it  for  tears. 


CODLINGSBY 
By  D.  Shrewsbury,  Esq. 


THE  whole  Avorlfl  is  bound  by  one  chain.  In  every  city  in  the 
globe  there  is  one  quarter  that  certain  travellers  know  and 
recognise  from  its  likeness  to  its  brother  district  in  all  other 
places  where  are  congregated  the  habitations  of  men.  In  Tehran, 
or  Pekin,  or  Staniboul,  or  New  York,  or  Timbuctoo,  or  London, 
there  is  a  certain  district  where  a  certahi  man  is  not  a  stranger. 
Where  the  idols  are  fed  with  incense  by  the  streams  of  Ching-wang- 
foo ;  where  the  minarets  soar  sparkling  above  the  cypresses,  their 
reflections  quivering  in  the  lucid  waters  of  the  Golden  Horn  ;  where 
the  yellow  Tiber  flows  under  broken  bridges  and  over  imperial 
glories ;  where  the  huts  are  squatted  by  the  Niger,  tmder  the  palm 
trees ;  where  the  Northern  Babel  lies,  with  its  warehouses,  and  its 
bridges,  its  graceful  fiictory-chimneys,  and  its  clumsy  fanes — hidden 
in  fog  and  smoke  by  the  dirtiest  river  in  the  world — in  all  the  cities 
of  mankind  there  is  One  Home  whither  men  of  one  family  may 
resort.  Over  the  entire  world  spreads  a  vast  brotherhood,  suffering, 
silent,  scattered,  sympathising,  imitinci — an  immense  Freemasonry. 
Once  this  world-spread  band  was  an  Arabian  clan — a  little  nation 
alone  and  outlying  amongst  the  mighty  monarchies  of  ancient  time, 
tlie  Megatheria  of  history.  The  sails  of  their  rare  ships  might  be 
seen  in  the  Egyptian  waters;  the  camels  of  their  caravans  might 
thread  the  sands  of  Baalbec,  or  wind"  through  the  date-groves  of 
Damascus ;  their  flag  was  raised,  not  ingloriously,  in  many  wars, 
against  mighty  odds ;  but  'twas  a  small  people,  and  on  one  dark 
night  the  Lion  of  Judali  went  down  before  Vespasian's  Eagles,  and 
in  flame,  and  death,  and  struggle,  Jerusalem  agonised  and  died.  .  .  . 
Yes,  the  Jewish  city  is  lost  to  Jewisli  men ;  but  have  they  not 
taken  the  world  in  exchange  % " 

Mused  thus  Godfrey  de  Bouillon,  Maniuis  of  Codlingsby,  as  lie 
debouched  from  Wych  Street  into  tlie  Strand.  He  had  been  to 
take  a  box  for  Arniida  at  Madame  Vestris's  theatre.  That  little 
Armida  was  folle    of  Madame  Vestris's    theatre;,  and   her   little 


LORD   COULINGSEY   AND   RAFAEL   MENDOZA. 


CODLINGSBY  479 

brougham,  and  her  little  self,  and  her  enormous  eyes,  and  her  pro- 
digious opera-glass,  and  her  miraculous  bouquet,  which  cost  Lord 
Codlingsby  twenty  guineas  every  evening  at  Nathan's  in  Covent 
Garden  (the  children  of  the  gardeners  of  Sharon  have  still  no  rival 
for  flowers),  might  be  seen,  three  nights  in  the  week  at  least,  in 
the  narrow,  charming,  comfortable  little  theatre.  Godfrey  had  the 
box.  He  was  strolling,  listlessly,  eastward ;  and  the  above  thoughts 
passed  through  tlie  young  noble's  mind  as  he  came  in  sight  of  Holy- 
well street. 

The  occupants  of  the  London  Ghetto  sat  at  their  porches  basking 
in  the  evening  sunshine.  Children  were  playing  on  the  steps. 
Fathers  were  smoking  at  the  lintel.  Smiling  faces  looked  out  from 
the  various  and  darkling  draperies  with  which  the  warehouses  were 
hung.  Ringlets  glossy,  and  curly,  and  jetty — eyes  black  as  night 
— midsummer  night — when  it  lightens  ;  haughty  noses  bending  like 
beaks  of  eagles — eager  cpiivering  nostrils — lips  curved  like  the  bow 
of  Love — every  man  or  maiden,  every  babe  or  matron  in  that 
English  Jewry  bore  in  his  countenance  one  or  more  of  these 
characteristics  of  his  peerless  Arab  race. 

"  How  beautiful  they  are  ! "  mused  Codlingsby,  as  he  surveyed 
these  placid  groups  calmly  taking  their  pleasure  in  the  sunset. 

"  D'you  vant  to  look  at  a  nishe  coat  1 "  a  voice  said,  which  made 
him  start ;  and  then  some  one  behind  him  began  handling  a  master- 
piece of  Stultz's  with  a  familiarity  which  would  have  made  the 
baron  tremble. 

"  Rafael  Mendoza  !  "  exclaimed  Godfrey. 

"  The  same,  Lord  Codlingsby,"  the  individual  so  apostrophised 
replied.  "  I  told  you  we  should  meet  again  where  you  would  little 
expect  me.  Will  it  please  you  to  enter'?  this  i§  Friday,  and  we 
close  at  sunset.  It  rejoices  my  heart  to  welcome  you  home."  So 
saying  Rafael  laid  his  hand  on  his  breast,  and  bowed,  an  oriental 
reverence.  All  traces  of  the  accent  with  which  he  first  addressed 
Lord  Codlingsby  had  vanished,  it  wa.s  disguise  :  half  the  Hebrew's 
life  is  a  disguise.  He  shields  himself  in  craft,  since  the  Norman 
boors  persecuted  him. 

They  jjassed  untler  an  awning  of  old  clothes,  tawdry  fripperies, 
greasy  spangles,  and  battered  masks,  into ,  a  shop  as  black  and 
hideous  as  the  entrance  was  foul.  "  7Viis  your  home,  Rafael  1 "  said 
Lord  Codlingsliy. 

"Why  nof?"  Rafael  answered.  "I  am  tired  of  Schloss  Schin- 
kenstein  ;  the  Rhine  bores  me  after  a  while.  It  is  too  hot  for 
Florence ;  besides  they  have  not  com])leted  the  7)icture-gallery,  and 
my  place  smells  of  putty.  You  wouldn't  have  a  man,  mon  cher, 
bury  himself  in  his  chateau  in  Normandy,  out  of  the  hunting  season? 


480  NOVELS    BY    EMINENT    HANDS 

The  Rugantino  Palace  stu{>efies  me.  Those  Titians  are  so  gloomy, 
I  shall  have  my  Hobbeinas  and  Tenierses,  I  think,  from  my  house 
at  the  Hajj;ue  hung  over  them. 

"  How  many  castles,  palaces,  houses,  warehouses,  shops,  have 
you,  Rafael  1 "  Lord  Codlingsby  asked,  laughing. 

"This  is  one,"  Rafael  answered.     "Come  in." 


II 

The  noise  in  the  old  town  w-as  terrific  ;  Great  Tom  was  boom- 
ing sullenly  over  the  uproar ;  the  bell  of  St.  Mary's  was  clanging 
witli  alarm ;  St.  Giles's  tocsin  chimed  furiously ;  howls,  curses, 
flights  of  brickbats,  stones  shivering  windows,  groans  of  wounded 
men,  cries  of  frightened  females,  cheers  of  either  contending  party 
as  it  charged  the  enemy  from  Carfax  to  Trumpingtou  Street,  })ro- 
claimed  that  tlie  battle  was  at  its  height. 

In  Berlin  they  would  have  said  it  was  a  revolution,  and  the 
cuirassiers  would  have  been  charging,  sabre  in  hand,  amidst  that 
infuriate  mob.  In  France  they  would  have  brought  down  artillery, 
and  played  on  it  with  twenty-four  pounders.  In  Cambridge  nobody 
heeded  tlie  disturbance — it  was  a  Town  and  Gown  row. 

The  row  arose  at  a  boat-race.  Tiie  Town  boat  (manned  by 
eight  stout  Bargees,  with  the  redouted  Rullock  for  stroke)  had 
bumped  the  Brazenose  light  oar,  usually  at  the  head  of  the  river. 
High  words  arose  regarding  tlie  dispute.  After  returning  from 
Granchester,  when  the  boats  pulled  back  to  Christchurch  meadows, 
the  disturbance  between  the  Townsmen  and  the  University  youths 
— their  invariable  opponents — grew  louder  and  more  violent,  until 
it  broke  out  in  open  battle.  Sparring  and  skirmishing  took  place 
along  the  pleasant  fields  that  lead  from  the  University  gate  down  to 
the  broad  and  shining  w^aters  of  the  Cam,  and  under  the  walls  of 
Balliol  and  Sidney  Sussex.  The  Duke  of  Bellamont  (tlien  a  dashing 
young  sizar  at  Exeter)  had  a  couple  of  rounds  with  Billy  Butt,  tlie 
bow-oar  of  the  Bargefe  boat.  Vavasour  of  Brazenose  was  engaged 
with  a  powerful  butclier,  a  well-known  champion  of  the  Town  party, 
wlien,  the  great  University  bells  ringing  to  dinner,  truce  was  called 
between  the  combatants,  and  they  retired  to  their  several  colleges 
for  refection. 

During  the  boat-race,  a  gentleman  pulling  in  a  canoe,  and  smok- 
ing a  narghilly,  had  attracted  no  ordinary  attention.  He  rowed 
about  a  hundred  yards  ahead  of  the  boats  in  the  race,  so  that  he 
could  have  a  good  view  of  that  curious  pastime.     If  the  eight-oars 


CODLINGSBY  481 

neared  hiin,  Avith  a  few  I'apid  strc)kes  of  his  flashing  paddles  his  boat 
shot  a  furloug  ahead ;  then  he  woidd  wait,  surveying  the  race,  and 
sending  up  volumes  of  odour  from  his  cool  narghilly. 

"Who  is  he?"  asked  the  crowds  who  panted  along  the  shore, 
eneoin-aging,  according  to  Cambridge  wont,  the  eflbrts  of  the  oars- 
men in  the  race.  Town  and  Gown  alike  asked  who  it  was,  who, 
with  an  ease  so  provoking,  in  a  barque  so  singular,  with  a  form 
seemingly  so  slight,  but  a  skill  so  prodigious,  beat  their  best  men. 
No  answer  could  be  given  to  the  query,  save  that  a  gentleman  in 
a  dark  travelling-chariot,  preceded  by  six  fourgons  and  a  courier, 
had  arrived  the  day  before  at  the  "  Hoop  Inn,"  opposite  Brazeuose, 
ami  that  the  stranger  of  the  canoe  seemed  to  be  the  individual  in 
question. 

No  wonder  the  boat,  that  all  admired  so,  could  compete  with 
any  that  ever  was  wrought  by  Cambridge  artificer  or  Putney  work- 
man. That  boat — slim,  shining,  and  shooting  through  the  water 
like  a  pike  after  a  small  fish — was  a  caique  from  Tophana  :  it  had 
distanced  the  Sultan's  oarsmen  and  the  best  crews  of  the  Capitan 
Pasha  in  the  Bosphorus  ;  it  was  the  Avorkmanship  of  Togrul-Beg, 
Caikjee  Bashee  of  his  Highness.  The  Bashee  had  refused  fifty 
thousand  tomauns  from  Count  Boutenieff",  the  Russian  Ambassador, 
for  that  little  marvel.  When  his  head-was  taken  off",  the  Father  of 
Believers  presented  the  boat  to  Rafael  Mendoza. 

It  was  Rafael  Mendoza  that  saved  the  Turkish  monarchy  after 
the  battle  of  Nezeeb.  By  sending  three  millions  of  piastres  to  the 
Seraskier ;  by  bribing  Colonel  de  St.  Cornichon,  the  French  envoy 
in  the  camp  of  the  victorious  Ibraliim,  the  march  of  the  Egyptian 
army  was  stopped — the  menaced  empire  of  the  Ottomans  was  saved 
from  ruin  ;  the  Marcliioness  of  Stokepogis,  our  Ambassador's  lady, 
appeared  in  a  suite  of  diamonds  which  outblazed  even  the  Romanoff 
jewels,  and  Rafael  Mendoza  obtained  the  little  caique.  He  never 
travelled  without  it.  It  was  scarcely  heavier  than  an  arm-chair. 
Baroni,  the  courier,  had  carried  it  down  to  the  Cam  tliat  morning, 
and  Rafael  had  seen  the  singular  sport  which  we  have  mentioned. 

The  dinner  over,  the  young  men  rushed  from  their  colleges, 
flushed,  full-fed,  and  eager  for  battle.  If  the  Gown  was  angiy,  the 
Town,  too,  was  on  the  alert.  From  Iffley  and  Barnwell,  from  factory 
and  mill,  from  wharf  and  warehouse,  the  Town  poured  out  to  meet 
the  enemy,  and  their  battle  was  soon  general.  Fi'om  the  Adden- 
brooke's  hospital  to  the  Blenheim  turnpike,  all  Cambridge  was  in 
an  uproar -the  College  gates  closed — the  shops  barricaded — the 
shop-boys  away  in  support  of  their  brother  townsmen — the  battle 
raged,  and  the  Gown  liad  the  worst  of  the  fight. 

A   luncheon   of   many   courses    had   been   provided   for   Rafael 


482  NOVELS    BY    EMINENT    HANDS 

Mcntloza  at  his  inn ;  but  he  smiled  at  the  clumsy  efforts  of  the 
University  cooks  to  entertain  him,  and  a  couple  of  dates  and  a  glass 
of  water  formed  his  meal.  In  vain  the  discomfited  landlord  pressed 
him  to  jiartake  of  the  slighted  banquet.  "  A  breakfast !  jjsha  !  " 
said  he.  "  My  good  man,  I  have  nineteen  cooks,  at  salaries  rising 
from  four  hundred  a  year.  I  can  have  a  dinner  at  any  hour ;  but 
a  Town  and  Gown  row  "  (a  brickbat  here  Hying  tlirough  the  window 
craslied  the  carafe  of  water  in  Mendoza's  hand)  -  "a  Town  and 
(iown  row  is  a  novelty  to  me.  The  Town  has  the  best  of  it,  clearly, 
tliougli :  the  men  outnumber  the  lads.  Ha,  a  good  blow  !  How 
that  tall  townsman  went  down  before  yonder  slim  young  fellow  in 
the  scarlet  trencher  cap  !  " 

"That  is  the  Lord  Codlingsby,"  the  landlord  said. 

"  A  light  weight,  but  a  pretty  figliter,"  Mendoza  remarked. 
"  Well  hit  with  your  left.  Lord  Codlingsby ;  well  parried.  Lord 
Codlingsby  ;  claret  drawn,  by  Jupiter  !  " 

"  Ours  is  werry  fine,"  the  landlord  said.  "  Will  your  Highness 
have  Chateau  Margaux  or  Lafitte  1 " 

"  He  never  can  be  going  to  match  himself  against  that  barge- 
man !  "  Rafael  exclaimed,  as  an  enormous  boatman — no  other  than 
Rullock — indeed,  the  most  famous  bruiser  of  Cambridge,  and 
before  whose  fists  the  Gownsmen  went  down  like  ninepins — fouglit 
his  way  up  to  the  spot  where,  with  admirable  sj)irit  and  resolution, 
Lord  Codlingsby  and  one  or  two  of  his  friends  were  making  head 
against  a  number  of  the  Town. 

The  young  noble  faced  the  huge  champion  with  the  gallantry  of 
his  race,  but  was  no  match  for  the  enemy's  strengtli  and  weight  and 
sinew,  and  went  down  at  every  round.  The  Ijrutal  fellow  had  no 
mercy  on  the  lad.  His  savage  treatment  chafed  Mendoza  as  he 
vieweil  the  unequal  combat  from  tlie  inn-window.  "  Hold  your 
hand  !  "  he  cried  to  this  Goliath  ;   "  don't  you  see  he's  but  a  boy  1 " 

"  Down  he  goes  again  ! "  the  bargeman  cried,  not  heeding  the 
interruption.      "  Down  he  goes  again  :  I  likes  wliopping  a  Lord  !  " 

"Coward!"  shouted  Mendoza;  and  to  fling  open  the  window 
amidst  a  shower  of  brickbats,  to  vault  over  the  lialcony,  to  slide 
down  one  of  the  pillars  to  the  ground,  was  an  instant's  work. 

At  the  next  he  stood  before  the  enormous  bargeman. 


After  the  coroner's  iiKjuest,  Mendoza  gave  ten  thousand  pounds 
to  each  of  the  bargeman's  ten  cliildren,  and  it  was  thus  his  first 
acquaintance  was  formed  with  Lord  Codlingsby. 

But  we  are  lingering  on  the  threshold  of  the  house  in  Holywell 
Street.     Let  us  go  in. 


Ill 

Godfrey  and  Rafael  passed  from  the  street  into  the  outer  shop 
of  the  old  mansion  in  Holywell  Street.  It  was  a  masquerade 
wareliouse  to  all  appearance.  A  dark-eyed  damsel  of  tlie  nation 
was  standing  at  tl»e  dark  and  grimy  counter,  strewed  with  old 
feathers,  old  yellow  boots,  old  stage  mantles,  painted  masks, 
blind  and  yet  gazing  at  you  with  a  look  of  sad  death-like  intelli- 
gence from  the  vacancy  behind  their  sockets. 

A  medical  student  was  trying  one  of  the  doublets  of  orange- 
tawny  and  silver,  slashed  with  dirty  light  blue.  He  was  going  to 
a  masquerade  that  night.  He  thought  Polly  Pattens  would  admire 
him  in  the  dress — Polly  Pattens,  the  fairest  of  maids-of-all-work — 
the  Borough  Venus,  adored  by  half  the  youth  of  Guy's. 

"You  look  like 'a  prince  in  it,  Mr.  Lint,"  pretty  Rachel  said, 
coaxing  him  with  her  beady  black  eyes. 

"  It  is  the  cheese,"  replied  Mr.  Lint  ;  "  it  ain't  the  dress  that 
don't  suit,  my  rose  of  Sharon ;  it's  tlie  Jigure.  Hullo,  Rafael,  is 
that  you,  my  lad  of  sealing-wax  1  Come  and  intercede  for  me  with 
this  wild  gazelle ;  she  says  I  can't  have  it  under  fifteen  bob  for  the 
night.  And  it's  too  much  :  cuss  me  if  it's  not  too  much,  unless 
you'll  take  my  little  bill  at  two  months,  Rafael." 

"  There's  a  sweet  pretty  brigand's  dress  you  may  have  for  half 
de  monisli,"  Rafael  replied ;  "  there's  a  splendid  clown  for  eight 
bob ;  but  for  dat  Spanish  dress,  selp  ma  Moshesh,  Mistaer  Lint, 
ve'd  ask  a  guinea  of  any  but  you.  Here's  a  gentlemansh  just  come 
to  look  at  it.  Look  'car,  Mr.  Brownsh,  did  you  ever  sliee  a  nisher 
ting  dan  dat  ? "  So  saying  Rafael  turned  to  Lord  Codlingsby  with 
the  utmost  gravity  and  displayed  to  him  tlie  garment  about  which 
the  young  medicus  was  haggling. 

"  Cheap  at  the  money,"  C!odlingsby  replied  ;  "  if  you  won't 
make  up  your  mind,  sir,  I  should  like  to  engage  it  myself."  But  the 
thought  that  another  should  appear  before  Polly  Pattens  in  that 
costume  was  too  much  for  Mr.  Lint ;  he  agreed  to  pay  the  fifteen 
shillings  for  the  garment.  And  Rafael,  pocketing  the  money  with 
perfect  simplicity,  said,  "  Dis  vay,  Mr.  Brownsh ;  dere's  someting 
vill  shoot  you  in  the  next  shop." 

Lord  Codlingsby  followed  him,  wondering. 

"You  are  surprised  at  our  system,"  said  Rafael,  marking  the 
evident  bewilderment  of  his  friend.  "  Confess  you  would  call  it 
meanness  —  my  huckstering  with  yonder  young  fool.  I  call  it 
simplicity.     Wliy  throw  away  a  sliilHiig  without  need  ?     Our  race 


484  NOVELS    BY    EMINENT    HANDS 

never  did.  A  sliillin.^  is  four  inoii's  lire;id  :  sliall  I  disdain  to  defile 
my  fingers  by  liolding  tlicni  out  relief  in  their  necessity  1  It  is  you 
who  arc  mean — you  Nornums — not  we  of  the  ancient  race.  You 
have  your  vulgar  measurement  for  great  tilings  and  small.  You 
call  a  thousand  pounds  respectable,  and  a  shekel  despicable.  Pslia, 
my  Codlingsby !  One  is  as  the  other.  I  trade  in  pennies  and  in 
ndllions.     I  am  above  or  below  neither." 

Tiiey  were  passing  through  a  second  shop,, smelling  strongly  of 
cedar,  and,  in  fact,  piled  up  with  bales  of  those  pencils  which  the 
young  Hebrews  are  in  the  habit  of  vending  through  the  streets.  "  I 
have  sold  bundles  and  bundles  of  these,"  said  Rafael.  "  My  little 
brother  is  now  out  with  oranges  in  Piccadilly.  I  am  bringing  him 
up  to  be  head  of  our  house  in  Amsterdam.  We  all  do  it.  I  had 
myself  to  see  Rothschild  in  Eaton  Place  this  morning,  about  the 
Irish  loan,  of  which  I  have  taken  three  millions :  and  as  I  wanted 
to  walk,  I  carried  the  bag. 

"  You  should  have  seen  the  astonishment  of  Lauda  Latymer,  the 
Archbishop  of  Croydon's  daughter,  as  she  was  jjassing  St.  Rennet's, 
Kniglitsbridge,  and  as  she  fancied  she  recognised  in  the  man  who 
was  crying  old  clothes  the  gentleman  with  whom  she  had  talked  at 
the  Count  de  St.  Aulair's  the  night  before."  Sometliing like  ablush 
flushed  over  the  pale  features  of  Mendoza  as  he  mentioned  the  Lady 
Lauda's  name.  "  Come  on,"  said  he.  They  passed  through  various 
warehouses — the  orange  room,  the  sealing-wax  room,  the  six-bladed 
knife  department,  and  finally  came  to  an  old  baize  door.  Rafael 
opened  the  baize  door  by  some  secret  contrivance,  and  they  were  in 
a  black  passage,  with  a  curtain  at  the  end. 

He  clapped  his  hands ;  the  curtain  at  the  end  of  the  passage 
drew  back,  and  a  flood  of  golden  light  streamed  on  the  Hebrew  and 
his  visitor. 


Chapter   XXIV 

They  entered  a  moderate-sized  apartment — indeed,  Holywell  Street 
is  not  ab()ve  a  hundred  yards  long,  and  this  chamber  was  not  more 
than  lialf  that  length — it  was  fitted  up  with  the  simple  taste  of 
its  owner. 

The  carpet  was  of  white  velvet — (laid  over  several  webs  of 
Ambusson,  Ispahan,  and  Axminster,  so  that  your  foot  gave  no  more 
sound  as  it  trod  upon  the  yielding  plain  than  the  shadow  did  which 
followed  you) — of  white  velvet,  painted  with  flowers,  arabesques,  and 
classic  figures,  by  Sir  William  Ross,  J.  M.  W.  Turner,  R.A.,  Mrs. 
Mee,  and  Paul  Delaroche.    The  edges  were  wrought  with  seed-pearls, 


LADY   LAUDA   LATYMER. 


CODLINGSBY  48.5 

and  fringed  with  Valenciennes  lace  and  bullion.  The  walls  were 
hung  with  cloth  of  silver,  embroidered  with  gold  figures,  over  which 
were  worked  pomegi-anates,  i)olyanthuses,  and  passion-flowers,  in 
ruby,  amethyst,  and  smaragd.  The  drops  of  dew  which  the  artificer 
had  sprinkled  on  the  flowers  were  diamonds.  The  hangings  were 
overhung  by  j'ictures  yet  mol'e  costly.  Giorgione  the  gorgeous, 
Titian  the  golden,  Ruliens  the  ruddy  and  pulpy  (the  Pan  of  Painting), 
some  of  Murillo's  beatified  shepherdesses,  who  smile  on  you  out  of 
darkness  like  a  star,  a  few  score  first-class  Leonardos,  and  fifty  of 
the  masterpieces  of  the  patron  of  Julius  and  Leo,  the  Lnperial  genius 
of  Urbino,  covered  the  walls  of  the  little  chamber.  Divans  of  carved 
amber  covered  with  ermine  went  roimd  the  room,  and  in  the  midst 
was  a  fountain,  pattering  and  babbling  with  jets  of  double-distilled 
otto  of  roses. 

"  Pipes,  Goliath  ! "  Eafael  said  gaily  to  a  little  negro  witli  a 
silver  collar  (he  spoke  to  him  in  his  native  tongue  of  Dongola) ; 
"  and  welcome  to  our  snuggery,  my  Codlingsby.  We  are  quieter 
here  than  in  the  front  of  the  house,  and  I  wanted  to  show  you  a 
picture.  I'm  proud  of  my  pictures.  That  Leonardo  came  from 
Genoa,  and  was  a  gift  to  our  father  from  my  cousin.  Marshal 
Manasseh  :  that  Murillo  was  pawned  to  my  uncle  by  Marie  An- 
toinette before  the  flight  to  Varennes — the  poor  lady  could  not 
redeem  the  pledge,  you  know,  and  the  picture  remains  with  us.  As 
for  the  Eafael,  I  sujjpose  you  are  aware  .that  he  was  one  of  our 
people.  But  what  are  you  gazing  at  1  Oh  !  my  sister — I  forgot. 
Miriam  !  this  is  the  Lord  Codlingsby." 

She  had  been  seated  at  an  ivory  pianoforte  on  a  mother-of-pearl 
music-stool,  trying  a  sonata  of  Herz.  She  rose  when  thus  apostro- 
phised.    Miriam  de  Mendoza  rose  and  greeted  the  stranger. 

The  Talmud  relates  that  Adam  liad  two  wives — Zillah  the  dark 
beauty  ;  Eva  the  fair  one.  The  ringlets  of  Zillah  were  black  ;  those 
of  Eva  were  golden.  The  eyes  of  Zillah  were  night ;  tho.se  of  Eva 
were  morning.  Codliug.sby  was  fair — of  the  fair  Saxon  race  of 
Hengist  and  Horsa — they  called  him  Miss  Codlingsby  at  school ; 
but  how  much  fairer  was  Miriam  the  Hebrew  ! 

Her  hair  liad  that  deep  glowing  tinge  in  it  which  has  been  the 
delight  of  all  painters,  and  which,  therefore,  the  vulgar  sneer  at. 
It  was  of  burning  auburn.  Meandering  over  her  fairest  shoulders 
in  twenty  thousand  minute  ringlets,  it  hung  to  her  waist  and  below 
it.  A  light -blue  velvet  fillet  clasped  with  a  diamond  aigrette 
(valued  at  two  hundred  thousand  tomauns,  and  bouglit  from  Lieu- 
tenant Vicovich,  who  had  received  it  from  Dost  Mahomed),  with  a 
simple  bird  of  j)aradise,  formed  her  head-gear.  A  sea-green  cymar, 
with  short  sleeves,  displayed  her  exquisitely  moulded  arms  to  per- 


486  NOVELS    BY    EMINENT    HANDS 

fection,  and  was  fastened  by  a  girdle  of  emeralds  over  a  yellow  satin 
frock.  Pink  gauze  trousers  si)angled  with  silver,  and  slippers  of 
the  same  colour  as  the  band  which  clasped  lier  ringlets  (but  so 
covered  Avitli  pearls  that  the  original  hue  of  the  charming  little 
])apoosh  disappeared  entirely)  completed  her.  costume.  She  had 
three  necklaces  on,  each  of  which  would  have  dowered  a  Princess 
— her  fingers  glistened  Mnth  rings  to  their  rosy  tips,  and  priceless 
bracelets,  bangles,  and  armlets  wound  round  an  arm  that  was  whiter 
than  the  ivory  grand  piano  on  which  it  leaned. 

As  Miriam  de  Mendoza  greeted  the  stranger,  turning  upon  him 
the  solemn  welcome  of  her  eyes,  Codlingsby  swooned  almost  in  tlie 
brightness  of  her  beauty.  It  was  well  she  spoke ;  the  sweet  kind 
voice  restored  him  to  consciousness.  Muttering  a  few  words  of  in- 
coherent recognition,  he  sank  upon  a  sandal-wood  settee,  as  Goliath, 
the  little  slave,  brought  aromatic  coffee  in  cups  of  opal,  and  alabaster 
spittoons,  and  pipes  of  the  fragrant  Gibelly. 

"My  Lord's  pipe  is  out,"  said  Miriam,  with  a  smile,  remark- 
ing the  bewilderment  of  her  guest — who  in  truth  forgot  to  smoke 
— and  taking  up  a  thousand-pound  note  from  a  bundle  on  the 
piano,  she  lighted  it  at  the  taper  and  proceeded  to  reillumine 
the  extinguished  chibouk  of  Lord  Codlingsby. 


IV 

When  Miriam,  returning  to  tlie  mother-of-i)earl  music-stool,  at  a 
signal  from  her  brother,  touched  the  silver  and  enamelled  keys  of  the 
ivory  piano,  and  began  to  sing.  Lord  Codlingsby  felt  as  if  he  were 
listening  at  the  gates  of- Paradise,  or  were  hearing  Jenny  Lind. 

"  Lind  is  the  name  of  the  Hebrew  race ;  so  is  Mendelssohn,  the 
son  of  Almonds :  so  is  Rosentlial,  the  Valley  of  the  Roses :  so  is 
L'jwe  or  Lewis  or  Lyons  or  Lion.  The  beautiful  and  the  brave 
alike  give  cognisances  to  the  ancient  people :  you  Saxons  call  your- 
selves Brown,  or  Smith,  or  Rodgers,"  Rafael  observed  to  his  friend ; 
and,  drawing  the  instrument  from  his  pocket,  he  accompanied  his 
sister,  in  the  most  ravishing  manner,  on  a  little  gold  and  jewelled 
harp,  of  the  kind  peculiar  to  his  nation. 

All  the  airs  which  the  Hebrew  maid  selected  were  written  by 
composers  of  her  race  :  it  Avas  either  a  hymn  by  Rossini,  a  polacca 
by  Braham,  a  delicious  romance  by  Sloman,  or  a  melody  by  Weber, 
that,  thrilling  on  the  strings  of  the  instrument,  wakened  a  harmony 
on  the  fibres  of  the  heart ;  but  she  sang  no  other  than  the  songs  of 
her  nation. 


CODLINGSBY  487 

"  Beautiful  one  !  sing  ever,  sing  always,"  Codlingsby  thought. 
"  I  could  sit  at  thy  feet  as  under  a  green  palm  tree,  and  fancy  that 
Paradise-birds  were  singing  in  the  boughs." 

Rafael  read  his  thoughts.  "  We  have  Saxon  blood  too  in  our 
veins,"  he  said.  "  You  smile  !  Jbut  it  is  even  so.  An  ancestress  of 
ours  made  a  mesalliance  in  the  reign  of  your  King  John.  Her 
name  was  Rebecca,  daughter  of  Isaac  of  York,  and  she  married  in 
Spain,  whither  she  had  fled  to  the  Court  of  King  Boabdil,  Sir 
Wilfrid  of  Ivanhoe,  then  a  widower  by  the  demise  of  his  first  lady, 
Rowena.  The  match  was  deemed  a  cruel  insult  amongst  our 
people ;  but  Wilfrid  conformed,  and  was  a  Rabbi  of  some  note  at 
the  synagogue  of  Cordova.  We  are  descended  from  him  lineally. 
It  is  the  only  blot  upon  the  escutcheon  of  the  Mendozas." 

As  they  sat  talking  together,  the  music  finished,  and  Miriam 
having  retired  (though  her  song  and  her  beauty  wore  still  present  to 
the  soul  of  the  stranger)  at  a  signal  from  Mendoza,  various  messengers 
from  the  outer  apartments  came  in  to  transact  business  with  him. 

First  it  was  Mr.  Aminadab,  who  kissed  his  foot,  and  brought 
papers  to  sign.  "  How  is  the  house  in  Grosvenor  Square,  Aminadab  ; 
and  is  your  son  tired  of  his  yacht  yet?"  Mendoza  asked.  "That 
is  my  twenty-fourth  cashier,"  said  Rafael  to  Codlingsby,  when  the 
obsequious  clerk  went  away.  "  He  is  fond  of  disjilay,  and  all  my 
people  may  have  what  money  they  like." 

Entered  presently  the  Lord  Bareacres,  on  the  affair  of  his 
mortgage.  The  Lord  Bareacres,  strutting  into  the  apartment  with 
a  haughty  air,  shrank  back,  nevertheless,  with  surprise  on  beholding 
the  magnificence  around  him.  "  Little  Mordccai,"  said  Rafael  to 
a  little  orange-boy,  who  came  in  at  the  heels  of  the  noble,  "  take 
this  gentleman  out  and  let  him  have  ten  thousand  pounds.  I  can't  do 
more  for  you,  my  Lord,  than  this — I'm  busy.  Good-bye  ! "  And 
Rafael  waved  his  hand  to  the  peer,  and  fell  to  smoking  his  narghilly. 

A  man  with  a  square  face,  cat-like  eyes,  and  a  yellow  moustache, 
came  next.  He  had  an  hour-glass  of  a  waist,  and  walked  uneasily 
upon  his  high-heeled  boots.  "  Tell  your  master  that  he  shall  have 
two  millions  more,  but  not  another  shilling,"  Rafael  said.  "That 
story  about  the  fivc-and-twenty  millions  of  ready  money  at  Cronstadt 
is  all  bosh.  They  Avon't  believe  it  in  Europe.  You  understand  me, 
Count  Grogomoft'ski  ? " 

"  But  his  Imperial  Majesty  said  four  millions,  and  I  shall  get 
the  knout  unless " 

"Go  and  speak  to  Mr.  Shadrach,  in  room  Z  94,  the  fourth  court," 
said  Mendoza  good-naturedly.  "  Leave  me  at  peace.  Count ;  don't 
you  see  it  is  Friday,  and  almost  sunset?"  The  Calmuck  envoy  retired 
cringing,  and  left  an  odour  of  nuisk  and  candle-grease  behind  him. 


488      NOVELS  BY  EMINENT  HANDS 

An  orange-man  ;  an  emissary  from  Lola  Montcs ;  a  dealer  in 
j)iping  bulUinclies  :  and  a  (Jardinal  in  disguise,  with  a  proposal  for 
a  now  loan  for  the  1*01)6,  were  heard  by  turns ;  and  caeli,  after  a 
rapid  rolloipiy  in  his  own  language,  was  dismissed  by  Rafael. 

,  "  The  Queen  must  come  back  from  Ai'anjuez,  or  that  King 
must  be  disposed  of,"  Rafael  exclaimed,  as  a  yellow-faced  aml)as- 
sador  from  Spain,  General  the  Duke  of  011a  Podrida,  left  him. 
"  Wlncli  shall  it  be,  my  Codlingsby  1 "  Codlingsby  Avas  about 
lauglungly  to  answer — for  indeed  he  was  amazed  to  find  all  tlie 
ati'airs  of  the  world  represented  here,  and  Holywell  Street  the 
centre  of  Europe — when  three  knocks  of  a  peculiar  nature  were 
heard,  and  Mendoza  sjtarting  up,  said,  "  Ha !  there  are  only  four 
men  in  the  world  who  know  that  signal."  At  once,  and  with  a 
reverence  quite  distinct  from  his  former  nonchalant  manner,  he 
advanced  towards  the  new-comer. 

He  was  an  old  man — an  old  man  evidently,  too,  of  the  Hebrew 
race — the  light  of  his  eyes  was  unfatliomable — about  his  moutli 
there  played  an  inscrutable  smile.  He  Iiad  a  cotton  umbrella,  and 
old  trousers,  and  old  boots,  and  an  old  wig,  curling  at  the  top  like 
a  rotten  old  pear. 

He  sat  down,  as  if  tired,  in  the  first  seat  at  hand,  as  Rafael 
made  him  the  lowest  reverence.' 

"  I  am  tired,"  says  he ;  "  I  have  come  in  fifteen  hours.  I  am 
ill  at  Neuilly,"  he  added  with  a  grin.  "  Get  me  some  eau  siicree, 
and  tell  me  the  news,  Prince  de  Mendoza.  These  bread  rows ; 
this  unpopularity  of  Guizot ;  this  odious  Spanish  conspiracy  against 
my  darling  Montpensier  and  daughter ;  this  ferocity  of  Palmerston 
against  Ooletti,  make  me  quite  ill.  Give  me  your  opinion,  my 
dear  duke.     But  ha  !  whom  have  we  here  1 " 

The  august  individual  who  had  sjxjken  had  used  the  Hebrew 
language  to  address  Mendoza,  and  the  Lord  Codlingsby  might  easily 
have  pleaded  ignoran(!e  of  that  tongue.  But  he  had  been  at  Cam- 
bridge, where  all  the  youth  acquire  it  jierfectly. 

'SSVre,"  said  he,  "I  will  not  disguise  from  you  that  I  know  the 
ancient  tongue  in  which  you  si)eak.  There  are  probably  secrets 
between  Mendoza  and  your  Maj " 

"  Hush  ! "  said  Rafael,  leading  him  from  the  room.  "  Au 
revoir,  dear  Codlingsby.  His  Majesty  is  one  of  us,"  he  whispered 
at  the  door;  "so  is  the  Pojie  of  Rome;  so  is  .  .  ." — a  whisper 
conceale<l  the  rest. 

"Gracious  powers!  is  it  so?"  said  Codlingsby,  nuising.  He 
entered  into  Holywell  Street.     The  sun  was  sinking. 

"  It  is  time,"  said  he,  "  to  go  and  fetch  Armida  to  the  Olympic." 


PHIL    FOG  ARTY 

A  TALE    OF   THE    FIGHTING   ONETY-ONETH 
By  Harey  Rollicker 


THE  gabion  was  ours.  After  two  liours'  fighting  we  were  in 
possession  of  the  first  embrasure,  and  made  ourselves  as 
comfortable  as  circumstances  would  admit.  Jack  Delamere, 
Tom  Delancy,  Jerry  Blake,  the  Doctor,  and  myself  sat  down  under 
a  pontoon,  and  our  servants  laid  out  a  hasty  supper  on  a  tumbrel. 
Though  Cambaceres  had  escaped  me  so  provokingly  after  I  cut  him 
down,  his  spoils  were  mine  ;  a  cold  fowl  and  a  Bologna  sausage 
were  found  in  the  JNIarshal's  holsters ;  and  in  the  haversack  of  a 
French  private  who  lay  a  corpse  on  the  glacis,  we  found  a  loaf  of 
bread,  his  tliree  days'  ration.  Instead  of  salt,  we  had  gunpowder ; 
and  you  may  be  sure,  wherever  the  Doctor  was,  a  flask  of  good 
brandy  was  behind  him  in  his  instrument  case.  We  sat  down  and 
made  a  soldier's  supper.  The  Doctor  pulled  a  few  of  the  delicious 
fruit  from  the  lemon  trees  growing  near  (and  round  which  the 
Carabiniers  and  the  24th  Leger  had  made  a  desperate  rally),  and 
punch  was  brewed  in  Jack  Delamere's  helmet. 

"  'Faith,  it  never  had  so  nuicli  wit  in  it  before,"  said  the 
Doctor,  as  he  ladled  out  the  drink.  We  all  roared  with  laugh- 
ing, except  the  guardsman,  who  was  as  savage  as  a  Turk  at  a 
christening. 

"  Buvez-en,"  said  old  Sawbones  to  our  French  prisoner;  "  ca 
vous  fera  du  bien,  mon  vieux  coq  ! "  and  the  Colonel,  whose  wound 
had  been  just  dressed,  eagerly  grasped  at  the  proftered  cup,  and 
drained  it  with  a  health  to  the  donors. 

How  strange  are  the  chances  of  war  !  But  half-an-hour  before 
he  and  I  were  engaged  in  mortal  combat,  and  our  prisoner  was  all 
but  my  conqueror.  (j!raj)pling  with  Cambaceres,  whom  I  knocked 
from  his  horse;,  and  was  about  to  desjtatch,  I  felt  a  lunge  behind, 
which  luckily  was  ])arried  by  my  sabretache ;  a  herculean  grasp 
was  at  the  next  instant  at  my  throat — I  was  on  tiie  ground — my 


490    •  NOVELS  BY  EMINENT  HANDS 

]M-isoner  had  escaped,  and  a  gigantic  warrior  in  tlie  nniform  of  a 
colonel  of  the  regiment  of  Artois  glaring  over  nie  with  pointe<l  sword. 

"  Rend.s-toi,  coquin  !  "  says  he. 

"  Allez  an  Diable  !  "  said  I :   "a  Fogarty  never  surrenders." 

I  thought  of  niy  poor  mother  and  my  sisters,  at  the  old  hoiise 
in  Killaloo — I  felt  the  tij)  of  his  blade  between  my  teeth — I  breathed 
a  prayer,  and  shut  my  eyes — when  the  tables  were  turned — the 
butt-end  of  Lanty  Clancy's  musket  knocked  the  sword  up  and  broke 
the  arm  that  held  it. 

"  Thonanioundiaoid  nabochlish,"  said  the  French  officer,  with  a 
curse  in  the  purest  Irish.  It  was  lucky  I  stopped  laughing  time 
enough  to  bid  Lanty  hold  his  hand,  for  the  honest  fellow  would  else 
have  brained  my  gallant  adversary.  We  were  the  better  friends  for 
our  combat,  as  what  gallant  hearts  are  not?  • 

The  breach  was  to  be  stormed  at  sunset,  and  like  true  soldiers 
we  sat  down  to  make  the  most  of  our  time.  The  rogue  of  a  Doctor 
took  the  liver-wing  for  his  share — we  gave  the  other  to  our  guest,  a 
prisoner;  those  scoundrels  Jack  Delamere  and  Tom  Delan(;y  took 
the  legs — and,  'forth,  poor  I  was  put  off  with  the  Pope's  nose  and  a 
bit  of  the  back. 

"  How  d'ye  like  his  Holiness's  fayture  .?  "  said  Jerry  Blake. 

"Anyhow  you'll  have  a  merry  thought,"  cried  the  incorrigible 
Doctor,  and  all  the  party  shrieked  at  the  witticism. 

"  De  mortuis  nil  nisi  bonum,"  said  Jack,  holding  up  the  drum- 
stick clean. 

"  'Faith,  there's  not  enough  of  it  to  make  us  chicken-hearted, 
anyhow,"  said  I.      "  Come,  boys,  let's  have  a  song." 

"  Here  goes,"  said  Tom  Delancy,  and  sung  the  following  lyric, 
of  his  own  composition  : — 

"  Dear  Jack,  this  white  mug  that  with  Guinness  I  till, 
And  drink  to  the  health  of  sweet  Nan  of  the  Hill,- 
Was  once  Tommy  Tosspot's,  as  jovial  a  sot 
As  e'er  drew  a  spigot,  or  di'ain'd  a  full  pot — 
In  drinking  all  round  'twas  his  joy  to  surpass, 
And  with  all  merry  tipplers  he  swigged  off  his  glass. 

One  morning  in  summer,  while  seated  so  snug, 

In  the  porch  of  his  garden,  discussing  his  jug, 

Stern  Death,  on  a  sudden,  to  Tom  did  appear, 

And  said,  '  Honest  Thomas,  come  take  your  last  bier ; ' 

We  kneaded  his  clay  in  the  shape  of  this  can. 

From  which  let  us  drink  to  the  health  of  my  Nan." 

"  Psha  !  "  said  the  Doctor,  "  I've  heard  that  song  before  ;  here's 
a  new  one  for  you,  boys  ! "  and  Sawbones  began,  in  a  rich  Corkagian 
voice — 


PHIL    FOGARTY  491 

"  You've  all  heard  of  Larry  O'Toole, 
Of  the  beautiful  town  of  Drumgoole ; 
He  had  but  one  eye 
To  ogle  ye  by — 
Oh,  murther,  but  that  was  a  jew'l ! 

A  fool 
He  made  of  de  girls,  dis  O'Toole. 

'Twas  he  was  the  boy  didn't  fail, 
That  tuck  down  pataties  and  mail ; 

He  never  would  shrink 

From  any  sthrong  dthrink, 
Was  it  whisky  or  Drogheda  ale  ; 

I'm  bail 
This  Larry  would  swallow  a  pail. 

Oh,  many  a  night  at  the  bowl, 

With  Larry  I've  sot  cheek  by  jowl ; 
He's  gone  to  his  rest, 
Where  there's  dthrink  of  the  best, 

And  so  let  us  give  his  old  sowl 
A  howl. 

For  'twas  he  made  the  noggin  to  rowl." 

I  observed  the  French  Coloners  eye  glistened  as  he  heard  these  well- 
known  accents  of  his  country  ;  but  we  were  too  well  bred  to  pretend 
to  remark  his  emotion. 

The  sun  was  setting  behind  the  mountains  as  our  songs  were 
finished,  and  each  began  to  look  out  with  some  anxiety  for  the 
preconcerted  signal,  the  rocket  from  Sir  Hussey  Vivian's  quarters, 
which  was  to  announce  the  recommencement  of  hostilities.  It  came 
just  as  the  moon  rose  in  her  silver  splendour,  and  ere  the  rocket- 
stittk  fell  quivering  to  the  earth  at  the  feet  of  General  Picton  and 
Sir  Lowry  Cole,  who  were  at  their  posts  at  the  head  of  the  storming- 
purties,  nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine  g^uis  in  position  opened  their 
fire  from  our  batteries,  which  were  answered  by  a  tremendous 
cannonade  from  the  fort. 

"  Who's  going  to  dance  ? "  said  the  Doctor  :  "  the  ball's  begun. 
Ha !  there  goes  poor  Jack  Delamere's  head  off" !  The  ball  chose  a 
soft  one,  anyhow.  Come  here,  Tim,  till  I  mend  your  leg.  Your 
wife  need  only  knit  half  as  many  stockings  next  year,  Doolan,  my 
boy.  Faix!  there  goes  a  big  one  had  well-nigh  stopped  my  talking: 
bedad  !  it  has  snuffiid  the  feather  off"  my  cocked  hat ! " 

In  this  way,  witli  eighty-four-pounders  roaring  over  us  like  hail, 
the  undaunted  little  Doctor  pursued  his  jokes  and  his  duty.     That 
he  had  a  feeling  iieart,  all  who  served  with  him  knew,  and  none  more 
so  than  Philip  Fogarty,  the  humble  writer  of  this  tale  of  war. 
10 


492  NOVELS    BY    EMINENT    HANDS 

Our  oinbrusiire  was  luckily  bomb-proof,  and  the  detachment  of 
the  Onety-oncth  under  my  orders  suffered  comparatively  little. 
"  Be  cool,  boys,"  I  said  ;  "  it  will  be  hot  enough  work  for  you 
ere  long." 

The  honest  fellows  answered  with  an  Irish  cheer.  I  saw  that  it 
affected  our  prisoner. 

"  Countryman  ! "  said  I,  "  I  know  you ;  but  an  Irishman  was 
never  a  traitor." 

"  Taisez-vous  !  '  said  he,  putting  his  finger  to  his  lip.  "  C'est 
la  fortune  de  la  guerre  :  if  ever  you  come  to  Paris,  ask  for  the 
Marquis  d'  O'Mahony,  and  I  may  render  you  the  hospitality  which 
your  tyrannous  laws  prevent  me  from  exercising  in  the  ancestral 
halls  of  my  own  race." 

I  shook  him  warmly  by  the  hand  as  a  tear  bedimmed  his  eye. 
It  was,  then,  the  celebrated  colonel  of  the  Irish  Brigade,  created  a 
Marquis  by  Napoleon  on  the  field  of  Austerlitz  ! 

"  Marquis,"  said  I,  "  the  country  which  disowns  you  is  proud 
of  you ;  but — ha !  here,  if  I  mistake  not,  comes  our  signal  to 
advance."  And  in  fact  Captain  Vandeleur,  riding  up  through  the 
shower  of  shot,  asked  for  the  commander  of  the  detachment,  and 
bade  me  hold  myself  in  readiness  to  move  as  soon  as  the  flank 
companies  of  the  Ninety-ninth,  and  Sixty -sixth,  and  the  Grenadier 
Brigade  of  the  German  Legion  began  to  advance  up  the  Echelon. 
The  devoted  band  soon  arrived ;  Jack  Bowser  heading  the  Ninety- 
ninth  (when  was  he  away  and  a  storming-party  to  the  fore  ?),  and 
the  gallant  Potztausend,  with  his  Hanoverian  veterans. 

The  second  rocket  flew  up. 

"  Forward,  Onety-oneth ! "  cried  I,  in  a  voice  of  thunder. 
"  Killaloo  boys,  follow  your  captain  ! "  and  with  a  shrill  hurray, 
that  sounded  above  the  tremendous  fire  from  the  fort,  we  sprung 
up  the  steep  ;  Bowser  with  the  bi'ave  Ninety-ninth,  and  the  bold 
Potztausend,  keeping  well  up  with  us.  We  passed  the  demilune, 
we  passed  the  culverin,  bayoneting  the  artillerymen  at  their  guns ; 
we  advanced  across  the  two  tremendous  demilunes  which  flank  the 
counterscarp,  and  prepared  for  the  final  spring  upon  the  citadel. 
Soult  I  could  see  quite  pale  on  the  wall ;  and  the  scoundrel 
Cambacdrfes,  who  had  been  so  nearly  my  prisoner  that  day,  trembled 
as  he  cheered  his  men.  "  On,  boys,  on  ! "  I  hoarsely  exclaimed, 
"  Hurroo  !  "  said  the  fighting  Onety-oneth. 

But  there  was  a  movement  amcmg  the  enemy.  An  officer, 
glittering  with  orders,  and  another  in  a  grey  coat  and  a  cocked  hat, 
came  to  the  wall,  and  I  recognised  the  Emperor  Napoleon  and  the 
famous  Joachim  Murat. 

"  We   are   hardly   pressed,   methinks,"   Napoleon   said   sternly. 


PHIL    FOGARTY  493 

"  I  must  exercise  my  old  trade  as  an  artilleryman ; "  and  Murat 
loaded,  and  the  Emperor  ijointed  the  only  hundred-and-twenty-four- 
pounder  that  had  not  been  silenced  by  our  fire. 

"  Hurray,  Killaloo  boys  !  "  shouted  I.  Tlie  next  moment  a 
sensation  of  numbness  and  death  seized  me,  and  I  lay  like  a  corpse 
upon  the  rampart. 


II 

"  Hush  !  "  said  a  voice,  which  I  recognised  to  be  that  of  the  Marquis 
d'  O'Mahony.  "  Heaven  be  praised,  reason  has  returned  to  you. 
For  six  weeks  those  are  the  only  sane  words  I  have  heard  from  you." 

"  Faix,  and  'tis  thrue  for  you,  Colonel-  dear,"  cried  another  voice, 
with  which  I  was  even  more  familiar  :  'twas  that  of  my  honest  and 
gallant  Lanty  Clancy,  who  was  blubbering  at  my  bedside  overjoyed 
at  his  master's  recovery. 

"  0  musha,  Masther  Phil  agrah  !  but  this  will  be  the  great  day 
intirely,  when  I  send  off  the  news,  which  I  would,  barrin'  I  can't 
write,  to  the  lady  your  mother  and  your  sisters  at  Castle  Fogarty ; 
and  'tis  his  Riv'rence  Father  Luke  will  jump  for  joy  thin,  when  he 
reads  the  letther  !  Six  weeks  ravin'  and  roarin'  as  bould  as  a  lion, 
and  as  mad  as  Mick  Malony's  pig,  that  mistuck  Mick's  wig  for  a 
cabbage,  and  died  of  atin'  it !  " 

"  And  have  I  then  lost  my  senses  ? "  I  exclaimed  feebly. 

"  Sure,  didn't  ye  call  me  your  beautiful  Donna  Anna  only 
yesterday,  and  catch  hould  of  me  whiskers  as  if  they  were  the 
Signora's  jet-black  ringlets  1 "  Lanty  cried. 

At  this  moment,  and  blushing  deeply,  the  most  beautiful 
young  creature  I  ever  set  my  eyes  upon  rose  from  a  chair  at  the 
foot  of  the  bed,  and  sailed  out  of  the  room. 

"  Confusion,  you  blundering  rogue,"  I  cried ;  "  who  is  that 
lovely  lady  whom  you  frightened  away  by  your  impertinence  ? 
Donna  Anna  ?     Where  am  I  ? " 

"You  are  in  good  hands,  Philip,"  said  the  Colonel;  "you  are 
at  my  house  in  the  Place  Vendonie,  at  Paris,  of  which  I  am  the 
military  Governor.  You  and  Lanty  were  knocked  down  by  the 
wind  of  the  cannon-ball  at  Burgos.  Do  not  be  ashamed  :  'twas 
the  Emperor  pointed  the  gun  ; "  and  the  Colonel  took  off  his  hat 
as  he  mentioned  the  name  darling  to  France.  "When  our  troops 
returned  from  the  sally  in  whi(,'li  your  gallant  stoi'niing-])ai'ty  was 
driven  back,  you  were  found  on  the  glacis,  and  I  had  you  Itrought 
into  the  City.  Your  reason  had  left  you,  however,  when  you 
returned  to  life ;  but,  unwilling  to  desert  the  sou  of  my  old  friend, 


494  NOVELS    BY    EMINENT    HANDS 

Philip  Fogarty,  who  saved  my  life  in  '98,  I  brought  you  in  my 
cari-iagc  to  Pari.s." 

"  And  many's  tlie  time  you  tried  to  juniij  out  of  the  windy, 
IMasther  Phil,"  said  Clancy. 

''  Brought  you  to  Paris,"  resumed  the  Colonel,  smiling  ;  "  where, 
by  the  soins  of  my  fi'iends  Broussais,  Esquirol,  and  Baron  Larrey, 
you  have  been  restored  to  health,  thank  Heaven  ! " 

"  And  that  lovely  angel  who  quitted  the  apartment  1"  I  cried. 

"That  lovely  angel  is  the  Lady  Blanche  Sarsfield,  my  ward, 
a  descendant  of  the  gallant  Lucan,  and  who  may  be,  when  she 
chooses,  Madame  la  Mar^chale  de  Cambacdrfes,  Duchess  of  lUyria." 

''  Why  did  you  deliver  the  ruffian  when  he  was  in  my  grasp  1 " 
I  cried. 

"Why  did  Lanty  deliver  you  wlien  in  mine'?"  the  Colonel 
replied.  "  C'est  la  fortune  de  la  guerre,  mon  garcon ;  but  calm 
yourself,  and  take  this  potion  which  Blanche  has  prepared  for  you." 

I  drank  the  tisane  eagerly  when  I  heard  whose  fair  hands  liad 
compounded  it,  and  its  effects  were  speedily  beneficial  to  me,  for  I 
sank  into  a  cool  and  refreshing  slumber. 

From  that  day  I  began  to  mend  rapidly,  with  all  the  elasticity 
of  youth's  happy  time.  Blanche  —  the  enchanting  Blanche — 
ministered  henceforth  to  me,  for  I  would  take  no  medicine  but 
from  her  lily  hand.  And  what  were  the  effects'?  'Faith,  ere  a 
month  was  past,  the  patient  was  over  head  and  ears  in  love  with 
the  doctor ;  and  as  for  Baron  Larrey,  and  Broussais,  and  Esquirol, 
they  were  sent  to  the  right-about.  In  a  short  time  I  was  in  a 
situation  to  do  justice  to  the  gir/ot  aux  iiavets,  the  boetif  aux 
cornichons,  and  the  other  delicious  entremets  of  the  Marquis's 
board,  with  an  appetite  that  astonished  some  of  the  Frenchmen 
who  fi^quented  it. 

"  Wait  till  he's  quite  well,  miss,"  said  Lanty,  who  waited 
always  behind  me.  "  'Faith  !  when  he's  in  health,  I'd  back  him 
to  ate  a  cow,  barrin'  the  horns  and  teel."  I  sent  a  decanter  at 
the  rogue's  head,  by  way  of  answer  to  his  impertinence. 

Although  the  disgusting  Cand)acdrfes  did  his  best  to  have  my 
parole  withdrawn  from  me,  and  to  cause  me  to  be  sent  to  the 
English  depot  of  prisoners  at  Verdun,  the  Marquis's  interest  with 
the  Emperor  prevailed,  and  I  was  allowed  to  remain  at  Paris,  the 
happiest  of  prisoners,  at  the  Colonel's  hotel  at  the  Place  Vendome. 
I  here  had  the  opportunity  (an  oppoi-tunity  not  lost,  I  flatter 
myself,  on  a  young  fellow  with  the  accomplishments  of  Philip 
Fogarty,  Esq.)  of  mixing  with  the  elite  of  French  society,  and 
meeting  with  many  of  the  great,  the  beautiful,  and  the  brave. 
Talleyrand  was  a  frcfpient  guest  of  the  Marquis's.     His  bon-mots 


PHIL    FOGARTY  495 

liseil  to  keep  the  taltle  in  a  roar.  'Sey  frequently  took  his  choji 
with  us ;  Murat,  when  in  town,  constantly  dropt  in  for  a  cup  of 
tea  and  friendly  round  game.  Alas  !  wlio  would  have  thought 
those  two  gallant  heads  would  be  so  soon  laid  low  1  My  wife  has 
a  pair  of  earrings  which  the  latter,  who  always  wore  them,  presented 
to  her — but  we  are  advancing  matters.  Anybody  could  see  "  avec 
un  demi-ceil,"  as  the  Prince  of  Benevento  remarked,  how  affairs 
went  between  me  and  Blanche  ;  but  though  she  loathed  him  for 
his  cruelties  and  the  odiousness  of  his  person,  the  brutal  Cambac^r^s 
still  pursued  his  designs  upon  her. 

I  recollect  it  was  on  St.  Patrick's  Day.  My  lovely  friend  had 
procured,  from  the  gardens  of  the  Empress  Josepliiue,  at  Malmaison 
(whom  we  loved  a  thousand  times  more  than  her  Austrian  successor, 
a  sandy-haired  woman,  between  ourselves,  with  an  odious  squint), 
a  quantity  of  shamrock  wherewith  to  garnish  the  hotel,  and  all  the 
Irish  in  Paris  were  invited  to  the  national  festival, 

I'  and  Prince  Talleyrand  danced  a  double  hornpipe  with  Pauline 
Bonaparte  and  Madame  de  Stael ;  Marshal  Soult  went  down  a 
couple  of  sets  with  Madame  Recamier ;  and  Robespierre's  widow — 
an  excellent,  gentle  creature,  quite  unlike  her  husband — stood  up 
with  the  Austrian  ambassador.  Besides,  the  famous  artists  Baron 
Gros,  David,  and  Nicholas  Poussin,  and  Gauova,  who  was  in  town 
making  a  statue  of  the  Emperor  for  Leo  X.,  and,  in  a  word,  all  the 
celebrities  of  Paris — as  my  gifted  countrywoman,  the  Wild  Irish 
Girl,  calls  them — were  assembled  in  the  Marquis's  elegant  receiving- 
rooms. 

At  last  a  great  outcry  was  raised  for  "  La  Gigue  Irlandaise  !  La 
Gigue  Irlandaise!"  a  dance  which  had  made  aftn-eur  amongst  the 
Parisians  ever  since  the  lovely  Blanche  Sarsfield  had  danced  it.  She 
stepped  forward  and  took  me  for  a  partner,  and  amidst  the  bravos 
of  the  crowd,  in  which  stood  Key,  Murat,  Lanues,  the  Prince  of 
Wagram,  and  the  Austrian  ambassador,  we  showed  to  the  htaii, 
monde  of  the  French  capital,  I  flatter  myself,  a  not  unfavonrable 
specimen  of  the  dance  of  our  cofmtry. 

As  I  was  cutting  the  double  shuffle,  and  toe-and-heeling  it  in 
the  "rail"  style,  Blanche  danced  up  to  me,  smiling,  and  said,  "Be 
on  your  guard  ;  I  see  Cambaceres  talking  to  Fouclie,  the  Duke  of 
Otranto,  about  us ;  and  when  Otranto  turns  his  eyes  upon  a  man, 
tliey  bode  him  no  good." 

"  Cambaceres  is  jealous,"  said  I.  "  I  have  it,"  saj^s  she  ;  "  I'll 
make  him  dance  a  turn  with  me."  So,  i)resently,  as  the  music  was 
going  like  mad  all  this  time,  I  pretended  fatigue  from  my  late 
wounds,  and  sat  down.  The  lovely  Blanche  went  up  smiling,  and 
brought  out  Cambac^rfes  as  a  second  partner. 


4-96     NOVELS  BY  EMINENT  HANDS 

The  Marshal  is  a  lusty  man,  who  makes  desperate  efforts  to 
<,'ive  himself  a  waist,  and  the  effect  of  the  exercise  upon  him  was 
speedily  visible.  He  puffed  and  snorted  like  a  walrus,  drops  trickled 
down  his  purple  face,  while  my  lovely  mischief  of  a  Blanche  went 
on  dancinij;  at  treble  quick,  till  she  fairly  danced  him  down. 

"Who'll  take  the  tlure  with  meV  said  the  charming  girl, 
animated  by  the  sport. 

"  Faix,  den,  'tis  I,  Lanty  Clancy  ! "  cried  my  rascal,  who  had 
been  mad  with  ex(dtement  at  the  scene;  and,  stepping  in  with  a 
wlioop  and  a  hurroo,  he  began  to  dance  witli  such  rapidity  as  made 
all  present  stare. 

As  the  coui)le  were  footing  it,  there  was  a  noise  as  of  a  rapid 
cavalcade  traversing  the  Pla(!e  Vendome,  and  stopping  at  the 
Marquis's  door.  A  crowd  appeared  to  mount  the  stair ;  the  great 
doors  of  the  reception-room  were  flung  open,  and  two  pages  an- 
nounced their  Majesties  the  Emperor  and  the  Empress.  So  engaged 
were  Lanty  and  Blanche,  that  they  never  heard  the  tumult  occa- 
sioned by  the  august  approach. 

It  was  indeed  the  Emperor,  who,  returning  from  the  Theatre 
Franc^^ais,  and  seeing  the  Marquis's  windows  lighted  up,  projjijsed 
to  the  Empress  to  drop  in  on  the  party.  He  made  signs  to  the 
musicians  to  continue  :  and  the  concpieror  of  Marengo  and  Friedland 
watclied  with  interest  the  simple  evolutions  of  two  happy  Irisli 
people.  Even  the  Empress  smiled ;  and,  seeing  this,  all  the 
courtiers,  including  Naples  and  Talleyrand,  were  delighted. 

"  Is  not  this  a  great  day  for  Ireland  1 "  said  the  Marquis,  with 
a  tear  trickling  down  his  noble  face.  "  0  Ireland  !  0  my  country  ! 
But  no  more  of  that.  Go  up,  Phil  you  divvle,  and  offer  her 
Majesty  the  choice  of  punch  or  negus." 

Among  the  young  fellows  with  whom  I  was  most  intimate  in 
Paris  was  Eugene  Beauharnais,  the  son  of  the  ill-used  and  unhai)py 
Josephine  by  her  former  marriage  with  a  French  gentleman  of  good, 
family.  Having  a  smack  of  the  old  blood  in  him,  Eugene's  manners 
were  much  more  refined  than  those  of  the  new-fangled  dignitaries 
of  the  Emperor's  Court,  where  (for  luy  knife  and  fork  were  regularly 
laid  at  tlie  Tuileries)  I  have  seen  my  poor  friend  Murat  repeatedly 
nustake  a  fork  for  a  toothpick,  and  the  gallant  Massena  devour 
l»eas  by  means  of  his  knife,  in  a  way  more  innocent  than  graceful. 
Talleyrand,  Eugene,  and  I  used  often  to  laugh  at  these  eccentricities 
of  our  brave  friends  ;  who  certainly  did  not  shine  in  tiie  drawing- 
room,  however  brilliant  they  "were  on  the  field  of  battle.  Tlie 
Euqteror  always  asked  me  to  take  wine  with  him,  and  was  full  of 
kindness  and  attention. 

"I  like  Eugene,"  he  would  say,  pinching  my  ear  confidentially, 


PHIL    FOGARTY  497 

as  his  AVay  was — " I  like  Eugene  to  keep  company  with  such  young 
fellows  as  you :  you  have  manners ;  you  have  principles ;  my 
rogues  from  the  camp  have  none.  And  I  like  you,  Philip,  my  boy," 
he  added,  "for  being  so  attentive  to  my  poor  wife — the  Empress 
Josephine,  I  mean."  All  these  honours  made  my  friends  at  the 
Marquis's  very  proud,  and  mf  enemies  at  Court  crever  with  envy. 
Among  these,  the  atrocious  Cambacer^s  was  not  the  least  active 
and  envenome<l. 

The  cause  of  the  many  attentions  which  were  paid  to  me,  and 
which,  like  a  vain  coxcomb,  I  had  chosen  to  attrilnite  to  my  own 
personal  amiability,  soon  was  apparent.  Having  formed  a  good 
opinion  of  my  gallantry  from  my  conduct  in  various  actions  and 
forlorn  hopes  during  the  war,  the  Emperor  was  most  anxious  to 
attach  me  to  his  service!  The  Grand  Cross  of  St.  Louis,  the  title 
of  Count,  the  command  of  a  crack  cavalry  regiment,  the  14me 
Chevaux  Marins,  were  the  bribes  that  were  actually  offered  to  me ; 
and  must  I  say  it  ]  Blanche,  the  lovely,  the  perfidious  Blanche,  was 
one  of  the  agents  employed  to  tempt  me  to  commit  this  act  of  treason. 

"  Object  to  enter  a  foreign  service  ! "  she  said,  in  reply  to  my 
refusal.  "  It  is  you,  Philip,  who  are  in  a  foreign  service.  The 
Irish  nation  is  in  exile,  and  in  the  territories  of  its  French  allies. 
Irish  traitors  are  not  here ;  they  march  alone  under  the  accursed 
flag  of  the  Saxon,  whom  the  great  Napoleon  would  have  swept 
from  the  face  of  the  earth,  but  for  the  fatal  valour  of  Irish  mer- 
cenaries !  Accept  this  offer,  and  my  heart,  my  hand,  my  all  are 
yours.     Picfuse  it,  Philip,  and  we  part." 

"  To  wed  the  abominable  Cambacdres  !  "  I  cried,  stung  with 
rage.  "  To  wear  a  duchess's  coronet,  Blanche  !  Ha,  ha !  Mush- 
rooms, instead  of  strawberry-leaves,  should  decorate  the  brows  of 
the  upstart  French  nobility.  I  shall  withdraw  my  parole.  I 
demand  to  be  sent  to  prison — to  be  exchanged — to  die — anything 
rather  than  be  a  traitor,  "and  the  tool  of  a  traitress  !  "  Taking  up 
my  hat,  I  left  the  room  in  a  fury ;  and  flinging  open  the  door 
tumbled  over  Cambaceres,  who  was  listening  at  the  keyhole,  and 
must  have  overheard  every  word  of  our  conversation. 

We  tumbled  over  each  other,  as  Blanche  was  shrieking  with 
laughter  at  our  mutual  discomfiture.  Her  scorn  only  made  me  more 
mad  ;  and,  having  s[)ur3  on,  I  began  digging  them  into  Cambac^rfes's 
fat  sides  as  we  rolled  on  the  carpet,  until  the  Marshal  howled  with 
rage  and  anger. 

"  Tliis  insult  must  be  avenged  witii  blood  !  "  roared  the  Duke  of 
lUyria. 

"  I  have  already  drawn  it,"  says  I,  "  with  my  spurs." 

"  Malheur  et  malediction  !  "  roared  the  Marshal. 


"498     NOVELS  BY  EMINENT  HANDS 

" Hadn't  you  better  settle  your  wig"  says  I,  oftering  it  to  liiin 
on  the  tip  of  my  cane,  "  and  we'll  arrange  time  and  place  when  you 
have  put  your  jasey  in  order."  I  shall  n(;ver  forget  the  look  of 
revenge  which  he  cast  at  nie,  as  I  was  tluis  turning  him  into  ridicule 
before  his  mistress. 

"  Lady  Blanche,"  I  continued  bitterly,  "  as  you  look  to  share 
tlie  Duke's  coronet,  hadn't  you  better  see  to  his  wig?"  and  so  saying, 
I  cocked  my  hat,  and  walked  out  of  the  Marquis's  place,  whistling 
"  Garryowcn." 

I  knew  my  man  would  not  be  long  in  following  me,  and  waited 
for  him  in  the  Place  Vcndome,  where  I  luckily  met  Eugene  too, 
who  was  looking  at  the  i)icture-shop  in  the  corner.  I  exi)lained 
to  him  my  aftair  in  a  twinkling.  He  at  once  agreed  to  go  with 
me  to  the  ground,  ami  commended  me,  rather  than  otherwise,  for 
refusing  the  ofter  which  had  been  made  to  me.  "  I  knew  it  would 
be  so,"  he  said  kindly  ;  "  I  told  my  father  you  wouldn't.  A  man 
with  the  blood  of  the  Fogarties,  Phil,  my  boy,  doesn't  wheel  about 
like  those  felloAvs  of  yesterday."  So,  when  Cambacdrfes  came  out, 
which  he  did  i)resently,  with  a  more  furious  air  tlian  before,  I 
handed  him  at  once  over  to  Eugene,  who  begged  him  to  name  a 
friend,  and  an  early  hour  for  the  meeting  to  take  place. 

"Can  you  make  it  before  eleven,  Phil?"  said  Beauharnais. 
"  The  Emperor  reviews  the  troops  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne  at  that 
hour,  and  we  miglit  fight  there  handy  before  the  review." 

"Done!"  said  I.  "I  want  of  all  things  to  *see  the  newly- 
arrived  Saxon  cavalry  manoeuvre  : "  on  which  Cambac^rfes,  giving 
me  a  look,  as  nuich  as  to  say,  "  See  sights !  Watch  cavalry 
manoeuvres !  Make  your  soid,  and  take  measure  for  a  coffin,  my 
boy ! "  walked  away,  naming  our  mutual  acquaintance,  Marshal 
Ney,  to  Eugfene,  as  his  second  in  the  business. 

I  had  ]3urchased  from  Murat  a  very  fine  Irish  horse.  Bugaboo, 
out  of  Smithereens,  by  Fadladeen,  which  ran  into  the  French  ranks 
at  Salamanca,  with  poor  .Jack  Clonakilty,  of  the  13tli,  dead,  on  the 
top  of  him.  Bugaboo  was  much  too  ugly  an  animal  for  the  King 
of  Naples,  who,  though  a  showy  horseman,  was  a  bad  rider  across 
country ;  and  I  got  the  horse  for  a  song.  A  wickeder  and  uglier 
brute  never  wore  pigskin ;  and  I  never  put  my  leg  over  such  a 
timber-jumper  in  my  life.  I  rode  the  horse  down  to  the  Bois  de 
Boulogne  on  the  morning  that  the  aftair  with  Cambact^res  was  to 
come  oft",  and  Lanty  held  him  as  I  went  in,  "sure  to  win,"  as  they 
say  in  the  ring. 

Cambacdrfes  was  known  to  be  the  best  shot  in  the  French  army; 
but  I,  who  am  a  pretty  good  hand  at  a  snijje,  thought  a  man  was 
bigger ;  and  that  I  could  wing  him  if  I  had  a  mind.     As  soon  as 


PHIL    FOGARTY  499 

Ney  gave  the  word,  we  both  fired  :  I  felt  a  whizz  past  my  left  ear, 
and  putting  up  my  hand  there,  found  a  large  piece  of  my  whiskers 
gone ;  whereas  at  the  same  moment,  and  shrieking  a  horrible  male- 
diction, my  adversary  reeled  and  fell. 

"  Mon  Dieu,  il  est  mort !  "  cried  Ney. 

"  Pas  du  tout,"  said  Beauharflais.     "  Ecoute  ;  il  jure  toujours." 

And  sucli,  indeed,  was  the  fact :  the  supposed  dead  man  lay  on 
the  ground  cursing  most  frightfully.  We  went  up  to  him  :  he  was 
blind  with  the  loss  of  blood,  and  my  ball  had  carried  off  the  bridge 
of  his  nose.  He  recovered ;  but  he  was  always  called  the  Prince 
of  Ponterotto  in  the  French  army  afterwards.  The  surgeon  in 
attendance  having  taken  charge  of  tliis  unfortunate  warrior,  we  rode 
off  to  the  review,  where  Ney  and  Eugene  were  on  duty  at  the  head 
of  their  respective  divisions ;  and  where,  by  the  way,  Cambacdres, 
as  the  French  say,  "se  faisait  d^sirer." 

It  was  arranged  that  Cambacdrfes's  division  of  six  battalions  and 
nine-and-twenty  squadrons  should  execute  a  ricochet  movement, 
supported  by  artillery  in  tlie  intervals,  and  converging  by  dif- 
ferent epauleinents  on  the  light  infantry,  that  formed,  as  usual, 
the  centre  of  the  line.  It  was  by  this  famous  manoeuvre  that 
at  Areola,  at  Montenotte,  at  Friedland,  and  subsequently  at 
Mazagran,  Suwaroff,  Prince  Charles,  and  General  Castanos  were 
defeated  with  such  victorious  slaughter;  but  it  is  a  movement 
which,  I  need  not  tell  every  military  man,  requires  the  greatest 
delicacy  of  execution,  and  which,  if  it  fails,  plunges  an  army 
into  confusion. 

"Where  is  the  Duke  of  Illyria?"  Napoleon  asked.  "At  the 
head  of  his  division,  no  doubt,"  said  Murat :  at  which  Eugene, 
giving  me  an  arch  look,  put  his  hand  to  his  nose,  and  caused  me 
almost  to  fall  off"  my  horse  with  laughter.  Napoleon  looked  sternly 
at  me  ;  but  at  this,  moment  the  troops  getting  in  motion,  the  cele- 
brated mana'uvre  began,  and  his  Majesty's  attention  was  taken  off 
from  my  impudence. 

Milhaud's  Dragoons,  their  bands  playing  "Vive  Henri  Quatre," 
their  cuirasses  gleaming  in  the  sunshine,  moved  upon  their  own 
centre  from  the  left  flank  in  the  most  brilliant  order,  while  the 
Carbineers  of  Foy,  and  the  Grenadiers  of  the  Guard  under  Drouet 
d'Erlon,  executed  a  carambolade  on  the  right,  with  the  precision 
which  became  those  veteran  troops  ;  liut  the  Cliasseurs  of  the  young 
guard,  inarching  by  twos  instead  of  threes,  liore  conseijuently  upon 
the  Bavarian  Uhlans  (an  ill-disciplined  and  ill-affected  body),  and 
these,  falling  back  in  disorder,  became  entangled  with  the  artilleiy 
and  the  left  centre  of  the  line,  and  in  one  instant  thirty  thousand 
men  were  in  inextricable  confusion, 
2  M 


',00      NOVELS  BY  EMINENT  HANDS 

"  Clubbed,  by  Jabers  ! "  roared  out  Laiity  CJlaucy.  "  I  wish  we 
ciiuld  show  'em  the  Fighting  Onety-onetli,  Cui)taiii  darling." 

"  SiUiuce,  fellow  !  "  I  exclaimed.  I  never  saw  the  face  of  man 
express  passion  so  vividly  as  now  did  the  livid  countenance  of 
Napoleon.  He  tore  off  General  Milhaud's  epaulettes,  whi("li  lie 
Hung  into  Foy's  face.  He  glared  about  liim  wildly,  like  a  demon, 
and  shouted  hoarsely  for  the  Duke  of  Illyria.  "  He  is  wounded, 
sire,"  said  General  Foy,  wiping  a  tear  from  his  eye,  which  was 
blackened  by  the  force  of  the  blow ;  "  he  was  wounded  an  hour 
since  in  a  duel,  sire,  by  a  young  English  ]»risoner.  Monsieur  de 
Fogarty." 

"  Wounded  !  a  Marshal  of  France  wounded  !  Where  is  the 
Englishman  *?     Bring  him  out,  and  let  a  tile  of  grenadiers " 

"  Sire  !  "  interposed  Eugene. 

"  Let  him  be  shot ! "  shrieked  the  Emperor,  shaking  his  spy- 
glass at  me  with  the  fury  of  a  fiend. 

This  was  too  much.      "  Here  goes,"  said  I,  and  rode  slap  at  him. 

There  was  a  shriek  of  terror  from  the  whole  of  the  French 
army,  and  I  should  think  at  least  forty  thousand  guns  were  levelled 
at  me  in  an  instant.  But  as  the  muskets  were  not  headed,  and  the 
cannon  had  only  wadding  in  them,  these  facts,  I  presume,  saved 
the  life  of  Phil  Fogarty  from  this  discharge. 

Knowing  my  horse,  I  put  him  at  tlie  Emperor's  head,  and  Bugaboo 
went  at  it  like  a  shot.  He  was  riding  his  famous  white  Arab,  and 
turned  quite  pale  as  I  came  up  and  went  over  the  horse  and  the 
Emperor,  scarcely  brushing  the  cockade  which  he  wore. 

"  Bravo  !  "  said  Murat,  bursting  into  enthusiasm  at  the  leap. 

"  Cut  him  down  !  "  said  Si^yfes,  once  an  Abb^,  but  now  a  gigantic 
Cuirassier ;  and  he  made  a  pass  at  me  with  his  sword.  But  he 
little  knew  an  Lishman  on  an  Irish  horse.  Bugaboo  cleared  Sidyfes, 
and  fetched  the  monster  a  slap  with  his  near  hi-nd  hoof  which  sent 
him  reeling  from  his  saddle, — and  away  I  went,  with  an  army  of 
a  hundred  and  seventy-three  thousand  eight  hundred  men  at  my 
heels.  .  .  . 


BARBAZURE 
By  G.  p.  R.  Jeames,  Esq.,  etc. 


IT  was  upon  one  of  those  balmy  evenings  of  November  which  are 
only  known  in  the  valleys  of  Langiiedoc  and  among  the  mountains 
of  Alsace,  that  two  cavaliers  might  have  been  perceived  by  the 
naked  eye  threading  one  of  the  rocky  and  romantic  gorges  that  skirt 
the  mountain-land  between  the  Marne  and  the  Garonne.  The  rosy 
tints  of  the  declining  luminary  were  gilding  the  peaks  and  crags 
wliich  lined  the  path,  through  which  the  horsemen  wound  slowly ; 
and  as  these  eternal  battlements  with  which  Nature  had  hemmed 
in  the  ravine  which  our  travellers  trod,  blushed  with  the  last  tints 
of  the  fading  sunlight,  the  valley  below  was  grey  and  darkling,  and 
the  hard  and  devious  course  was  sombre  in  twilight.  A  few  goats, 
hardly  visible  among  the  peaks,  were  cropping  the  scanty  herbage 
here  and  there.  The  pipes  of  shejiherds,  calling  in  their  flocks  as 
they  trooped  homewards  to  their  mountain  villages,  sent  up  plaintive 
echoes  which  moaned  through  those  rocky  and  lonely  steeps ;  the 
stars  began  to  glimmer  in  the  purine  heavens  spread  serenely  over- 
head ;  and  the  faint  crescent  or  the  moon,  which  had  peered  for  some 
time  scarce  visible  in  the  azure,  gleamed  out  more  brilliantly  at  every 
moment,  until  it  blazed  as  if  in  triumph  at  the  sun's  retreat.  'Tis 
a  fair  land  that  of  France,  a  gentle,  a  green,  and  a  beautiful;  the 
home  of  arts  and  arms,  of  chivalry  and  romance,  and  (however  sadly 
stained  by  the  excesses  of  modern  times)  'twas  the  unbought  grace  of 
nations  once,  and  the  seat  of  ancient  renown  and  disciplined  valour. 
And  of  all  that  fair  land  of  France,  whose  beauty  is  so  bright 
and  bravery  is  so  famous,  there  is  no  spot  greener  or  fairer  than 
that  one  over  which  our  travellers  wended,  and  which  stretches 
between  the  good  towns  of  Vendemiaire  and  Niv(jse.  'Tis  common 
now  to  a  hundred  thousand  voyagers  :  the  English  tourist,  with  his 
chariot  and  his  Harvey's  Sauce,  and  his  imperials ;  the  bustling 
commis-voi/af/eur  on  the  roof  of  the  rumbling  diligence ;  the  rapid 
malle^oste  thundering  over  the  chaussee  at  twelve  miles  an  hour — 
pass  the  ground   hourly  and  daily  now  :   'twas  lonely  and   unfre- 


502     NOVELS  BY  EMINENT  HANDS 

quented   at   the   end  of  that  seventeenth  century  with  which  our 
story  coninaences. 

Along  the  darkening  mountain-paths  the  two  gentlemen  (for 
such  their  outward  l)earing  proclaimed  them)  caracolled  together. 
The  one,  seemingly  the  yoiuiger  of  the  twain,  wore  a  Haunting 
feather  in  his  barret-cap,  and  managed  a  prancMug  Andalusian  palfrey 
that  bounded  and  curvetted  gaily.  A  surcoat  of  peach-coloured 
samite  and  a  purtied  doublet  of  vair  bespoke  him  noble,  as  did  his 
brilliant  eye,  his  exquisitely  chiselled  nose,  and  his  curling  chestnut 
ringlets. 

Youth  was  on  his  brow ;  his  eyes  were  dark  and  dewy,  like 
spring  violets ;  and  spring  roses  bloomed  upon  his  cheek — roses, 
alas  !  that  bloom  and  die  with  life's  spring  !  Now  bounding  over  a 
rock,  now  ])layfully  whisking  off  with  his  riding  rod  a  floweret  in 
his  path,  Philibert  de  Coquelicot  rode  by  his  darker  companion. 

His  comrade  was  mounted  upon  a  destriere  of  the  true  Norman 
breed,  that  had  first  champed  grass  on  the  green  pastures  of  Aqui- 
taine.  Thence  through  Berry,  Picardy,  and  the  Limousin,  halting 
at  many  a  city  and  commune,  holding  joust  and  tourney  in  many  a 
castle  and  manor  of  Navarre,  Poitou,  and  St.  Germain  I'Auxerrois, 
the  warrior  and  his  charger  reached  the  lonely  spot  where  now  we 
find  them. 

The  warrior  who  bestrode  the  noble  beast  was  in  sooth  worthy 
of  the  steed  which  bore  him.  Both  were  caparisoned  in  the  fullest 
trapi)ings  of  feudal  war.  The  arblast,  the  mangonel,  the  demi- 
culverin,  and  the  cuissart,  of  the  period,  glittered  upon  the  neck  and 
chest  of  the  war-steed  ;  while  the  rider,  with  chamfron  and  catapult, 
with  ban  and  arriere-ban,  morion  and  tumbrel,  battle-axe  and  rifflard, 
and  the  other  appurtenances  of  ancient  chivalry,  rode  stately  on  his 
steel-clad  charger,  himself  a  tower  of  steel.  This  mighty  horseman, 
was  carried  by  his  steed  as  lightly  as  the  young  springald  by  his 
Andalusian  hackney. 

"  'Twas  well  done  of  thee,  Philibert,"  said  he  of  the  proof-armour, 
"  to  ride  forth  so  far  to  welcome  thy  cousin  and  companion  in  arms." 

"  Comijanion  in  battledore  and  shuttlecock,  Romand  de  Clos- 
Vougeot ! "  replied  the  younger  Cavalier.  "  When  I  was  yet  a 
page,  thou  wert  a  belted  knight ;  and  thou  wert  away  to  the 
Crusades  ere  ever  my  beard  grew." 

"  I  stood  by  Richard  of  England  at  the  gates  of  Ascalon,  and 
drew  the  spear  from  sainted  King  Louis  in  the  tents  of  Damietta," 
the  individual  addressed  as  Roman^  replied.  "  Well-a-day !  since 
thy  beard  grew,  boy  (and  marry  'tis  yet  a  thin  one),  I  have  broken 
a  lance  with  Solyman  at  Rhodes,  and  smoked  a  chibouque  with 
Saladin  at  Acre.     But  enough  of  this.     Tell  me  of  home — of  our 


BARBAZURE  .  503 

native  valley — of  my  hearth,  and  my  lady-mother,  and  my  good 
chaplain — tell  me  of  her,  Philibert,"  said  the  knight,  executing  a 
demivolte,  in  order  to  hide  his  emotion. 

Philibert  seemed  uneasy,  and  to  strive  as  though  he  would  parry 
the  question.  "The  castle  stantl^  on  the  rock,"  lie  said,  "and  the 
swallows  still  build  in  the  battlements.  The  good  chaplain  still 
chants  his  vespers  at  morn,  and  snuffles  his  matins  at  even-song. 
The  lady-mother  still  distributeth  tracts,  and  knitteth  Berlin  linsey- 
woolsey.  The  tenants  pay  no  better,  and  the  lawyers  dun  as  sorely, 
kinsman  mine,"  he  added  with  an  arch  look. 

"  But  Fatima,  Fatima,  how  fares  she  ? "  Romand  continued. 
"  Since  Lammas  was  a  twelvemonth,  I  hear  nought  of  her ;  my 
letters  are  unanswered.  The  postman  hath  traversed  our  camp 
every  day,  and  never  brought  me  a  billet.  How  is  Fatima,  Phili- 
bert de  Coquelicot  % " 

"  She  is — well,"  Philibert  rejilied ;  "  her  sister  Anne  is  the 
fairest  of  the  twain,  though." 

"  Her  sister  Anne  was  a  baby  when  I  endiarked  for  Egypt.  A 
plague  on  sister  Anne  !  Speak  of  Fatima,  Philibert — my  blue-eyed 
Fatima ! " 

"  I  say  she  is — well,"  answered  his  comrade  gloomily. 

"Is  she  dead?  Is  she  ill?  Hath  she  the  measles?  Nay, 
hath  she  had  smallpox,  and  lost  her  beauty  ?  Speak !  speak, 
boy  !  "  cried  the  knight,  wrought  to  agony. 

"  Her  cheek  is  as  red  as  her  mother's,  though  the  old  Countess 
■paints  hers  every  day.  Her  foot  is  as  light  as  a  sparrow's,  and  her 
voice  as  sweet  as  a  minstrel's  dulcimer ;  but  give  me  nathless  the 
Lady  Anne,"  cried  Philibert;  "give  me  the  peerless  Lady  Anne! 
As  soon  as  ever  I  have  won  s])urs,  I  will  ride  all  Christendom 
through,  and  proclaim  her  the  Queen  of  Beauty.  Ho,  Lady  Anne  ! 
Lady  Anne  ! "  and  so  saying — but  evidently  wishing  to  disguise 
some  emotion,  or  conceal  some  tale  his  friend  could  ill  brook  to  hear 
— the  reckless  damoiseau  galloped  wildly  forward. 

But  swift  as  was  his  courser's  pace,  that  of  his  companion's 
enormous  charger  was  swifter.  "Boy,"  said  the  elder,  "thou 
hast  ill  tidings.  I  know  it  by  thy  glance.  Speak :  shall  he 
who  hath  bearded  grim  Death  in  a  thousand  fields  shame  to  face 
truth  from  a  friend?  Speak,  in  the  name  of  Heaven  and  good 
Siiint  Botibol.  Roniand  de  Clos-Vougeot  will  bear  your  tidings 
like  a  man  !  " 

"Fatima  is  well,''  answered  Philibert  once  again;  "she  hath 
had  no  measles  :  she  lives  and  is  still  fair." 

"  Fair,  ay,  peerless  fair  ;  but  what  more,  Philibert,?  Not  false? 
By  Saint  Botibol,  say  not  false,"  groaned  the  elder  warrior. 


504  NOVPLS    BY    EMINENT    HANDS 

"A  montli  sync,"  Philibort  replied,  "she  iiKiiricd  the  Baron  de 
Barbazure." 

With  that  scream  wliieh  is  so  terrilile  in  a  sti'ong  man  in  agony, 
the  brave  kniglit  Koniane  de  Clos-Vougeot  sank  ])ack  ;)>t  the  words, 
and  fell  ti'oni  his  charger  to  the  ground,  a  lifeless  mass  of  steel. 


II 

Like  many  another  fabric  of  feudal  war  and  splendour,  the  once 
vast  and  magnificent  Castle  of  Barbazure  is  now  a  moss-grown 
ruin.  The  traveller  of  the  present  day,  who  wanders  by  the 
banks  of  the  silvery  Loire,  and  climbs  the  steep  on  which  the 
magnificent  edifice  stood,  can  scarcely  trace,  among  the  shattered 
masses  of  ivy-covered  masonry  which  lie  among  the  lonely  crags, 
even  the  skeleton  of  the  proud  and  majestic  palace  stronghold  of 
the  Barons  of  Barbazure. 

In  the  days  of  our  tale  its  turrets  and  pinnacles  rose  as  stately, 
and  seemed  (to  the  pride  of  sinful  man  !)  as  strong  as  the  eternal 
rrtcks  on  which  they  stood.  The  three  mullets  on  a  gules  wavy 
reversed,  surmounted  by  the  sinople  couchant  or,  the  well-known 
cognisance  of  the  house,  blazed  in  gorgeous  heraldry  on  a  hundred 
banners,  surmounting  as  many  towers.  The  long  lines  of  battle- 
mented  walls  spread  down  the  mountain  to  the  Loire,  and  were 
defended  by  thousands  of  steel-clad  serving-men.  Four  hundred 
knights  and  six  times  as  many  archers  fought  round  the  banner  of 
Barljazure  at  Bouvines,  Malplaquet,  and  Azincour.  For  his  services 
at  Fcjntenoy  against  the  English,  the  heroic  Charles  Martel  appointed 
the  fourteenth  Baron  Hereditary  Grand  Bootjack  of  the  kingdom  of 
France  ;  and  for  wealth,  and  for  splendour,  and  for  skill  and  fame 
in  war,  Raoul,  the  twenty-eighth  Baron,  was  in  nowise  inferior  to 
his  noble  ancestors. 

That  the  Baron  Raoul  levied  toll  u])on  the  river  and  mail  upon 
the  shore ;  that  he  now  and  then  ransomed  a  burgher,  plundered  a 
neighbour,  or  drew  the  fangs  of  a  Jew  ;  that  he  burned  an  enemy's 
castle  with  the  wife  and  children  within ; — these  were  points  for 
which  the  country  knew  and  respected  the  stout  Baron.  When  he 
returned  from  victory,  ,he  was  sure  to  endow  the  Church  with  a 
part  of  liis  spoil,  so  that  when  he  went  fortli  to  battle  he  was  always 
accompanied  by  her  blessing.  Thus  lived  the  Baron  Raoul,  the 
pride  of  the  country  in  which  he  dwelt,  an  ornament  t(j  the  Court, 
the  Church,  and  his  neighbours. 

But  in  the  midst  of  all  his  power  and  splendour  tliere  was  a 


BARB  AZURE  50r. 

domestic  grief  which  deeply  nfllicted  the  princely  Barbazurc.  His 
lovely  ladies  died  one  after  the  other.  No  sooner  was  he  married 
than  he  was  a  widower  ;  in  the  course  of  eighteen  years  no  less 
than  nine  bereavements  had  befallen  the  (chieftain.  So  true  it  is, 
that  if  fortune  is  a  parasite,  grief  is  a  republican,  and  visits  the 
hall  of  the  great  and  wealthy  as  it  does  the  humbler  tenements 
of  the  poor. 

"  Leave  off  deploring  thy  faithless  gad-about  lover,"  said  the 
Lady  of  Chacabacque  to  her  daughter,  the  lovely  Fatima,  "  and 
think  how  the  noble  Barbazure  loves  thee  !  Of  all  the  damsels 
at  the  ball  last  night,  he  had  ^es  for  thee  and  thy  cousin 
only." 

"  I  am  sure  my  cousin  hath  no  good  looks  to  be  proud  of !  "  the 
admirable  Fatima  exclaimed,  bridling  up.  "  Not  that  /  care  for 
ray  Lord  of  Barbazure's  looks.  2Iy  heart,  dearest  mother,  is  with 
him  who  is  far  away  !  " 

"  He  danced  with  thee  four  galliards,  nine  quadrilles,  and 
twenty-three  corantos,  I  think,  child,"  the  mother  said,  eluding  her 
daughter's  remark. 

"  Twenty-five,"  said  lovely  Fatima,  casting  her  beautiful  eyes 
to  the  ground.  "Heigh-ho;  but  Romane  danced  them  very 
well ! " 

"  He  had  not  the  Court  air,"  the  mother  suggested. 

"  I  don't  wish  to  deny  the  beauty  of  the  Lord  of  Barbazure's 
dancing,  mamma,"  Fatima  replied.  "  For  a  short  lusty  man,  'tis 
wondrous  how  active  he  is ;  and  in  dignity  the  King's  Grace  himself 
could  not  surpass  him." 

"  You  were  the  noblest  couple  in  the  room,  love,"  the  lady 
cried. 

"  That  pea-green  doublet,  slashed  with  orange  tawny,  those 
ostrich  i)lumes,  blue,  red,  and  yellow,  those  parti-coloured  hose  and 
pink  shoon,  became  the  noble  Baron  Avondrous  well,"  Fatima 
acknowledged.  "  It  must  be  confessed  that,  though  middle-aged, 
he  hath  all  the  agility  of  youth.  But  alas,  madam  !  The  noble 
Baron  hath  had  nine  wives  already." 

'•  And  your  cousin  would  give  her  eyes  to  become  the  tenth," 
the  mother  replied. 

"  My  cousin  give  her  eyes  ! "  Fatima  exclaimed.  "  It's  not 
much,  I'm  sure,  for  she  squints  abomhiably."  And  thus  the  ladies 
prattled,  as  they  rode  home  at  night  after  the  great  ball  at  the 
house  of  the  Baron  of  Barbazure. 

The  gentle  reader,  who  has  overheard  their  talk,  will  understand 
the  doubts  which  i)ervaded  the  mind  of  the  lovely  Fatima,  and  the 


.506      NOVELS  BY  EMINENT  HANDS 

woll-nurtiirod  English  maiden  will  participate  in  the  divided  feelings 
whicli  rent  lier  bosom.  'Tis  true,  that  on  his  departure  for  the  holy 
wars,  Roniane  and  Fatinia  were  plighted  to  each  other ;  but  the 
lolly  of  long  engagements  is  proverbial  ;  and  though  for  many  months 
the  faithful  and  affectionate  girl  had  looked  in  vain  for  news  from 
him,  her  admirable  i)arents  had  long  spoken  with  repugnance  of  a 
match  which  must  bring  inevitable  poverty  to  both  parties.  They 
had  suffered,  'tis  true,  the  engagement  to  subsist,  hostile  as  they 
ever  were  to  it ;  but  when  on  the  death  of  the  ninth  lady  of  Bar- 
bazure,  the  noble  Baron  remarked  Fatima  at  the  funeral,  and  rode 
home  with  her  after  the  ceremony,  her  prudent  parents  saw  how 
much  wiser,  better,  happier  for  their  child  it  would  be  to  have  for 
life  a  partner  like  the  Baron,  than  to  wait  the  doubtful  return  of 
the  penniless  wanderer  to  whom  she  was  plighted. 

Ah  !  how  beautiful  and  j)ure  a  being !  how  regardless  of  self ! 
how  true  to  duty  !  how  obedient  to  parental  command  !  is  that 
earthly  angel,  a  well-bred  woman  of  genteel  family  !  Instead  of 
indulging  in  splenetic  refusals  or  vain  regrets  for  her  absent  lover, 
the  exemplary  Fatima  at  once  signified  to  her  excellent  parents 
her  willingness  to  obey  their  orders ;  though  she  liad  sorrows  (and 
she  declared  tliem  to  be  tremendous),  the  admirable  being  disguised 
them  so  well,  that  none  knew  they  oppressed  her.  She  said  she 
would  try  to  forget  former  ties,  and  (so  strong  in  her  mind  was 
(hit;/  above  every  other  feeling ! — so  strong  may  it  be  in  every 
British  maiden  !)  the  lovely  girl  kept  her  prdmise.  "  My  former 
engagements,"  she  said,  packing  up  Romany's  letters  and  i)resents 
(which,  as  the  good  knight  was  mortal  poor,  were  in  soof:h  of  no 
great  price) — "  my  former  engagements  I  look  upon  as  childish 
follies;  my  affections  are  fixed' where  my  dear  jiarents  graft  them 
— on  the  noble,  the  princely,  the  polite  Barbazure.  'Tis  true  he 
is  not  comely  in  feature,  but  the  chaste  and  well-bred  female  knows 
how  to  despise  the  fleeting  charms  of  form.  'Tis  true  he  is  old; 
but  can  woman  l)e  better  employed  than  in  tending  her  aged  and 
sickly  companion  ?  That  he  has  been  married  is  likewise  certain — • 
but  ah,  my  mother  !  who  knows  not  that  he  must  be  a  good  and 
teniler  husband,  who,  nine  times  wedded,  owns  that  he  cannot  be 
happy  without  another  partner  1 " 

It  was  with  these  admirable  sentiments  the  lovely  Fatima  i)ro- 
])oscd  obedience  to  her  parents'  will,  and  consented  to  I'eceive  the 
magnificent  marriage-gift  presented  to  her  by  her  gallant  bride- 
groom. 


Ill 

The  old  Countess  of  Chacabacque  had  made  a  score  of  vain 
attempts  to  see  her  hapless  daughter.  Ever,  when  she  came, 
the  porters  grinned  at  her  savagely  through  th£  grating  of  the 
portcullis  of  the  vast  embattled  gate  of  the  Castle  of  Barbazure, 
and  rudely  bade  her  begone.  "  The  Lady  of  Barbazure  sees  nobody 
but  her  confessor,  and  keeps  lier  chamber,"  was  the  invariable  reply 
of  the  dogged  functionaries  to  the  entreaties  of  the  agonised  mother. 
And  at  length,  so  furious  was  he  at  her  perpetual  calls  at  his  gate, 
that  the  angry  Lord  of  Barbazure  himself,  who  chanced  to  be  at 
the  postern,  armed  a  crossbow,  and  let  fly  an  arblast  at  the  crup])er 
of  the  lady's  palfrey,  whereon  she  fled  finally,  screaming,  and  in 
terror.  "  I  will  aim  at  tlie  rider  next  time  !  "  howled  the  ferocious 
Baron,  "  and  not  at  the  horse  !  "  And  those  who  knew  his  savage 
nature  and  his  unrivalled  skill  as  a  bowman,  knew  that  he  would 
neither  break  his  knightly  promise  nor  miss  his  aim. 

Since  the  fatal  day  when  the  Grand  Duke  of  Burgundy  gave 
his  famous  passage  of  arms  at  Nantes,  and  all  the  nobles  of  France 
were  present  at  the  joustings,  it  was  remarked  that  the  Barbazure's 
heart  was  changed  towards  his  gentle  and  virtuous  lady. 

For  the  three  first  days  of  that  famous  festival,  the  redoubted 
Baron  of  Baibazui-e  had  kept  the  field  against  all  the  knights  who 
entered.  His  lance  bore  everything  down  before  it.  The  most 
famous  champions  of  Eurojie,  assembled  at  these  joustings,  had 
dropped,  one  by  one,  before  this  tremendous  warrior.  The  prize 
at  the  tourney  was  destined  to  be  his,  and  he  was  to  be  proclaimetl 
bravest  of  the  brave,  as  liis  lady  was  the  fairest  of  the  fair. 

On  the  thinl  day,  however,  as  the  sun  was  declining  over  the 
Vosges,  and  the  shadows  were  lengthening  over  the  plain  where  tlie 
warrior  had  obtained  such  triumphs  ;  -after  having  overcome  two 
hundred  and  thii'teen  knights  of  ditterent  nations,  including  the 
fiery  Dunois,  the  intrepid  Walter  Manny,  the  spotless  Bayard,  and 
the  undaunted  Dugueselin,  as  the  conqueror  sat  still  erect  on  his 
charger,  and  the  nudtitudes  doubted  whether  ever  another  champion 
could  be  found  to  face  him,  three  blasts  of  a  trumpet  were  heard, 
faint  at  first,  but  at  every  moment  ringing  nn)re  clearly,  until  a 
knight  in  pink  armour  rode  into  tlie  lists  with  his  visor  down,  and 
riding  a  trejuendous  dun  charger,  wliich  lie  managed  to  the  admiia- 
tion  of  all  jtreseiit. 

The  heralds  asked  liiiii  his  name  and  (piality. 

"Call  me,"  said  he,  in  a  hollow  voice,  "the  .Jilted  Knight." 
11 


.-.OS      NOVELS  BY  EMINENT  HANDS 

What  was  it  made  tlie  Lady  of  llailiaziire  trciultle  at  his 
{UH'ont.s  ? 

The  kiiiuht  refused  to  tell  lii.s  name  and  qualities  ;  but  the 
eonipanion  who  rode  with  him,  the  young  and  noble  Philibert  de 
(\)(|uelieot,  who  was  known  and  respected  universally  through  the 
jieighbourhood,  gave  a  warranty  for  the  birth  and  noble  degree  of 
tlu!  Jilted  Knight — and  Raoul  de  Barbaziire,  yelling  hoarsely  for  a 
two-hun<b'ed-and-fourteenth  lanee,  shook  the  hugh  weapon  in  the  air 
as  though  it  were  a  reed,  and  prepared  to  encounter  tiie  intruder. 

According  to  the  wont  of  chivalry,  and  to  keep  the  point  of 
the  spear  from  harm,  the  top  of  the  unknown  knight's  lance  was 
shielded  with  a  bung,  which  the  warrior  removed ;  and  galloping 
up  to  Barbazure's  pavilion,  over  which  his  shield  hung,  touched 
that  noble  cognisance  with  the  sharpened  steel.  A  thrill  of  excite- 
ment ran  through  the  assembly  at  this  daring  challenge  to  a  combat 
a  outrance.  "  Hast  thou  confessed.  Sir  Knight  1 "  roared  the  Bar- 
bazure ;  "take  thy  ground  and  look  to  thyself;  for  l)y  Heaven 
thy  last  hour  is  come  !  "  "  Poor  youth,  poor  youth  !  "  sighed  the 
spectators  ;  "  he  has  called  down  his  own  fate."  The  next  minute 
the  signal  was  given,  and  as  the  simoom  across  the  desert,  the 
cataract  down  the  rock,  the  shell  from  the  howitzer,  each  warrior 
rushed  from  his  goal. 

"  Thou  wilt  not  slay  so  good  a  champion  1 "  said  the  Grand 
Duke,  as  at  the  end  of  that  terrific  combat  the  kniglit  in  rose 
armour  stood  over  his  prostrate  foe,  whose  helmet  had  rolled 
off  when  he  was  at  length  unhorsed,  and  whose  bloodshot  eyes 
glared  unutterable  hate  and  ferocity  on  his  conqueror. 

"  Take  thy  life,"  said  he  who  had  styled  himself  the  Jilted 
Knight;  "thou  hast  taken  all  that  was  dear  to  me."  And  the 
sun  setting,  and  no  other  warrior  ai)pearing  to  do  battle  against 
him,  he  was  proclaimed  the  conqueror,  and  rode  up  to  the 
Duchess's  balcony  to  re(,-eive  the  gold  chain  which  was  the  reward 
of  the  victor.  He  raised  his  vizor  as  the  smiling  princess  guerdoned 
him — raised  it,  and  gave  one  sad  look  towards  tlie  Lady  Fatima 
at  her  side  ! 

"  Roman^  de  Clos-Vougeot  !  "  shrieked  she,  and  fainted.  The 
Baron  of  Barbazure  heard  the  name  as  he  writhed  on  the  ground  with 
his  wound,  and  by  his  slighted  honour,  by  his  broken  ribs,  by  his 
roused  fury,  he  swore  revenge  ;  and  the  Lady  Fatima,  avIio  had  come 
to  the  tourney  as  a  (jueen,  returned  to  her  castle  as  a  prisoner. 

(As  it  is  impossible  to  give  the  whole  of  this  remarkable  novel, 
let  it  suffice  to  say  briefly  here,  that  in  about  a  volume  and  a  half, 


BARBAZURE  509 

ill  which  the  descriptiuiis  of  scenery,  the  account  of  the  agonies  of 
the  Baroness,  kejjt  on  l>read  and  water  in  lier  dungeon,  and  the 
general  tone  of  morahty,  are  all  excellently  worked  out,  the  Baron 
de  Barbazure  resolves  upon  putting  his  wife  to  deatii  by  the  hands 
of  the  public  executioner.) 

Two  minutes  before  the  clock  struck  noon,  the  savage  Baron 
was  on  the  platform  to  inspect  the  i>reparation  for  the  frightful 
ceremony  of  mid-day. 

The  block  was  laid  forth — the  hideous  minister  of  vengeance, 
masked  and  in  black,  with  the  flaming  glaive  in  his  hand,  was 
ready.  The  Baron  tried  the  edge  of  the  blade  with  liis  finger,  and 
asked  the  dreadful  swordsman  if  his  hand  was  sure  1  A  nod  was 
the  reply  of  the  man  of  blood.  The  weeping  garrison  and  domestics 
shuddered  and  shrank  from  him.  There  was  not  one  there  but  loved 
and  pitied  the  gentle  lady. 

Pale,  pale  as  a  stone,  she  was  brought  from  her  dungeon.  To 
all  her  lord's  savage  interrogatories,  her  rejdy  had  been,  "  I  am 
innocent."  To  his  threats  of  death,  her  answer  w^as,  "You  are  my 
lord ;  my  life  is  in  your  hands,  to  take  or  to  give."  How  few  are 
the  wives,  in  our  day,  wdio  show  such  angelic  meekness  !  It 
touched  all  hearts  around  her,  save  that  of  the  imi)lacable  Bar- 
bazure !  Even  the  Lady  Blanche  (Fatima's  cousin),  whom  he  had 
ja'omised  to  marry  upon  his  faithless  wife's  demise,  besought  for  her 
kinswoman's  life,  and  a  divorce ;  but  Barbazure  had  vowed  her 
death. 

"Is  there  no  pity,  sir'?"  asked  the  chaplain  who  had  attended 
her. 

"  No  pity  ?"  echoed  the  weeping  serving-maid. 

"  Did  I  not  aye  say  I  would  die  for  my  lord  1 "  said  the  gentle 
lady,,  and  placed  herself  at  the  block. 

Sir  Raoul  de  Barbazure  seized  up  the  long  ringlets  of  her  raven 
hair.  "  Now  ! "  sh(juted  he  to  the  executioner,  witli  a  stamp  of 
his  foot—"  Now  strike  !  " 

The  man  (who  knew  his  trade)  advanced  at  once,  and  poised 
himself  to  deliver  his  blow  :  and  making  his  flashing  sword  sing 
in  the  air,  with  one  iiTesistil)le  rapid  stroke,  it  sheared  clean  off'  the 
head  of  the  furious,  the  bloodtliirsty,  the  implacable  Baron  de  Bar- 
bazure ! 

Thus  he  fell  a  victim  to  his  own  jealousy  ;  and  the  agitation  of 
the  Lady  Fatima  may  be  imagined  when  the  executioner,  flinging 
off"  his  mask,  knelt  gracefully  at  her  feet,  and  revealed  to  lier  the 
well-known  features  of  Remand  de  Clos-Vougeot. 


LORDS    AND    LIVERIES 

By  the  Authoress  of  "Dukes  and  Dejeuners,"  "Hearts  and 
Diamonds,"  "  Marchionesses  and  Milliners,"  etc.  etc. 


C 


ORBLEU  !  What  a  lovely  creature  that  was  in  the  Fitz- 
Ixittleaxe  box  to-night !  "  said  one  of  a  group  of  young  dandies 
who  were  leaning  over  the  velvet-cushioned  balconies  of  the 
"Coventry  Club,"  smoking  their  full-flavoured  Cubas  (from  Hud- 
son's) after  the  opera. 

Everybody  stared  at  sucli  an  exclamation  of  enthusiasm  from 
the  lips  of  the  young  Earl  of  Bagnigge,  who  was  never  heard  to 
admire  anything  except  a  coulis  de  dindonneau  a  la  Ste.  Menehould, 
or  a  sujireme  de  cochon  en  to7-ticolis  a  la  Piffarde  ;  such  as  Cham- 
pollion,  the  chef  of  the  "  Traveller's,"  only  knows  how  to  dress  ;  or 
the  hoiiqnet  of  a  flask  of  Medoc,  of  Carbonell's  best  quality ;  or  a 
(/oufte  of  Marasquin,  from  the  cellars  of  Briggs  and  Hobson. 

Alured  de  Pentonville,  eighteenth  Earl  of  Bagnigge,  Viscount 
Paon  of  Islington,  Baron  Pancras,  Kingscross,  and  a  Baronet,  was, 
like  too  many  of  our  young  men  of  ton,  utterly  blase,  although  only 
in  his  twenty-fourth  year.  Blest,  luckily,  with  a  mother  of  excel- 
lent principles  (who  had  imbued  his  young  mind  with  that  Morality 
which  is  so  superior  to  all  the  vain  pomps  of  the  world  !),  it  had 
not  been  always  the  young  Earl's  lot  to  wear  the  coronet  for  ^hich 
he  now  in  sooth  cared  so  little.  His  father,  a  captain  of  Britain's 
navy,  struck  down  by  the  side  of  the  gallant  CoUingwood  in  the 
Bay  of  Fundy,  left  little  but  his  sword  and  spotless  name  to  his 
young,  lovely,  and  inconsolable  widow,  who  passed  the  first  years 
of  her  mourning  in  educating  lier  child  in  an  elegant  though  small 
cottage  in  one  of  tlie  romantic  marine  villages  of  beautiful  Devon- 
shire. Her  child  !  What  a  gush  of  consolation  filled  the  widow's 
heart  as  slie  pressed  him  to  it  !  How  faithfully  <lid  she  instil  into 
his  young  bosom  those  principles  wliicli  liad  been  the  pole-star  of 
the  existence  of  his  gallant  fixther  ! 

In  this  secluded  retreat,  rank  and  wealth  almost  boundless  found 
the    widow    and    her   boy.      The    seventeenth    Earl — gallant   and 


LORDS    AND    LIVERIES  511 

ardent,  and  in  the  prime  of  youth — went  forth  one  day  from  the 
Eternal  City  to  a  steeple-chase  in  the  Campagna.  A  mutilated 
corpse  was  brought  back  to  his  hotel  in  the  Piazza  di  Spagna. 
Death,  alas  !  is  no  respecter  of  the  Nobility.  That  shattered  form 
was  all  that  remained  of  the  fiery,  the  haughty,  the  wild,  but  the 
generous  Altamont  de  Pentonville  !     Such,  such  is  fate  ! 

The  admirable  Emily  de  Pentonville  trembled  with  all  a 
mother's  solicitude  at  the  distinctions  and  honours  which  thus 
suddenly  descended  ou  her  boy.  She  engaged  an  excellent  clergy- 
man of  the  Church  of  England  to  superintend  his  studies ;  to 
accompany  him  on  foreign  travel  when  the  proper  season  arrived ; 
to  ward  from  him  those  dangers  which  dissipation  always  throws 
in  the  way  of  the  noble,  the  idle,  and  the  wealthy.  But  the 
Reverend  Cyril  Delaval  died  of  the  measles  at  Naples,  and  hence- 
forth the  young  Earl  of  Bagnigge  was  without  a  guardian. 

"What  was  tlie  consequence'?  That,  at  three-and-twenty,  he 
was  a  cynic  and  an  epicure.  He  had  drained  the  cup  of  pleasure 
till  it  had  jialled  in  his  unnerved  hand.  He  had  looked  at  the 
Pyramids  without  awe,  at  the  Alps  without  reverence.  He  was 
unmoved  by  the  sandy  solitudes  of  the  Desert  as  by  the  placid 
depths  of  Mediterranean's  sea  of  blue.  Bitter,  bitter  tears  did 
Emily  de  Pentonville  weep,  when,  on  Alured's  return  from  the 
Continent,  she  beheld  the  aAvful  change  that  dissipation  had 
wrought  in  her  beautiful,  her  blue-eyed,  her  perverted,  her  still 
beloved  boy  ! 

"  Corpo  di  Bacco,"  he  said,  pitching  the  end  of  his  cigar  on  to 
the  red  nose  of  the  Countess  of  Delawaddymore's  coachman — who, 
having  deposited  her  fat  ladyship  at  No.  236  Piccadilly,  was  driving 
the  carriage  to  the  stables,  before  commencing  his  evening  at  the 
"Fortune  of  War"  public-house — "what  a  lovely  creature  that 
was  !  What  eyes  !  what  hair  !  Who  knows  her  1  Do  you,  mon 
cher  prince  ? " 

"E  bellissima,  certamente,"  said  the  Duca  de  Montepulciano, 
and  stroked^down  liis  jetty  moustaclie. 

"  Ein  gar  sc^hones  Madchen,"  said  the  Hereditary  Grand  Duke 
of  Eulenschreckenstein,  and  turned  up  his  carroty  one. 

"  Elle  n'est  pas  mal,  ma  foi !  "  said  the  Prince  de  Borodino,  with 
a  scowl  on  his  darkling  brows.  "  Mon  Dicu,  que  ces  cigares  sont 
mauvais  !  "  he  added,  as  he  too  cast  away  his  Cuba. 

"Try  one  of  my  Pickwicks,"  said  Franklin  Fox  with  a  sneer, 
ofiFering  his  gold  etui  to  the  young  Frenchman  ;  "  they  are  some  of 
Pontet's  best,  prince.  What,  do  you  bear  malice?  Come,  let  us 
be  friends,"  said  the  gay  and  careless  young  patrician ;  but  a  scowl 
on  the  part  of  the  Frenchman  was  the  only  reply. 


512  NOVELS    BY    EMINENT    HANDS 

"  — Wunt  to  know  who  slie  is  1  Borodino  knows  wlio  she  is, 
Ba;!:;;ni<:c£jo,"  tlie  was  wont  on. 

Everybody  crowded  round  Monsieur  de  Borodino  thus  apostro- 
phised. The  Marquis  of  Ali('.om])ayne,  young  Dc  Boots  of  tlie 
Lifeguards,  Tom  Protocol  of  the  Foreign  Office  ;  the  gay  young 
l)cers,  Farintosli,  Poldoody,  and  the  rest ;  and  Bagnigge,  for  a 
wonder,  not  less  eager  tlian  any  one  present. 

"  No,  he  will  tell  you  nothing  about  her.  Don't  you  see  he  has 
gone  otf  in  a  fury  !  "  Franklin  Fox  continued.  "  He  has  his  reasons, 
cc  cher  prince  :  he  will  tell  you  nothing  ;  but  I  will.  You  know 
that  I  am  au  mieiix  with  the  dear  old  Duchess." 

"They  say  Frank  and  she  are  engaged  after  the  Duke's  death," 
cried  Poldoody. 

"  I  always  thought  Fwank  was  the  Duke's  illicit  gweat-gwand- 
son,"  drawled  out  De  Boots. 

"  I  heard  that  he  doctored  her  Blenheim,  and  used  to  bring  her 
wigs  from  Paris,"  cried  that  malicious  Tom  Protocol,  whose  mots  are 
known  in  every  diplomatic  salon  from  Petersburg  to  Palermo. 

"  Burn  her  wigs,  and  hang  her  poodle  !  "  said  Bagnigge.  "  Tell 
me  about  this  girl,  Franklin  Fox." 

"  Li  the  first  place,  she  has  five  hundred  thousand  acres,  in  a 
ring  fence,  in  Norfolk  ;  a  county  in  Scotland,  a-  castle  in  AVales,  a 
villa  at  Richmond,  a  corner  house  in  Belgrave  Square,  and  eighty 
thousand  a  year  in  the  three-per-cents." 

"  Aprfes  ? "  said  Bagnigge,  still  yawning. 

"  Secondly,  Borodino  lui  fait  la  cour.  They  are  cousins  :  her 
mother  was  an  Armagnac  of  the  emigration ;  the  old  Marshal,  his 
father,  married  another  sister.  I  believe  he  was  footman  in  the 
family,  before  Napoleon  princified  him." 

"  No,  no,  he  was  second  coachman,"  Tom  Protocol  good-naturedly 
interposed:  "a  cavalry  officer,  Fi-ank,  not  an  infantry  man." 

"  'Faith,  you  should  have  seen  his  fury  (the  young  one's,  I  mean) 
when  he  found  me  in  the  Duchess's  room  this  evening,  tete-a-tete 
with  the  heiress,  who  deigned  to  accept  a  bouquet  from  this  hand. 

"  It  cost  me  three  guineas,"  poor  Frank  said,  with  a  shrug  and 
a  sigh,  "  and  that  Covent  Garden  scoundrel  gives  no  credit :  but 
she  took  the  flowers  ; — eh,  Bagnigge  ? " 

"  And  flung  them  to  Alboni,"  the  peer  replied,  with  a  haughty 
sneer.  And  poor  little  Franklin  Fox  was  compelled  to  own  that 
she  had. 

The  maitre  d'hotel  here  announced  that  supper  was  served.  It 
was  remarked  that  even  the  coulis  de  dindonneau  made  no  im])res- 
sion  on  Bagnigge  that  night. 


The  sensation  produced  by  the  deJmt  of  Amethyst  Pimlico  at 
the  Court  of  tlie  Sovereign,  and  in  the  salons  of  the  beaiMnonde, 
was  such  as  has  seldom  been  created  by  the  appearance  of  any 
other  beauty.  The  men  were  raving  witli  love,  and  the  women 
with  jealousy.  Her  eyes,  her  beauty,  her  wit,  her  grace,  her  ton, 
caused  a  perfect  fureiir  of  admiration  or  envy. 

Introduced  by  the  Duchess  of  Fitzbattleaxe,  along  with  her 
Grace's  daughters,  the  Ladies  Gwendoline  and  Cwinever  Portcullis, 
the  heiress's  regal  beauty  quite  flung  her  cousins'  simple  charms  into 
the  shade,  and  blazed  with  a  splendour  which  caused  all  "  minor 
lights"  to  twinkle  faintly.  Before  a  day  the  beau-^nonde,  before  a 
week  even  the  vulgarians  of  the  rest  of  the  town,  rang  with  the 
fame  of  her  charms  :  ami  while  the  dandies  and  the  beauties  were 
raving  about  her,  or  tearing  her  to  pieces  in  Mayfair,  even  Mrs. 
Dobbs  (who  had  been  to  the  pit  of  the  "  Hoperer  "  in  a  gi'een  turban 
and  a  crumpled  yellow  satin)  talked  about  the  great  hairess  to  her 
D.  in  Bloomsbury  Square. 

Crowds  went  to  Squab  and  Lynch's,  in  Long  Acre,  to  examine 
the  carriages  building  for  her,  so  faultless,  so  splendid,  so  quiet, 
so  odiously  unostentatious  and  provokingly  simple  !  Besides  the 
ancestral  services  of  argenterie  and  vaisselle  plate,  contained  in  a 
hundred  and  seventy-six  plate-chests  at  Messrs.  Childs',  Bumble  and 
Briggs  prepared  a  gold  service,  and  Garraway,  of  the  Haymarket,  a 
service  of  the  Benvenuto  Cellini  jTattern,  which  were  the  admiration 
of  all  London.  Before  a  month  it  is  a  fact  that  the  wretched 
haberdashers  in  the  City  exhibited  the  blue  stocks,  called  "  Heiress- 
killers,  very  chaste,  two-and-six  :  "  long  before  that,  the  monde  had 
rushed  to  Madame  Crinoline's,  or  sent  couriers  to  Madame  Marabou, 
at  Paris,  so  as  to  have  copies  of  her  dresses ;  but,  as  the  Mantuan 
bard  observes,  "  Non  cuivis  contigit," — every  foot  cannot  accommo- 
date itself  to  the  chniissure  of  Cinderella. 

With  all  this  splendour,  this  worship,  this  beauty ;  with  these 
cheers  following  her,  and  these  crowds  at  her  feet,  was  Amethyst 
ha[)py  ?  Ah,  no  !  It  is  not  under  the  necklace  the  most  bi'illiant 
that  Briggs  and  Rumble  can  supj)ly,  it  is  not  in  Lynch's  best 
cushioned  chariot  that  the  heart  is  most  at  ease.  "  Que  je  me 
ruinerai,"  says  Fronsac  in  a  letter  to  Bossuet,  "si  je  savais  ou 
acheter  le  bonheur  !  " 

With  all  her  riches,  with  all  her  splendour.  Amethyst  was 
wretched — wretched,  because  lonely ;  wretched,  because  her  loving 


514  NOVELS    BY    EMINENT    HANDS 

heart  had  iiotliing  to  cling  to.  Her  splendid  mansion  was  a  convent ; 
no  male  ]t(*rson  ever  entered  it,  except  Franklin  Fox  (who  counted 
for  nothin.Lc),  and  the  Duchess's  t'anuly,  her  kinsman  old  Lord 
Humpington,  his  friend  old  Sir  John  Fogey,  and  her  cousin,  tlie 
odious,  odious  Borodino. 

The  Prin(;e  de  Borodino  declared  openly  that  Amethyst  was 
engaged  to  him.  Vvihle  de  dettes,  it  is  no  wonder  that  he  should 
choose  such  an  opportunity  to  refa/re  sa  fortune.  He  gave  out 
that  he  would  kill  any  man  wdio  should  cast  an  eye  on  the  heiress, 
and  the  monster  kept  his  word.  Major  Grigg,  of  the  Lifeguards, 
had  already  fallen  by  his  hand  at  Ostend.  The  O'Toole,  wdio  had 
met  her  on  the  Rhine,  had  received  a  ball  in  his  shoulder  at  Coblentz, 
and  did  not  care  to  resume  so  dangerous  a  courtship.  Borodino 
could  snufF  a  bougie  at  a  hundred  and  fifty  yards.  He  could  beat 
Bertrand  or  Alexander  Dumas  himself  with  the  small  sword  :  he 
was  the  dragon  that  watched  this  pomine  d'or,  and  very  few  jjersons 
were  now  inclined  to  face  a  champion  si  redoutalAe. 

Over  a  salmi  d'escarijot  at  the  "  Coventry,''  the  dandies  whom 
we  introduced  in  our  last  volume  ^vere  assembled,  there  talking  of 
the  heiress ;  and  her  story  w^as  told  by  Franklin  Fox  to  Lord 
Bagnigge,  who,  for  a  wonder,  was  interested  in  the  tale.  Borodino's 
pretensions  were  discussed,  and  the  way  in  which  the  fair  Amethyst 
was  confined.  Fitzbattleaxe  House,  in  Belgrave  Square,  is — as 
everybody  "knows — the  next  mansion  to  that  occupied  by  An)etliyst. 
A  communication  was  made  between  the  two  houses.  She  never 
went  out  except  accompanied  by  the  Duchess's  guard,  which  it  was 
impossible  to  overcome. 

"  Impossible  !  Nothing's  impossible,"  said  Lord  Bagnigge. 

"  I  bet  you  what  you  like  you  don't  get  in,"  said  the  young 
Marquis  of  Martingale. 

"  I  bet  you  a  thousand  ponies  I  stop  a  week  in  the  heiress's 
house  before  the  season's  over,"  Lord  Bagnigge  replied  with  a  yawn ; 
and  the  bet  was  registered  with  shouts  of  applause. 

But  it  seemed  as  if  the  Fates  had  determined  against  Lord 
Bagnigge,  for  the  very  next  day,  riding  in  the  Park,  his  horse  fell 
with  him  ;  he  was  carried  home  to  his  house  with  a  fractured  limb 
and  a  dislocated  shoulder ;  and  the  doctor's  bulletins  pronounced 
him  to  be  in  the  most  dangerous  state. 

Martingale  was  a  married  man,  and  there  was  no  danger  of  his 
riding  by  the  Fitzbattleaxe  carriage.  A  fortnight  after  the  above 
events,  his  Lordship  was  prancing  by  her  Grace's  great  family  coach, 
and  chattering  with  Lady  Gwinever  about  the  strange  wager. 

"  Do  you  know  what  a  pony  is,  Lady  Gwinever  ? "  he  asked. 
Her  Ladyship  said  yes  ;   she  had  a  cream-coloured  one  at  Castle 


LORDS    AND    LIVERIES  515 

Barbican  ;  and  stared  when  Lord  Martingale  announced  that  he 
should  soon  have  a  thousand  ponies,  worth  five-and-twenty  pounds 
each,  which  were  all  now  kept  at  Coutts's.  Then  he  explained  the 
circumstances  of  the  bet  with  Bagnigge.  Parliament  was  to  adjourn 
in  ten  days ;  the  season  would  b^  over ;  Bagnigge  was  lying  ill  chez 
lui  ;  and  the  five-and-twenty  thousand  were  irrecoverably  his.  And 
he  vowed  he  would  buy  Lord  Binnacle's  yacht — crew,  captain, 
guns,  and  all. 

On  returning  home  that  night  from  Lady  Polkimore's,  Martingale 
found  among  the  many  billets  upon  the  gold  plateait,  in  his  anti- 
chambre,  the  following  brief  one,  which  made  him  start : — 

"  Dear  Martingale, — Don't  be  too  sure  of  Binnacle's  yacht. 
There  are  still  ten  days  before  the  season  is  over ;  and  my  ponies 
may  lie  at  Coutts's  for  some  time  to  come. — Yours, 

"  Bagnigge. 

"  P.S. — I  write  with  my  left  hand ;  for  my  right  is  still  splin 
tered  up  from  that  confounded  fall." 


Ill 

The  tall  footman,  number  four,  who  had  come  in  the  place  of 
John  cashiered  (for  want  of  proper  mallets,  and  because  his 
hair  did  not  take  powder  well),  had  given  great  satisfaction  to 
the  under-butler,  who  reported  well  of  him  to  his  chief,  who  had 
mentioned  liis  name  with  praise  to  the  house-steward.  He  was  so 
good-looking  and  well-spoken  a  young  man,  that  the  ladies  in  the 
housekeeper's  room  deigned  to  notice  him  more  than  once  ;  nor  was 
his  popularity  dimiiu'shed  on  account  of  a  quarrel  in  which  he  engaged 
with  Monsieur  Anatole,  the  enormous  Walloon  chasseia-,  who  was 
one  day  found  embracing  Miss  Flouncy,  who  waited  on  Amethyst's 
own  maid.  The  very  instant  Miss  Flouncy  saw  Mr.  Jeames  enter-  * 
ing  the' Servants'  Hall,  where  Monsieur  Anatole  was  engaged  in 
"  aggravating "  her.  Miss  Flouncy  screamed  :  at  the  next  moment 
the  Belgian  giant  lay  sprawling  upon  the  carpet ;  and  Jeames, 
standing  over  him,  assumed  so  terrible  a  look,  that  the  chasseur 
declined  any  further  combat.  The  victory  was  made  known  to  the 
house-steward  himself,  who,  being  a  little  partial  to  Miss  Flouncy, 
complimented  Jeames  on  his  valour,  and  poured  out  a  glass  of 
madeira  in  his  own  room. 

Who  was  Jeames?     He  had  come  recoramended  by  the  Bag- 


5l6  NOVELS    BY    EMINENT    HANDS 

uiggc  people.  He  had  lived,  he  said,  in  that  family  two  years. 
"  But  where  there  was  no  ladies,"  he  said,  "  a  gentleman's  hand 
was  spiled  for  service  ; "  and  Joames's  was  a  very  delicate  hand ; 
Miss  Flouncy  adniirod  it  very  much,  and  of  (;ourse  he  did  not  defile 
it  by  menial  service  :  he  had  in  a  young  man  who  calhnl  him  sir, 
and  did  all  the  coarse  work ;  and  Jeames  read  the  moi'ning  i)a{)er 
to  the  ladies ;  not  spellingly  and  with  hesitation,  as  many  gentlemen 
do,  but  easily  and  elegantly,  speaking  off  tlie  longest  words  without 
a  moment's  difficulty.  He  could  speak  French,  too,  Miss  Flouncy 
found,  who  was  studying  it  under  Mademoiselle  Grande  fiUe-de- 
chambre  de  conjiance ;  for  when  she  said  to  him,  "  Polly  voo 
Fransy,  Munseer  Jeames  1 "  he  replied  readily,  "  We,  Mademaselle, 
j'ay  passay  boco  de  tong  il  Parry.  Cdmmong  voo  potty  vool" 
How  Miss  Flouncy  admired  him  as  he  stood  before  her,  the  day 
after  he  had  saved  Miss  Amethyst  when  the  horses  had  run  away 
with  her  in  the  Park  ! 

Poor  Floimcy,  poor  Flouncy  !  Jeames  had  been  but  a  week 
in  Amethyst's  service,  and  already  the  gentle  heart  of  the  washing- 
girl  was  irrecoverably  gone !  Poor  Flouncy  !  poor  Flouncy  !  he 
thought  not  of  thee. 

It  happened  thus.  Miss  Amethyst  being  engaged  to  drive  with 
her  cousin  the  prince  in  his  phaeton,  her  own  carriage  was  sent 
into  the  Park  simply  with  her  companion,  who  had  charge  of  her 
little  Fido,  the  dearest  little  spaniel  in  the  world.  Jeames  and 
Frederick  were  behind  the  carriage  with  their  long  sticks  and  neat 
dark  liveries ;  the  horses  were  worth  a  thousand  guineas  each,  the 
coachman  a  late  lieutenant-colonel  of  cavalry  :  the  whole  ring  could 
not  boast  a  more  elegant  turn-out. 

The  prince  drove  his  curricle,  and  had  charge  of  his  belle 
cousine.  It  may  have  been  the  red  fezzes  in  the  carriage  of  the 
Turkish  Ambassador  which  friglitened  the  prince's  greys,  or  Mrs. 
Champignon's  new  yellow  liveries,  which  were  flaunting  in  the 
Park,  or  hideous  Lady  Gorgon's  preternatural  ugliness,  who  passed 
in  a  low  pony-carriage  at  the  time,  or  the  Prince's  own  want  of 
skill,  finally ;  but  certain  it  is  that  the  horses  took  fright,  dashed 
wildly  along  the  mile,  s(;attered  equipages,  pietons,  dandi«s'  cabs, 
and  snobs'  pheaijtons.  Amethyst  was  screaming ;  and  the  prince, 
deadly  pale,  had  lost  all  jiresence  of  mind,  as  the  curricle  came 
rushing  by  the  spot  where  Miss  Amethyst's  carriage  stood. 

"  I'm  blest,"  Frederick  exclaimed  to  his  companion,  "  if  it  aiai't 
the  prince  a-drivin'  our  missis  !  They'll  be  in  the  Serpingtine,  or 
dashed  to  pieces,  if  they  don't  mind."  And  the  runaway  steeds  at 
this  instant  came  upon  them  as  a  whirlwind. 

But  if  those  steeds  ran  at  a  wdiirlwind  pace,  Jeames  was  swifter. 


LORDS    AND    LIVERIES  517 

To  jump  from  behind,  to  bound  after  the  rocking,  reeling  curricle, 
to  jump  into  it  aided  by  the  long  stick  which  lie  carried  and  used 
as  a  leaping-pole,  and  to  seize  the  reins  out  of  the  hands  of  the 
miseralile  Borodino,  who  shrieked  i^iteously  as  the  dauntless  valet 
leai)t  on  his  toes  and  into  his  seiit,  was  the  work  of  an  instant.  In 
a  few  minutes  the  mad  swaying  rush  of  the  horses  was  reduced  to  a 
swift  but  steady  gallop ;  presently  into  a  canter,  then  a  trot ;  until 
finally  they  pulled  up  smoking  and  trembling,  but  quite  quiet,  by 
the  side  of  Amethyst's  carriage,  which  came  up  at  a  rapid  pace. 

"  Give  me  the  reins,  malappris  !  tu  m'dcrases  le  corps,  manant !  " 
yelled  the  frantic  nobleman,  writhing  underneath  the  intrepid 
charioteer. 

"  Tant  pis  pom-  toi,  nigaud,"  was  the  reply.  The  lovely 
Amethyst  of  coiu'se  had  fainted  ;  but  she  recovered  as  she  was 
placed  in  her  carriage,  and  rewarded  her  preserver  with  a  celestial 
smile. 

The  rage,  the  fury,  the  maledictions  of  Borodino,  as  he  saw 
the  latter  —  a  liveried  menial  —  stoop  gracefully  forward  and  kiss 
Amethyst's  liand,  may  be  imagined  rather  than  described.  But 
Jeanies  heeded  not  his  curses.  Having  placed  his  adored  mistress 
in  the  carriage,  he  calmly  resumed  his  station  behind.  Passion 
or  danger  seemed  to  leave  no  impression  ujjon  that  pale  marble  face. 

Borodino  went  home  furious ;  nor  was  his  rage  diminished, 
when,  on  coming  to  dinner  that  day,  a  recherche  banquet  served  in 
the  Franfjii^ane  best  style,  and  requesting  a  supply  of  a  puree  a 
la  bisque  aux  ecrevisses,  the  clumsy  attendant  who  served  him  let 
fall  the  assiette  of  vermeille  cisele,  with  its  scalding  contents,  over 
the  Prince's  chin,  his  Mechlin  jabot,  and  the  grand  cordon  of  the 
Legion  of  Honour  which  he  wore. 

"  Infame,"  howled  Borodino,  "  tu  I'as  fait  exprfes  !  " 

"  Oui,  je  I'ai  fait  exprks,"  said  the  man,  with  the  most  perfect 
Parisian  accent.     It  was  Jeanies. 

Such  insolence  of  course  could  not  be  jiassed  unnoticed  even 
after  the  morning's  service,  and  he  was  chassed  on  the  spot.  He 
had  been  but  a  week  in  the  house. 

The  next  month  the  newspapers  contained  a  paragraph  which 
may  possibly  elucidate  the  above  mystery,  and  to  the  following 
effect : — 

"  Singular  Wager. — One  niglit,  at  the  end  of  last  season,  the 
young  and  eccentric  Earl  of  B-gn-gge  laid  a  wager  of  twenty-five 
thousand  pounds  with  a  broken  sjiorting  patrician,  the  dashing 
Marquis  of  M-rt-ng-le,  tliat  he  would  j)ass  a  week  under  the  roof 
of  a  celebrated  and  lovely  young  heiress,  who  lives  not  a  hundred 


518  NOVELS    BY    EMINENT    HANDS 

miles  from  B-licr-ve  Squ-re.  The  bet  having  been  made,  the 
Earl  pretended  an  illness,  and  having  taken  lessons  from  one  of  his 
Lordship's  own  footmen  (Mr.  James  Plush,  whose  name  he  also 
l)orr(n\i' Ij  in  'the  mi/steries  of  tlic  profession,'  actually  succeeded 
in  making  an  entry  into  Miss  P-ml-co's  mansion,  where  he  stopped 
one  week  exactly  ;  having  time  to  win  his  bet,  and  to  save  the  life 
of  the  lady,  whom  we  hear  he  is  about  to  lead  to  the  altar.  He 
disarmed  the  Prince  of  Borodino  in  a  duel  fought  on  Calais  sands 

— and,  it  is  said,  appeared  at  the  C Club  wearing  his  phish 

costume  under  a  cloak,  and  displaying  it  as  a  proof  that  he  had 
won  his  wager." 

Such,  indeed,  were  the  circumstances.  The  young  couple  have 
not  more  than  nine  hundred  thousand  a  year,  but  they  live  cheer- 
fully, and  manage  to  do  good  ;  and  Emily  de  Pentonville,  who  adores 
her  daughter-in-law  and  her  little  grandchildren,  is  blest  in  seeing 
her  darling  son  enfin  %i,n  hoinme  rangd. 


CRINOLINE 
By  Je-mes  Pl-sh,  Esq 


I'M  not  at  libbaty  to  divulj  the  reel  names  of  the  2  Eroes  of  the 
igstrawuy  Tail  which  I  am  abowt  to  relait  to  those  uulightnd 
paytrons  of  letarature  and  true  connyshures  of  merrit — the  great 
Brittish  public — But  I  pledj  my  varacity  that  this  siuglar  story  of 
rewmautic  love,  absobbing  pashu,  and  likewise  of  genteel  life,  is,  in 
the  main  fax,  treiv.  The  suckmstanzas  I  elude  to,  ocurd  in  the 
rain  of  our  presnt  Gratious  Madjisty  and  her  boluvd  and  roil  Concert 
Prince  Halbert. 

Weltheu.  Some  time  in  the  seazen  of  18 —  (mor  I  dar  not 
rewheel)  there  arrived  in  this  meti-oi)ulus,  per  seknd  class  of  the 
London  and  Dover  Railway,  an  ellygant  young  foring  gentleman, 
whom  I  shall  danonuninate  Muuseer  Jools  de  Chacabac. 

Having  read  through  "  Tlie  Vicker  of  "Wackfield  "  in  the  same 
oridganal  English  tung  in  which  this  very  harticle  I  write  is  wrote 
too,  and  halways  been  remarkyble,  both  at  coUidge  and  in  the 
estamminy,  for  his  aytred  and  orror  of  perfidgus  Halbion,  Munseer 
Jools  w^as  considered  by  the  prapriretors  of  the  newspaper  in  which 
he  wrote,  at  Parris,  the  very  man  to  come  to  this  country,  igsamin 
its  manners  and  customs,  cast  an  i  upon  the  politticle  and  finanshle 
Stat  of  the  Hempire,  and  igspose  the  mackynations  of  the  infymous 
Palmerston,  and  the  ebomminable  Sir  Pill — both  enemies  of  France  ; 
as  is  every  other  Britten  of  that  great,  gloarus,  libberal,  anil 
peasable  country.  In  one  word,  Jools  de  Chacabac  was  a  penny- 
a-liner. 

"  I  will  go  see  witli  my  own  I's,"  he  said,  "  that  infimus  hilaiid 
of  which  the  innabitants  are  shopkeepers,  gorged  with  roast  beef 
and  treason.  I  will  go  and  see  the  murderers  of  tlie  Hirish,  the 
pisoners  of  the  Chynese,  the  villians  wlio  put  the  Hemperor  to 
death  in  Saintyleany,  the  artful  dodges  who  wish  to  smother  Europe 
with  their  cotton,  and  can't  sleep  or  rest  heasy  for  henvy  and 
hatred  of  the  great  iuwinsable  French  nation.  I  will  igsammin, 
face   to  face,   these   hotty   insularies ;   I  will   pennytrate  into  the 


520  NOVELS    BY    EMINENT    HANDS 

secrets  of  tlieir  Jessywhittickle  cabinet,  and  beard  Pabnerston  in 
iiis  denn."  When  lie  junipt  on  sbor  at  Foaxton  (after  having  been 
trenienguously  side  iu  tlic  fonr-cabbing),  he  exclaimed,  "  Enfin  je  te 
tiens,  He  niaudite  !  je  te  erache  h.  la  figure,  vieille  Angleterre  !  Je 
te  foide  h,  nies  pieds  an  iioni  <lu  nionde  outrage,"  and  so  proseaded 
to  iiiwade  the  nietroj)ulus. 

As  he  wisht  to  niicks  with  the  very  chicest  sosiaty,  and  git  the 
best  of  infauuition  about  this  country,  Munseer  Jools  of  coarse  went 
and  lodgd  in  Lester  Stjuare — Lester  Squarr,  as  he  calls  it — which, 
as  he  was  infonuned  in  the  printed  suckular  presented  to  him  by  a 
very  greasy  but  polite  coniishner  at  the  Custunuis  Stares,  was  in 
the  scienter  of  the  town,  contiggus  to  the  Ouses  of  Parlyment,  the 
prinsple  theayters,  the  parx,  St.  Jams  Pallice,  and  the  Corts  of  Lor. 
"  I  can  surwliey  them  all  at  one  cut  of  tlie  eye,"  Jools  thought ; 
"  the  Sovring,  the  infamus  Ministers  plotting  the  destruction  of  my 
imraortial  country ;  tlie  business  and  pleasure  of  these  pusproud 
Londoners  and  aristoxy ;  I  can  look  round  and  see  all."  So  he 
took  a  three-pair  back  in  a  French  hotel,  the  "  Hotel  de  I'Ail,"  kep 
by  Monsieur  Gigotot,  Cranbourne  Street,  Lester  Squarr,  London. 

Li  this  otell  tliere's  a  billiard-room  on  the  first-floor,  and  a 
tabble-doat  at  eighteenpence  peredd  at  •  five  o'clock ;  and  the  land- 
lord, who  kem  into  Jools's  room  smoaking  a  segar,  told  the  young 
gent,  that  the  house  was  friquented  by  all  the  Brittish  nobillaty, 
who  reglar  took  their  dinners  there.  "  They  can't  ebide  their  own 
quiseen,"  he  said.  "  You'll  see  what  a  dinner  we'll  serve  you  to- 
day."    Jools  wrote  off  to  his  paper — 

"  The  members  of  the  haughty  and  luxurious  English  aristocracy, 
like  all  the  rest  of  the  world,  are  obliged  to  fly  to  France  for  the 
indulgence  of  their  luxuries.  The  nobles  of  England,  quitting  their 
homes,  their  wives,  miladies  and  niistriss,  so  fair  but  so  cold,  dine 
universally  at  the  tavern.  That  from  which  I  write  is  frequented 
by  Peel  and  Pabnerston.  I  fremis  to  think  that  I  may  meet  them 
at  the  board  to-day." 

Singlar  to  say.  Peel  and  Pabnerston  didn't  dine  at  the  "  Hotel 
lie  I'Ail"  on  that  evening.  "It's  quite  igstronnary  they  don't  come," 
said  Munseer  Gigotot. 

"  Peraps  they're  ingaged  at  some  boxing-match,  or  some  combaw 
de  cock"  Munseer  Jools  sejested ;  and  the  landlord  egreed  that  was 
very  likely. 

Instedd  of  English  there  was,  however,  plenty  of  foring  sociaty, 
of  every  nation  under  the  sun.  Most  of  the  noblemen  were  great 
hamatures  of  hale  and  porter.  The  tablecloth  was  marked  over 
with  brown  suckles,  made  by  the  pewter-pots  on  that  and  the 
previous  days. 


CRINOLINE  521 

"  It  is  the  usage  here,"  wrote  Jools  to  his  newspaper,  "  among 
the  Anglais  of  the  fashonne  to  absorb  immense  quantities  of  ale  and 
porter  during  their  meals.  Tliese  stupefying,  but  cheap,  and  not 
unpalatable  liquors  are  served  in  shining  pewter  vessels.  A  mug  of 
foaming  hnfanaf  (so  a  certain  sort  of  beer  is  called)  was  placed  by  the 
side  of  most  of  the  convives.  I  was  disappointed  of  seeing  Sir  Peel  : 
he  was  engaged  to  a  combat  of  cocks  which  occurs  at  Windsor." 

Not  one  word  of  English  was  spoke  during  this  dinner,  excep 
when  the  gentlemen  snid,  "  Garsong  de  Vafanaf"  but  Jools  was 
very  much  pleased  to  meet  the  eleet  of  the  foringers  in  town,  and 
ask  their  opinion  about  the  reel  state  of  thinx.  Was  it  likely  that 
the  bishops  were  to  be  turned  out  of  the  Cliambre  des  Comnumes  '? 
Was  it  true  that  Lor  Palnierston  had  boxdd  with  Lor  Broghamm  in 
the  House  of  Lords,  until  they  were  sepparayted  by  the  Lor  Maire  ? 
Who  was  the  Lor  Maire  ?  Wasn't  lie  Premier  IMinister  1  and 
wasn't  the  Archeveque  de  Cantorbdry  a  Quaker  1  He  got  answers 
to  these  questions  from  the  various  gents  round  about  during  the 
dinner — which,  he  remarked,  was  very  much  like  a  French  dinner, 
only  dirtier.  And  he  wrote  off  all  the  infamation  he  got  to  his 
newspaper. 

"  The  Lord  Maire,  Lord  Lansdowne,  is  Premier  Ministre.  His 
Grace  has  his  dwelling  in  tlie  City.  The  Archbishop  of  Cantabery 
is  not  turned  Quaker,  as  some  people  stated.  Quakers  may  not 
marry,  nor  sit  in  the  Chamber  of  Peers.  The  minor  bishops  have 
seats  in  the  House  of  Commons,  where  they  are  attacked  by  the 
bitter  pleasantries  of  Lord  Brougliam.  A  boxer  is  in  the  House  : 
he  taught  Palnierston  the  science  of  the  pugilate,  who  conferred 
upon  him  the  seat,"  &c.  &c. 

His  writing  hover,  Jools  came  down  and  ad  a  gaym  at  pool 
with  two  Poles,  a  Bulgian,  and  2  of  his  own  countrymen.  This 
being  done  amidst  more  hafanaf,  without  which  nothink  is  done  in 
England,  and  as  there  was  no  French  play  that  night,  he  &  the 
two  French  gents  walked  round  and  round  Lester  Squarr  smoking 
segaws  in  the  faces  of  other  French  gents  who  were  smoaking  2. 
And  they  talked  about  the  granjer  of  France  and  the  perfidgusness 
of  England,  and  looked  at  the  aluminated  pictur  of  Madame 
Wharton  as  Ilari/ddnei/,  till  Ijedtime.  But  l:)efor  he  slep,  he 
finished  his  letter  you  may  be  sure,  and  called  it  his  "  Fust 
Imprestiuns  of  Anglyterre." 

"  Mind  anil  wake  me  early,"  he  said  to  Boots,  the  ony  Brittish 
subject  in  the  "  Hotel  de  I'Ail,"  and  who  therefore  didn't  under- 
stand him.  "  I  wish  to  be  at  Smithfield  at  G  hours  to  see  the  men 
sell  their  wives."  And  the  young  roag  fell  asleep,  thinking  what 
sort  of  a  one  he'd  buy. 


522  NOVELS    BY    EMINENT    HANDS 

Tliis  was  tlie  way  JooLs  passed  his  ilays,  and  got  infamation 
about  H(>iiglan(l  and  the  Henglish — walking  round  and  round  Lester 
Siiuarr  all  day,  and  every  day  with  tiie  same  company,  occasionally 
dewussiticd  by  an  Oprer  Chorus-singer  or  a  Jew  or  two,  and  every 
afternoon  in  the  Quadrant  admiring  the  genteal  sosiaty  there. 
Munseer  Jools  was  not  over  well  funinsht  with  pocket-money,  and 
so  his  pleasure  was  of  the  gratis  sort  cheafly. 

Well,  one  day  as  he  and  a  friend  was  taking  their  turn  among 
the  aristoxy  under  the  Quadrant — they  were  struck  all  of  a  heap 
by  seeing — but  stop  !  who  ivas  Jools's  friend  1 — but  the  Istory  of 
Jools's  friend  must  be  kep  for  another  innings. 


II 

Not  fur  from  that  knowble  and  cheerfle  Squear  which  Munseer 
Jools  de  Chacabac  had  selacted  for  his  eboad  in  London — 
not  fur,  I  say,  from  Lester  Squarr,  is  a  rainje  of  bildings  called 
Pipping's  Buildings,  leading  to  Blue  Lion  Court,  leading  to  St. 
Martin's  Lane.  You  know  Pipping's  Buildings  by  its  greatest 
ornament,  an  am  and  beefouce  (where  Jools  lias  often  stood  admir- 
ing the  degstaraty  of  the  carver  a-cutting  the  varous  jints),  and  by 
the  little  fishmungur's,  where  you  remark  the  mouldy  lobsters,  tlie 
fly-blown  picklesammon,  the  play-bills  and  the  gingybear  bottles  in 
the  window — above  all,  by  the  "Constantinople"  Divan,  kep  by 
the  Misses  Mordeky,  and  well  known  to  every  lover  of  "  a  pi-ime 
sigaw  and  an  exlent  cup  of  reel  Moky  Cotty  for  6d. 

The  Constantinople  Divann  is  greatly  used  by  the  foring  gents 
of  Lester  SquaiT.  I  never  ad  the  good  fortn  to  pass  down  Pip- 
ping's Buildings  Avithout  seeing  a  haf-a-duzen  of  'em  on  the  threshole 
of  the  extablishment,  giving  the  street  an  oi){>ertunity  of  testing 
the  odar  of  the  Misses  Mordeky's  prime  Avannas.  Two  or  three 
raor  may  be  visable  inside,  settn  on  the  counter  or  the  chestis, 
indulging  in  their  fav'rit  whead,  the  rich  and  spisy  Pickwhick,  tiie 
ripe  Manilly,  or  the  flagrant  and  arheumatic  Qby. 

"  These  Divanns  are,  as  is  very  well  known,  the  knightly  resott 
of  the  young  Henglish  nobillaty.  It  is  ear  a  young  Pier,  after  an 
arjus  day  at  the  House  of  Commons,  solazes  himself  with  a  glas  of 
gin-and-water  (the  national  beveridge),  with  cheerful  conversation 
on  tlie  ewents  of  the  day,  or  with  an  ainnless  gayni  of  baggytell  in 
the  back  parlor." 

So  wrote  at  least  our  friend  Jools  to  his  newsjiaper,  the  I/orri- 
fiam ;  and  of  this  back-parlor  and  baggy tell-bord,  of  this  counter, 


CRINOLINE  523 

of  this  "  Constantinople  "  Divan,  he  became  almost  as  reglar  a  fre- 
quenter as  the  plaster  of  Parish  Turk  who  sits  smoking  a  hookey 
between  the  two  blue  coffee-cups  in  the  winder. 

I  have  oftin,  sniokin  my  own  shroot  in  silents  in  a  corner  of  the 
Diwann,  listened  to  Jools  and  his  friends  inwaying  agiust  Hingland, 
and  boastin  of  their  own  immortial  country.  How  they  did  go  on 
about  Wellintun,  and  what  an  arty  coutamp  they  ad  for  him  ! — 
how  they  used  to  prove  that  France  was  the  Light,  the  Scenter- 
pint,  the  Igsample  and  Hadmiration  of  the  whole  world !  And 
though  I  scarcely  take  a  French  paper  nowadays  (I  lived  in  early 
days  as  groom  in  a  French  famly  three  years,  and  therefore  knows 
the  languidg),  though,  I  say,  you  can't  take  up  Jools's  paper,  the 
Orriflain,  without  readin  that  a  minister  has  committed  bribery 
and  perjury,  or  that  a  littery  n)an  has  committed  perjury  and 
murder,  or  that  a  Duke  has  stabbed  his  wife  in  fifty  places,  or  some 
story  equally  horrible  ;  yet  for  all  that  it's  admiral  to  see  how  the 
French  gents  will  swagger — how  they  will  be  the  scenters  of  civilisa- 
tion— how  they  will  be  the  Igsamples  of  Europ,  and  nothink  shall 
prevent  'em — knowing  they  will  have  it,  I  say  I  listen,  smokin  my 
pip  in  silence.     But  to  our  tail. 

Reglar  every  evening  there  came  to  the  "  Constantanople "  a 
young  gent  etired  in  the  igth  of  fashn ;  and  indead  presenting  by 
the  cleanlyness  of  his  appearants  and  linniug  (which  was  generally 
a  pink  or  blew  shurt,  with  a  cricketer  or  a  dansuse  pattern)  rather 
a  contrast  to  the  dinjy  and  wistkeard  sosiaty  of  the  Diwann.  As 
for  wiskars,  this  young  mann  had  none  beyond  a  little  yallow  tought 
to  his  chin,  which  you  woodn  notas,  only  he  was  always  pulling  at 
it.  His  statue  was  diminnative,  but  his  coschume  supubb,  for  he 
had  the  tippiest  Jane  boots,  the  ivoryheadest  canes,  the  most  gawjus 
scarlick  Jonville  ties,  and  the  most  Scotch-plaidest  trowseys,  of  any 
customer  of  that  establishment.      He  was  univusaly  called  Milord. 

"Qui  est  ce  jeune  seigneur'?  Who  is  this  young  hurl  who 
comes  knightly  to  the  '  Constantanople,'  who  is  so  proddigl  of  his 
gold  (for  indeed  the  young  gent  would  frequinly  propoase  gininwater 
to  the  company),  and  who  drinks  so  much  gin?"  asked  Munseer 
Chacabac  of  a  friend  from  the  "Hotel  de  I'Ail." 

"His  name  is  Lord  Yardham,"  answered  that  friend.  "He 
never  comes  here  but  at  night — and  why  ? " 

"  Y  ? "  igsclaimed  Jools,  istonisht. 

"  Why  ?  because  he  is  engaygd  all  day — and  do  you  know 
where  he  is  engaygd  all  day  ? " 

"  Where  r'  a'skod  J(.ols. 

"  At  the  Foring  Otfice — noiv  do  you  beginn  to  understand?" — 
Jools  trembled. 


5i24  NOVELS    BY    EMINENT    HANDS 

He  speaks  of  his  undo,  the  head  of  that  office. — "  Wlio  is  tlie 
head  of  that  offis  ? — Pahiierston." 

"  The  nephew  of  Pahiierston  !  "  said  Jools,  ahnost  in  a  fit. 

"  Lor  Yardliam  pretends  not  to  s])eak  Frencii,"  the  other  went 
on.  "He  i)rctends  he  can  only  say  ?f'ee  and  comi/ionr/ 2>07-ti/ voo. 
Sliallow  humbug  ! — I  have  marked  him  during  our  conversations. — 
When  we  have  spoken  of  the  glory  of  France  among  the  nations, 
I  have  seen  his  eye  kindle,  and  his  perfidious  lip  curl  with  rage. 
When  tliey  have  discussed  before  him,  tlie  Imprudents  !  the  affiiirs 
of  Europe,  and  Raggybritchovich  has  shown  us  the  next  Circassian 
Campaign,  or  Sapousne  has  laid  bare  the  plan  of  the  Calabrian 
patriots  for  the  next  insurrection,  I  have  marked  this  stranger — 
this  Lor  Yardham.  He  smokes,  'tis  to  conceal  his  countenance  ; 
he  drinks  gin,  'tis  to  hide  his  face  in  the  goblet.  And  be  suns,  he 
carries  every  word  of  our  conversation  to  the  perfidious  Palmerston, 
his  uncle." 

"I  will  beard  him  in  his  den,"  thought  Jools.  "I  will  meet 
him  co)'ps-a-cor-/>s — the  tyrant  of  Europe  shall  suft'er  tlirough  his 
nephew,  and  I  will  shoot  him  as  dead  as  Dujarrier." 

Wlien  Lor  Yardham  came  to  the  "  Constantanople  "  that  night, 
Jools  i'd  him  savidgely  from  edd  to  foot,  while  Lord  Yardham 
replied  the  same.  It  wasn't  much  for  either  to  do — neyther  being 
more  than  4  foot  ten  hi — Jools  was  a  grannydear  in  his  corai)auy 
of  the  Nashnal  Gard,  and  was  as  brayv  as  a  lion. 

"  Ah,  I'Angleterre,  I'Angleterre,  tu  nous  dois  une  revanche,"  said 
Jools,  crossing  his  arms  and  grinding  his  teeth  at  Lord  Yardham. 

"  Wee,"  said  Lord  Yardham  ;  "  wee." 

"  Delenda  est  Carthago  ! "  howled  out  Jools. 

"  Oh,  wee,"  said  the  Erl  of  Yardham,  and  at  the  same  moment 
his  glas  ofginawater  coming  in,  he  took  a  drink,  saying,  "A  voter 
santy,  Munseer  : "  and  then  he  offered  it  like  a  man  of  faslm 
to  Jools. 

A  light  broak  on  Jools's  mind  as  he  igsepted  the  refreshniint. 
"  Sapoase,"  he  said,  "  instedd  of  slaughtering  this  nephew  of  the 
infamous  Palmerston,  I  extract  his  secrets  from  him  ;  suppose  I 
pump  him — suppose  I  unveil  his  schemes  and  send  them  to  my 
jiaper'?  La  France  may  hear  the  name  of  Jools  deOhacabac,  and 
the  star  of  honour  may  glitter  on  my  bosom." 

So,  axepting  Lord  Yardham's  cortasy,  he  returned  it  by  order- 
ing another  glass  of  gin  at  his  own  exjjence,  and  they  both  drank 
it  on  the  counter,  where  Jools  talked  of  the  afiaers  of  Europ  all 
night.  To  everything  he  said,  the  Earl  of  Yardham  answered, 
"  Wee,  M'ee ; "  except  at  the  end  of  the  evening,  when  he  squeeged 
his  &  and  said,  "  Bon<r  swore." 


CRINOLINE  525 

"  There's  nothing  like  goin  amongst  'em  to  cquire  the  reel 
proiiounciation,"  his  Lordship  said,  as  he  let  himself  into  his  lodgings 
with  his  latch-key.  "  That  was  a  very  eloquent  young  gent  at  the 
'  Constantinople,'  and  I'll  patronise  him." 

"  Ah,  perfide,  je  te  dt^masquerai  ! "  Jools  remarked  to  himself 
as  he  went  to  bed  in  his  "  Hotel  de  I'Ail."  And  they  met  the 
next  night,  and  from  that  heavning  the  young  men  were  continyually 
together. 

Well,  one  day,  as  they  were  walking  in  the  Quadrant,  Jools 
talking,  and  Lord  Yardham  saying,  "  Wee,  wee,"  they  were  struck 
all  of  a  heap  by  seeing — 

But  my  paper  is  igshosted,  and  I  must  dixcribe  what  they  sor  in 
the  nex  number. 


Ill 

THE   CASTLE   OF   THE   ISLAND   OF   FOGO 

The  travler  who  pesews  his  dalitefle  coarse  through  the  fair 
rellum  of  Franse  (as  a  great  romantic  landskippist  and  neamsack 
of  mind  would  say)  never  chaumed  his  i's  with  a  site  more 
lovely,  or  vu'd  a  pallis  more  magnifKznt  than  that  which  was  the 
buthplace  of  the  Eroing  of  this  Trew  Tale.  Phansy  a  country 
through  whose  werdant  planes  the  selvery  Garonne  wines,  like — 
like  a  benevvolent  sarpent.  In  its  plasid  busum  antient  cassles, 
pioturask  willidges,  and  waving  woods  are  reflected.  Purple  hills, 
crowned  with  inteak  ruings ;  rivvilets  babbling  through  gentle 
greenwoods ;  wight  farm  ouses,  hevvy  with  hoverhanging  vines,  and 
from  which  the  appy  and  peaseful  okupier  can  cast  his  glans  over 
goolden  waving  cornfealds,  and  I\IHerald  meddows  in  which  the 
lazy  cattle  are  graysinn ;  while  the  shep^^ard,  tending  his  snoughy 
flox,  wiles  away  the  leisure  moniinx  on  his  loot — these  hoffer  but 
a  phaint  pictur  of  the  rurial  felissaty  in  the  midst  of  widge  Crinoline 
and  Hesteria  de  Viddlers  were  bawn. 

Their  Par,  the  Marcus  de  Viddlers,  Shavilear  of  the  Legend  of 
Honour  and  of  the  Lion  of  Bulgum,  the  Golden  Please,  Grand 
Cross  of  the  Eflant  and  Castle,  and  of  the  Catinbagi)ipos  of 
Hostria.  Grand  Chamberleng  of  the  Crownd,  and  Major-Genaril  of 
Hoss-Mareens,  &c.  &c.  &c. — is  the  twenty-foth  or  tith  Marquis 
that  has  bawn  the  Tittle;  is  disended  lenyally  from  King  Pijijjing, 
and  has  almost  as  antient  a  paddygree  as  any  which  the  Ollywell 
Street  frends  of  the  Member  of  Buckinumsheer  can  su])ply. 

His  Marchyniss,  the  lovely  &  ecomi)]isht  Emily  de  St.  Cornichon, 
quitte<l   this  mortial  spear  very  soon  after  she  had  presented  her 


526  NOVELS    BY    EMINENT    HANDS 

lord  with  the  two  little  dawling  Cherrybins  above  dixcribed,  in 
wiioinb,  after  the  loss  of  that  angle  his  wife,  the  disconslit  widderer 
found  his  only  jy  on  huth.  In  all  his  eumsemints  they  ecuiiipanied 
him  ;  their  edjaeation  was  his  sole  bisniss  ;  he  atcheaved  it  with  the 
assistnce  of  the  ugliest  and  most  lernid  masters,  and  the  most  hidjus 
and  egsimi)lary  governices  which  money  could  procure.  R,  hoM'  must 
his  peturnle  art  have  bet,  as  these  Budds,  which  he  had  nurrisht, 
bust  into  buty,  and  twined  in  blooming  flagrance  round  his  pirentle 
Busm  ! 

The  villidges  all  round  his  hancestral  Alls  blessed  the  Marcus 
and  his  lovely  hoftsprig.  Not  one  villidge  in  their  naybrood  but 
was  edawned  by  their  elygint  benifisns,  and  where  the  inhabitnts 
weren't  rendered  appy.  It  was  a  pattern  pheasantry.  All  the 
old  men  in  the  districk  were  wertuous  &  tockative,  ad  red  stockins 
and  i-eeled  drab  shoes,  and  beautiful  snowy  air.  All  the  old  women 
had  peaked  ats,  and  crooked  cains,  and  chince  gowns  tucked  into 
the  pockits  of  their  quiltid  petticoats  ;  they  sat  in  pictarask  porches, 
pretendin  to  spinn,  while  the  lads  and  lassis  of  the  villidges  danst 
under  the  heliums.  O,  'tis  a  noble  sight  to  whitniss  that  of  an 
appy  pheasantry  !  Not  one  of  those  rustic  wassals  of  the  Ouse  of 
Widdlers,  but  ad  his  air  curled  and  his  shirt-sleaves  tied  up  with 
pink  ribbing  as  he  led  to  the  macy  dance  some  appy  country  gal, 
with  a  black  velvit  boddice  and  a  redd  or  yaller  petticoat,  a  hormylu 
cross  on  her  neck,  and  a  silver  harrow  in  her  air ! 

When  the  Marcus  &  ther  young  ladies  came  to  the  villidge  it 
would  have  done  the  i's  of  the  flanthropist  good  to  see  how  all 
reseaved  'em  !  The  little  children  scattered  calico  flowers  on  their 
path,  the  snowy-aired  old  men  with  red  faces  and  rinkles  took  off 
their  brown  paper  ats  to  slewt  the  noble  Marcus.  Young  and  old 
led  them  to  a  woodn  bank  painted  to  look  like  a  bower  of  roses, 
and  when  they  were  sett  down  danst  ballys  before  them.  0  'twas 
a  noble  site  to  see  the  Marcus  too,  smilin  ellygint  with  fethers  in 
his  edd  and  all  his  stars  on,  and  the  young  Marchynisses  with  their 
ploomes,  and  trains,  and  little  coronicks  ! 

They  lived  in  tremenjus  splendor  at  home  in  their  pyturnle 
alls,  and  had  no  end  of  pallises,  willers,  and  town  and  country 
resadences ;  but  their  fayvorit  resadence  was  called  the  Castle  of 
the  Island  of  Togo. 

Add  I  the  penn  of  the  hawtlier  of  a  Codlingsby  himself,  I 
coodnt  dixcribe  the  gawjusness  of  their  aboad.  They  add  twenty- 
four  footmen  in  livery,  besides  a  boy  in  codroys  for  the  knives  & 
shoes.  They  had  nine  meels  aday — Shami)ayne  and  pineapples 
were  served  to  each  of  the  young  ladies  in  bed  before  they  got  up. 
Was  it  Prawns,  Sherry-cobblers,  lobster-salids,  or  maids  of  honour, 


CRINOLINE   AND    HISTERIA    DE    VIDDLERS. 


CRINOLINE  527 

they  had  but  to  ring  the  bell  and  call  for  what  they  chose.  They 
had  two  new  dresses  every  day — one  to  ride  out  in  the  open  carriage, 
and  another  to  appear  in  the  gardens  of  the  Castle  of  the  Island 
of  Fogo,  whicli  were  illuminated  every  night  like  Voxhall.  The 
young  noblemen  of  France  were  there  ready  to  dance  with  them, 
and  festif  suppers  eoncludid  the  jawyus  night. 

Thus  they  lived  in  ellygant  ratirement  untill  Missfortune  bust 
upon  this  happy  fammaly.  Etaehed  to  his  Princes  and  abommana- 
ting  the  ojus  Lewyphlip,  the  Marcus  was  conspiring  for  the  benefick 
of  the  helder  branch  of  tlie  Borebones — and  what  was  the  con- 
squinces  ? — One  night  a  fleat  presented  itself  round  the  Castle  of 
the  Island  of  Fogo — and  skewering  only  a  couple  of  chests  of  jewils, 
the  Marcus  and  the  two  young  ladies  in  disgyise,  fled  from  that 
island  of  bliss.  And  whither  fled  they  ? — To  England  ! — England 
the  ome  of  the  brave,  the  i-efuge  of  the  world,  where  the  pore  slave 
never  setts  his  foot  liut  he  is  free  ! 

Such  w^as  the  ramantic  tail  which  was  told  to  2  friends  of 
ours  by  the  Marcus  de  Viddlers  himself,  whose  daughters,  walking 
with  their  page  from  Ungerford  Market  (where  they  liad  been  to 
purchis  a  paper  of  srimps  for  the  umble  supper  of  their  noble 
fatlier),  Yardham  and  his  equaintnce,  Muuseer  Jools,  had  remarked 
and  admired. 

But  how  had  those  two  young  Erows  become  equainted  with 
the  noble  Marcus? — That  is  a  mistry  we  must  elucydate  in  a 
fiitur  vollam. 


THE   STARS   AND    STRIPES 

By  the  Author  of  "The  Last  of  the  Mulligans," 
"  Pilot,"  etc. 


THE  King  of  France  was  walking  on  the  terrace  of  Versailles ; 
the  fairest,  not  only  of  Queens,  but  of  women,  hung  fondly 
on  the  Royal  arm ;  while  the  children  of  France  were  in- 
dulging in  their  infantile  hilarity  in  the  alleys  of  the  magnificent 
garden  of  Le  Notre  (from  which  Niblo's  garden  has  been  copied, 
in  our  own  Empire  city  of  New  York),  and  playing  at  leap-frog 
with  their  uncle,  the  Count  of  Provence ;  gaudy  courtiers,  era- 
l)lazoned  with  orders,  glittered  in  the  groves,  and  murmured 
frivolous  talk  in  the  ears  of  high-bred  beauty. 

"  Marie,  my  beloved,"  said  the  ruler  of  France,  taking  out  his 
watch,  "  'tis  time  that  the  Minister  of  America  should  be  here." 

"  Your  Majesty  should  know  tlie  time,"  replied  Marie  Antoinette 
archly,  and  in  an  Austrian  accent ;  "is  not  my  Royal  Louis  the  first 
watchmaker  in  his  empire  ? " 

The  King  cast  a  pleased  glance  at  his  repeater,  and  kissed  with 
courtly  grace  the  fair  hand  of  her  who  had  made  him  the  compli- 
ment. "  My  Lord  Bishop  of  Autun,"  said  he  to  Monsieur  de 
Talleyrand  Pdrigord,  who  followed  tlie  Royal  pair,  in  his  quality 
of  Arch-chamberlain  of  the  Empire,  "  I  pray  you  look  through  tlie 
gardens,  and  tell  his  Excellency  Doctor  Franklin  that  the  King 
waits."  The  Bishop  ran  off,  with  more  than  youthful  agility,  to 
seek  the  United  States  Minister.  "  These  Republicans,"  he  added 
confidentially,  and  with  something  of  a  supercilious  look,  "  are  but 
rude  courtiers,  methinks." 

"Nay,"  interposed  the  lovely  Antoinette,  "rude  courtiers,  sire, 
they  may  be  ;  but  the  world  boasts  not  of  more  accomplished 
gentlemen.  I  have  seen  no  grandee  of  Versailles  that  has  the 
noble  bearing  of  this  American  Envoy  and  his  suite.  They  have 
the  refinement  of  the  Old  World,  with  all  tlie  simple  elegance  of 
the  New.  Though  they  have  perfect  dignity  of  manner,  they  have 
an  engaging  modesty  which  I  have  never  seen  equalled  by  the  best 


THE    STARS    AND    STRIPES  5'29 

of  the  proud  English  nobles  with  whom  they  wage  war.  I  am 
told  they  speak  tlieir  very  language  with  a  grace  which  the  haughty 
Islanders  who  oppress  them  never  attained.  They  are  independent, 
yet  never  insolent ;  elegant,  yet  always  respectful ;  and  brave,  but 
not  in  the  least  boastful." 

"  What  !  savages  and  all,  Marie  1 "  exclaimed  Louis,  laughing, 
and  chucking  the  lovely  Queen  jilayfully  under  the  Royal  chin. 
"But  here  comes  Doctor  Franklin,  and  your  friend  the  Cacique 
with  him."  In  fact,  as  the  monarch  spoke,  the  Minister  of  the 
United  States  made  his  appearance,  followed  by  a  gigantic  warrior 
in  the  garb  of  his  native  woods. 

Knowing  his  place  as  Minister  of  a  sovereign  State  (yielding 
even  then  in  dignity  to  none,  as  it  surpasses  all  now  in  dignity, 
in  valour,  in  honesty,  in  strength,  and  civilisation),  the  Doctor 
nodded  to  the  Queen  of  France,  but  kept  his  hat  on  as  he  faced 
the  French  monarch,  and  did  not  cease  whittling  the  cane  he 
earned  in  his  hand. 

"  I  was  waiting  for  you,  sir,"  the  King  said  peevishly,  in  spite 
of  the  alarmed  pressure  which  the  Queen  gave  his  Royal  arm. 

"The  business  of  the  Republic,  sire,  must  take  precedence 
even  of  your  Majesty's  wishes,"  replied  Doctor  Franklin.  "  When 
I  was  a  poor  printer's  boy  and  ran  errands,  no  lad  could  be  more 
punctual  than  poor  Een  Franklin ;  but  all  other  things  must  yield 
to  the  service  of  the  United  States  of  North  America.  I  have 
done.  What  would  you,  sire  1 "  and  the  intrepid  republican  eyed 
the  monarch  with  a  serene  and  easy  dignity,  which  made  the 
descendant  of  St.  Louis  feel  ill  at  ease. 

"  I  wished  to — to  say  farewell  to  Tatua  before  his  departure," 
said  Louis  XVI.,  looking  rather  awkward.  "Approach,  Tatua." 
And  the  gigantic  Indian  strode  up,  and  stood  undaunted  before  the 
first  magistrate  of  the  French  nation :  again  the  feeble  monarch 
quailed  before  the  terrible  simplicity  of  the  glance  of  the  denizen 
of  the  primoeval  forests. 

The  redoubted  chief  of  the  Nose-ring  Indians  was  decorated  in 
his  war-paint,  and  in  his  top-knot  was  a  peacock's  feather,  Avhich 
had  been  given  him  out  of  tlie  head-dress  of  the  beautiful  Princess 
of  Lamballe.  His  nose,  from  wliieh  hung  the  ornament  from  which 
his  ferocious  tribe  took  its  designation,  was  painted  a  light-blue,  a 
circle  of  green  and  orange  was  drawn  round  each  eye,  while  ser- 
pentine stripes  of  black,  white,  an<l  vermilion  alternately  were 
smeared  on  his  forehead,  and  descended  over  his  cheek-bones  to  his 
cliin.  His  manly  chest  was  similarly  tattooed  and  jiainted,  and 
round  his  brawny  neck  and  arms  hung  inimmerable  bracelets  and 
necklaces  of  human  teeth,  extracted  (one  only  from  each  skull)  froui 
2  o 


530  NOVELS    BY    EMINENT    HANDS 

tlie  jaws  of  those  -who  had  fallen  by  the  terrible  toiiuiluuvk  at  \m 
girdle.  His  moccasins,  and  his  blanket,  -which  was  draped  on  his 
arm  and  fell  in  pictnresque  folds  to  his  feet,  were  fringed  with  tufts 
of  hair— the  black,  the  grey,  the  auburn,  the  golden  ringlet  of 
beauty,  the  red  lock  from  the  forehead  of  the  Scottish  or  the 
Northern  soldier,  the  snowy  tress  of  extreme  old  age,  the  flaxen 
down  of  infancy — all  were  there,  dreadful  reminiscences  of  the 
Chiefs  triumphs  in  war.  The  warrior  leaned  on  his  enormous  ritle, 
and  faced  the  King. 

"And  it  was  with  that  carabine  that  you  shot  Wolfe  in  '57  V 
said  Louis,  eyeing  the  warrior  and  his  weapon.  " 'Tis  a  clumsy 
lock,  and  methinks  I  could  mend  it,"  he  added  mentally. 

"  The  Chief  of  the  French  pale-faces  speaks  truth,"  Tatua  said. 
"  Tatua  was  a  bov  when  he  went  first  on  the  war-path  with  Mont- 
calm." 

"  And  shot  ?  Wolfe  at  the  first  fire  ! "  said  the  King. 
"  Tlie  English  are  braves,  though  their  faces  are  white,"  replied 
tlie  Lidiau.  "  Tatua  shot  the  raging  Wolfe  of  the  Englisli ;  but 
the  other  wolves  caused  the  foxes  to  go  to  earth."  A  smile  played 
round  Doctor  Franklin's  lips,  as  he  whittled  his  cane  with  more 
vigour  than  ever. 

"I  believe,  your  Excellency,  Tatua  has  done  good  service  else- 
where than  at  Quebec,"  the  King  said,  appealing  to  the  American 
Envoy  :  "  at  Bunker's  Hill,  at  Brandywine,  at  York  Island  1  Now 
that  Lafayette  and  my  brave  Frenchmen  are  among  you,  your 
Excellency  need  have  no  fear  but  tiiat  the  war  will  finish  quickly 
— yes,  yes,  it  will  finish  quickly.  They  will  teach  you  discipline, 
and  the  way  to  conquer." 

"  King  Louis  of  France,"  said  the  Envoy,  clapping  his  hat  down 
over  his  head  and  putting  his  arms  akimbo,  "  we  have  learned  that 
from  the  British  to  whom  we  are  superior  in  everything:  and  I'd 
have  your  Majesty  to  know  that  in  the  art  of  whipping  the  world 
we  have  no  need  of  any  French  lessons.  If  your  reglars  jine 
General  Washington,  'tis  to  larn  from  hi?n  how  Britishers  are  licked  ; 
for  I'm  blest  if  yu  know  the  way  yet." 

Tatua  said,  "Ugh,"  and  gave  a  rattle  with  the  butt  of  his 
carabine,  which  made  the  timid  monarch  start ;  the  eyes  of  the 
lovely  Antoinette  flashed  fire,  but  it  played  round  the  head  of  the 
dauntless  American  Envoy  harmless  as  the  lightning  which  he  knew 
how  to  conjure  away. 

The  King  fumbled  in  his  pocket,  and  pulled  out  a  Cross  of  the 
Order  of  the  Bath.  "Your  Excellency  wears  no  honour,"  the 
monarch  said  ;  "  but  Tatua,  who  is  not  a  sul)ject,  only  an  ally,  of 
the   United    States,   may.      Noble   Tatua,   I   appoint   you   Knight 


THE    STARS    AND    STRIPES  531 

Companion  of  my  noble  Order  of  the  Bath.  Wear  this  cross  upon 
your  breast  in  memory  of  Louis  of  France  ; "  and  the  King  held  out 
the  decoration  to  the  Chief. 

Up  to  that  moment  the  Chiefs  countenance  had  been  impas- 
sible. No  look  either  of  admiration  or  dislike  had  appeared  upon 
that  grim  and  war-painted  visage.  But  now,  as  Louis  spoke, 
Tatua's  face  assumed  a  glance  of  ineffable  scorn,  as,  bending  his 
head,  he  took  the  bauble. 

"  I  will  give  it  to  one  of  my  squaws,"  he  said.  "  The  papooses 
in  my  lodge  will  play  with  it.  Come,  Medicine,  Tatua  will  go 
and  drink  fire-water ; "  and  shouldering  his  carabine,  he  turned  his 
broad  back  without  ceremony  upon  the  monarch  and  his  train,  and 
disappeared  down  one  of  the  walks  of  the  garden.  Franklin  found 
him  when  his  own  interview  with  the  French  Cliief  Magistrate 
was  over ;  being  attracted  to  the  spot  where  the  Chief  was  by  the 
crack  of  his  well-known  rifle.  He  was  laughing  in  his  quiet  way. 
He  had  shot  the  Colonel  of  the  Swiss  Guards  through  his  cockade. 

Three  days  afterwards,  as  the  gallant  frigate,  the  Rejiudiator 
was  sailing  out  of  Brest  Harbour,  the  gigantic  form  of  an  Indian 
might  be  seen  standing  on  the  binnacle  in  conversation  with  Com- 
modore Bowie,  the  commander  of  the  noble  ship.  It  was  Tatua,  the 
Chief  of  the  Nose-rings. 


II 

Leatherlegs  and  Tom  Coxswain  did  not  accompany  Tatua  when 
he  went  to  the  Parisian  metropolis  on  a  visit  to  the  father  of  the 
French  pale-faces.  Neither  the  Legs  nor  the  Sailor  cared  for  the 
gaiety  and  the  crowd  of  cities  ;  the  stout  mariner's  home  was  in  the 
puttock-shrouds  of  the  old  Repudiator.  The  stern  and  simple 
trapper  loved  the  sound  of  the  waters  better  than  the  jargon  of 
the  French  of  the  old  country.  "  I  can  follow  the  talk  of  a 
Pawnee,"  he  said,  '^  or  wag  my  jaw,  if  so  be  necessity  bids  me  to 
speak,  by  a  Sioux's  council-fire ;  and  I  can  j)atter  Canadian  French 
with  the  hunters  who  come  for  peltries  to  Nachitoches  or  Thichi- 
muchimachy  ;  but  from  the  tongue  of  a  Frenchwoman,  with  white 
flour  on  her  head,  and  war-paint  on  her  face,  the  Lord  deliver  poor 
Natty  Pumpo." 

"  Amen  and  amen  ! "  said  Tom  Coxswain.  "  There  was  a 
woman  in  our  aft-scuppers  when  I  went  a-whalin  in  the  little  Gram- 
pus— and  Lord  love  you,  Pumpo,  you  poor  land-swab,  she  ivas  as 
pretty  a  craft  as  ever  dowsed  a  tarpauling — there  was  a  woman  on 
board  tlie  Grampms,  who  before  we'd  struck  our  first  fish,  or  biled 


532  NOVELS    BY    EMINENT    HANDS 

our  first  l)lul)l)er,  set  the  wliole  crew  in  a  mutiny.  I  mind  nie 
of  lier  now,  Natty — her  eye  was  sicli  a  piercer  that  you  could  see 
to  steer  by  it  in  a  Newfoundland  fog ;  her  nose  stood  out  like  the 
Gramjms's  jibboom,  and  her  woice,  Lord  love  you,  her  woice  sings 
in  my  cars  even  now ; — it  set  the  Captain  a-q\uirrelin  with  the 
Mate,  who  was  Jianged  in  Boston  Harbour  for  harpoonin  of  his 
officer  in  Baifin's  Bay ; — it  set  me  and  Bob  Bunting  a-pouring 
broadsides  into  each  otlier's  old  timbers,  whereas  me  and  Bob  was 
worth  all  the  women  that  ever  shipped  a  hawser.  It  cost  me  three 
years'  pay  as  I'd  stowed  away  for  the  old  mother,  and  might  have 
cost  me  ever  so  much  more,  only  bad  luck  to  me,  she  went  and 
married  a  little  tailor  out  of  Nantucket ;  and  I've  hated  women 
and  tailors  ever  since  ! "  As  he  spoke,  the  hardy  tar  dashed  a 
drop  of  brine  from  his  tawny  cheek,  and  once  more  betook  himself 
to  splice  the  taffrail. 

Though  the  brave  frigate  lay  off  Havre-de-Grace,  she  was  not 
idle.  The  gallant  Bowie  and  his  intrepid  crew  made  repeated 
descents  upon  the  enemy's  seaboard.  Tlie  coasts  of  Rutland  and 
merry  Leicestershire  have  still  many  a  legend  of  fear  to  tell  ; 
and  the  children  of  tlie  British  fishermen  tremble  even  now  wdien 
they  speak  of  the  terrible  Repudiatm-.  She  was  the  fii'st  of  the 
mighty  American  war-ships  that  have  taught  the  domineering 
Briton  to  respect  the  valour  of  the  Republic. 

The  novelist  ever  and  anon  finds  himself  forced  to  adopt  the 
sterner  tone  of  the  historian,  when  describing  deeds  connected  with 
his  country's  triumphs.  It  is  well  known  that  during  the  two 
months  in  which  she  lay  off  Havre,  the  Repndiator  had  brought 
more  prizes  into  tliat  port  tlian  had  ever  before  been  seen  in  the 
astonished  French  waters.  Her  actions  with  the  Dettingen  and 
the  Elector  frigates  form  i)art  of  our  country's  history ;  their 
defence — it  may  be  said  without  prejudice  to  national  vanity- — was 
worthy  of  Britons  and  of  tlie  audacious  foe  they  had  to  encounter  ; 
and  it  must  be  owned,  that  but  for  a  lia])py  fortune  Avhich  presided 
on  that  day  over  the  destinies  of  our  country,  the  cliance  of  the 
combat  might  have  been  in  favour  of  the  British  vessels.  It  was 
not  until  the  Elector  blew  up,  at  a  quarter-past  three  p.m.,  by  a 
lucky  shot  whicii  fell  into  her  caboose,  and  communicated  with 
the  powder-magazine,  that  Commodore  Bowie  was  enabled  to  lay 
liimself  on  board  the  Dettingen,  which  he  carried  sword  in  hand. 
Even  when  the  American  boarders  had  made  tlieir  lodgment  on 
the  Dettingen's  binnacle,  it  is  possible  that  the  battle  would  still 
have  gone  against  us.  The  British  were  still  seven  to  one ;  their 
carronades,  loaded  with  marline-spikes,  swept  the  gim-deck,  of 
which  "V^e  had  possession,  and  decimated  our  little  force ;  when  a 


THE    STARS    AND    STRIPES  533 

rifle-ball  from  the  shrouds  of  the  Repudiator  shot  Captain  Mumford 
under  the  star  of  the  Guelphic  Order  which  he  wore,  and  the 
Americans,  with  a  shout,  rushed  up  the  companion  to  the  quarter- 
deck, upon  the  astonished  foe.  Pike  and  cutlass  did  the  rest  of 
the  bloody  work.  Rumford,  the  gigantic  first  lieutenant  of  the 
Dettingen  was  cut  down  by  Commodore  Bowie's  own  sword,  as 
they  engaged  hand  to  hand;  and  it  was  Tom  Coxswain  who  tore 
down  the  British  flag,  after  having  slain  the  Englishman  at  the 
wheel.  Peace  be  to  the  souls  of  the  brave !  The  combat  was 
honourable  alike  to  the  victor  and  the  vanquished;  and  it  never 
can  be  said  that  an  American  warrior  depreciated  a  gallant  foe. 
The  bitterness  of  defeat  was  enough  to  the  haughty  islanders  who 
had  to  suff"er.  The  people  of  Heme  Bay  were  lining  the  shore,  near 
which  the  combat  took  place,  and  cruel  must  have  been  the  pang 
to  them  when  they  saw  the  Stars  and  Stripes  rise  over  the  old  flag 
of  the  Union,  amf  the  Dettingen  fall  doAvn  the  river  in  tow  of  the 
Republican  frigate. 

Another  action  Bowie  contemplated ;  the  boldest  and  most 
daring  perhaps  ever  imagined  by  seaman.  It  is  this  which  has 
been  so  wrongly  described  by  European  annalists,  and  of  which  the 
British  until  now  have  maintained  the  most  jealous  secrecy. 

Portsmouth  Harbour  was  badly  defended.  Our  intelligence  in 
that  town  and  arsenal  gave  us  precise  knowledge  of  the  disposition 
of  the  troops,  the  forts,  and  the  ships  there ;  and  it  was  determined 
to  strike  a  blow  which  should  shake  the  British  power  in  its  centre. 

That  a  frigate  of  the  size  of  the  Repvdiator  should  enter  the 
harbour  unnoticed,  or  could  escape  its  guns  unscathed,  passed  the 
notions  of  even  American  temerity.  But  upon  the  memorable  26th 
of  June  1782,  the  Repudiator  sailed  out  of  Havre  Roads  in  a 
thick  fog,  under  cover  of  which  she  entered  and  cast  anchor  in 
Bonchurch  Bay,  in  the  Isle  of  Wight,  To  surprise  tlie  Martello 
Tower  and  take  the  feeble  garrison  thereunder,  was  the  work  of 
Tom  Coxswain  and  a  few  of  his  blue-jackets.  The  surprised  garrison 
laid  down  their  arms  before  him. 

It  was  midnight  before  the  boats  of  the  ship,  commanded  by 
Lieutenant  Bunker,  pulled  off"  from  Bonchurch  witli  muffled  oars, 
and  in  another  hour  were  off  the  Common  Hard  of  Portsmouth, 
having  passed  the  challenges  of  the  Thetis  and  the  Ampkion  frigates, 
and  the  Polyanthus  brig. 

There  had  been  on  that  day  great  feasting  and  merriment  on 
board  the  Flag-ship  lying  in  the  harbour,  A  banquet  had  been 
given  in  honour  of  the  birthday  of  one  of  the  princes  of  the  Royal 
line  of  the  Guclphs — the  reader  knows  the  propensity  of  Britons 
when  liquor  is  in  i)leuty.     All  on  board  that  Royal  ship  were  more 


534  NOVELS    BY    EMINENT    HANDS 

or  less  overcome.  The  Flag-ship  was  i)lunge(l  in  a  death-like  and 
drunken  sleep.  The  very  officer  of  tlie  watch  was  intoxicated :  he 
could  not  see  the  Eejnidiator's  boats  as  tliey  shot  swiftly  through 
the  waters ;  nor  had  he  time  to  challenge  her  seamen  as  they 
swarmed  up  the  huge  sides  of  the  ship. 

At  the  next  moment  Tom  Coxswain  stood  at  the  wheel  of  the 
Royal  George — the  Briton  who  had  guarded,  a  corpse  at  his  feet. 
The  hatches  were  down.  The  ship  was  in  possession  of  the  Re- 
pudiator's  crew.  They  were  busy  in  her  rigging,  bending  her  sails 
to  carry  her  out  of  the  harbour.  The  well-known  heave  of  the  men 
at  the  windlass  woke  up  Kempenfelt  in  his  state  cabin.  We  know, 
or  rather  do  not  know,  the  result ;  for  who  can  tell  by  whom  the 
lower-deck  ports  of  the  brave  ship  were  opened,  and  how  the 
haughty  prisoners  below  sunk  the  ship  and  its  conquerors  rather 
than  yield  her  as  a  prize  to  the  Republic ! 

Only  Tom  Coxswain  escapetl  of  victors  and*  vanquished.  His 
tale  was  told  to  his  Captain  and  to  Congress,  but  Washington 
forbade  its  publication ;  and  it  was  but  lately  that  tlie  faithful 
seaman  told  it  to  me,  his  grandson,  on  his  hundred-and-fifteenth 
birthday. 


A   PLAN  FOR  A   PRIZE  NOVEL 

In  a  Letter  from  the  eminent  Dramatist  Brown  to  the  eminent 
Novelist  Snooks. 


M 


"Cafe  des  Aveugles. 

Y  DEAR  SNOOKS, — I  am  on  the  look-out  here  for  materials 
for  original  conietlies  such  as  those  lately  produced  at  your 
theatre ;  and  in  the  course  of  my  studies,  I  have  found 
something,  my  dear  Snooks,  which  I  think  will  suit  your  book. 
You  are  bringing,  I  see,  your  admirable  novel,  '  The  Mysteries  of 
Mayfliir,'  to  an  end — (by  the  way,  the  scene,  in  the  200th  number, 
between  the  Duke,  his  Grandmother,  and  the  Jesuit  Butler,  is  one 
of  the  most  harrowing  and  exciting  I  ever  read) — and,  of  course, 
you  must  turn  your  real  genius  to  some  other  channel :  and  we 
may  expect  that  your  pen  shall  not  be  idle. 

"  The  original  plan  I  have  to  propose  to  you,  then,  is  taken 
from  the  French,  just  like  the  original  diamas  above  mentioned ; 
and,  indeed,  I  found  it  in  the  law  report  of  the  National  newspaper, 
and  a  French  literary  gentleman,  M.  Emanuel  Gonzales,  has  the 
credit  of  the  invention.  He  and  an  atlvertisement  agent  fell  out 
about  a  question  of  nwaney,  the  affair  was  brought  before  the  courts, 
and  the  little  plot  so  got  wind.  But  there  is  no  reason  why  you 
should  not  take  the  plot  and  act  on  it  yourself.  You  are  a  known 
man  ;  the  public  relishes  your  works ;  anything  bearing  the  name 
of  Snooks  is  eagerly  read  by  the  masses  ;  and  though  Messrs.  Hookey, 
of  Holywell  Street,  pay  you  handsomely,  I  make  no  doul)t  you  would 
like  to  be  rewarded  at  a  still  higher  figure. 

"  Unless  he  writes  with  a  purpose,  you  know,  a  novelist  in  our 
days  is  good  for  nothing.  This  one  writes  with  a  socialist  purpose ; 
tliat  with  a  conservative  purpose  :  this  author  or  authoress  with  the 
most  delicate  skill  insinuates  Catholicism  into  you,  and  you  find 
yourself  all  but  a  Papist  in  the  third  volume :  another  doctors  you 
with  Low-Church  remedies  to  work  inwardly  upon  you,  and  which 
you  swallow  down  unsus])iciously,  as  children  do  calomel  in  jelly. 
Ficti(jn  advocates  all  sorts  of  truth  and  causes — doesn't  the  delightful 
bard  of  the  Minories  find  Moses  in  everything  1    M.  Gonzales's  plan, 


536  NOVELS    BY    EMINENT    HANDS 

and  tlio  one  which  I  recommend  to  my  dear  Snooks,  simply  was  to 
write  an  advertisement  novel.  Look  over  tlie  Times  or  the  '  Direc- 
tory,' Avalk  down  Regent  Street  or  Fleet  Street  any  day— see  what 
houses  advertise  most,  and  put  yourself  into  couuiamication  witli 
their  proprietors.  Witli  your  rings,  your  chains,  your  studs,  and 
tiie  tip  on  your  chin,  I  don't  know  any  greater  swell  than  Bob 
Snooks.  Walk  into  the  shops,  I  say,  ask  for  the  princii)al,  and 
introduce  yourself,  saying,  '  I  am  the  great  Snooks  ;  I  am  tlie  author 
of  the  "Mysteries  of  Mayfair";  my  weekly  sale  is  281,000;  I  am 
about  to  produce  a  new  work  called  "  Tlie  Palaces  of  Piralico,  or  the 
Curse  of  the  Court,"  describing  and  lashing  fearlessly  tlie  vices  of 
the  aristocracy :  this  book  will  have  a  sale  of  at  least  530,000 ;  it 
will  be  on  every  table — in  the  boudoir  of  the  pampered  duke,  as  in 
the  chamber  of  the  honest  artisan.  The  myriads  of  foreigners  who 
are  coming  to  London,  and  are  anxious  to  know  about  our  national 
manners,  will  purchase  my  book,  and  carry  it  to  their  distant  homes. 
So,  Mr.  Taylor,  or  Mr.  Haberdasher,  or  Mr.  Jeweller,  how  much 
will  you  stand  if  I  recommend  you  in  my  forthcoming  novel  1 '  You 
vuay  make  a  noble  income  in  this  way.  Snooks.  ' 

" "  For  instance  suppose  it  is  an  upholsterer.  What  more  easy, 
what  more  delightful,  than  the  description  of  upholstery"?  As 
thus : — 

" '  Lady  Emdy  was  reclining  on  one  of  Down  and  Eider's 
voluptuous  ottomans,  the  only  coucdi  on  which  Belgravian  beauty 
now  reposes,  when  Lord  Bathershins  entered,  stepping  noiselessly 
over  one  of  Tomkins's  elastic  Axminster  carjyets.  "  Good  heavens,  my 
Lord  !  "  she  said— and  tlie  lovely  creature  fainted.  The  Earl  rushed 
to  tlie  mantelpiece,  where  he  saw  a  flacon  of  Otto's  eau-de-cologne, 
and,'  &c. 

"  Or  say  it's  a  cheap  furniture-shop,  and  it  may  be  brought  in 
just  as  easily.     As  thus  : — 

*"  "  We  are  poor,  Eliza,"  said  Harry  Hardhand,  looking  affec- 
tionately at  his  wife,  "  but  we  have  enough,  love,  have  we  not,  for 
our  humble  wants  1  The  rich  and  luxurious  may  go  to  Dillow's  or 
Gobiggin's,  but  we  can  get  our  rooms  comfortably  furnished  at 
Timmonson's  for  £20."  And  putting  on  her  bonnet,  and  hanging 
affectionately  on  her  liusband,  the  stoker's  pretty  bride  tripped 
gaily  to  the  well-known  mart,  where  Timmonson,  with  his  usual 
affability,  was  ready  to  receive  them.' 

"Then  you  might  have  a  touch  at  the  wine-merchant  and 
purveyor.  '  "  Where  did  you  get  this  delicious  claret,  or  pdt^  de 
foie  f/ras  .? "  (or  what  you  please),  said  Count  Blagowski  to  the  gay 
young  Sir  Horace  Swellmore.  The  voluptuous  Bart,  answered,  "  At 
So-an'l-So's,  or  So-and-So's." '     The  answer  is  obvious.     You  may 


A    PLAN    FOR    A    PRIZE    NOVEL  537 

furnish  your  cellar  or  your  larder  in  this  way.  Begad,  Snooks  !  I 
lick  my  lips  at  the  very  idea  ! 

"Then,  as  to  tailors,  milliners,  bootmakers,  &c.,  how  easy  to 
get  a  word  for  them  !  '  Amramson,  the  tailor,  waited  upon  Lord 
Paddiugton  with  an  assortment  of  his  unrivalled  waistcoats,  or  clad 
in  that  simple  but  aristocratic  style  of  which  Schneider  alone  has 
the  secret.  Parvy  Newcome  really  looked  like  a  gentleman,  and 
though  corpulent  and  crooked,  Schneider  had  managed  to  give 
him,'  &c.  Don't  you  see  what  a  stroke  of  business  you  might  do 
in  this  way  ? 

"^The  shoemaker.  — '  Lady  Fanny  flew,  rather  than  danced, 
across  the^ballroom  ;  only  a  Sylphide,  or  Taglioni,  or  a  lady  chauss^ed 
by  Chevillett  of  Bond  Street,  could  move  in  that  fairy  way ; '  and 

"  The  hairdresser. — '  "  Count  Barbarossa  is  seventy  years  of 
age,"  said  the  Earl.  "  I  remember  him  at  the  Congress  of  Vienna, 
and  he  has  not  a  single  grey  hair."  Wiggins  laughed.  "  My  good 
Lord  Baldock,"  said  the  old  wag,  "  I  saw  Barbarossa's  hair  coming 
out  of  Ducroissant's  shop,  and  under  his  valet's  arm — ho  !  ho  !  ho  !  " 
— and  the  two  bon-vivants  chuckled  as  the  Count  passed  by  talking 
with,'  »&c.  &c. 

"  The  gunmaker. — '  The  antagonists  faced  each  otlier ;  and  un- 
dismayed before  his  gigantic  enemy,  Kilconnel  raised  his  pistol.  It 
was  one  of  Clicker's  manufacture,  and  Sir  Marmaduke  knew  he 
could  trust  tlie  maker  and  the  weapon.  "  One,  tNvo,  three"  cried 
O'Tool,  and  the  two  pistols  went  off"  at  that  instant,  and  uttering  a 
terrific  curse,  the  Lifeguardsman,'  &c. — A  sentence  of  this  nature 
from  your  pen,  my  dear  Snooks,  would,  I  should  think,  bring  a  case 
of  pistols  and  a  double-barrelled  gun  to  your  lodgings  ;  and,  though 
Heaven  forbid  you  should  use  such  weapons,  you  might  sell  them, 
you  know,  and  we  could  make  merry  with  the  proceeds. 

''  If  my  hint  is  of  any  use  to  you,  it  is  quite  at  your  service, 
dear  Snooks;  and  should  anything  come  of  it,  I  hope  you  will 
remember  your  friend." 


SKETCHES 

AND 

THAYELS    IN    LONDON 


SKETCHES 

AND 

TRAVELS    IN    LONDON 

TRAVELS    IN   LONDON 

HE  had  appointed  me  in  Saint  James's  Park,  under  the  Duke 
of  York's  Column,  on  Guy  Fawkes'  day ;  and  I  found  the 
venerable  man  at  the  hour  and  at  the  place  assigned  looking 
exceedingly  sweet  upon  the  gambols  of  some  children :  who  were 
accompanied,  by  the  way,  by  a  very  comely  young  woman  as  a 
nursery-maid.  He  left  the  little  ones  with  a  glance  of  kindness, 
and,  hooking  his  little  arm  into  nune,  my  excellent  and  revered 
friend  Mr.  Punch  and  I  paced  the  Mall  for  a  while  together. 

I  had  matters  of  deep  importance  (in  my  mind,  at  least)  to 
communicate  to  my  revered  patron  and  benefactor.  The  fact  is,  I 
have  travelled  as  Mr.  Punch's  Commissioner  in  various  countries ; 
and  having,  like  all  persons  of  inquiring  mind,  from  Ulysses  down- 
wards, a  perpetual  desire  for  locomotion,  I  went  to  propose  to  our 
beloved  chief  a  new  tour.  I  set  before  him  elocjuently  the  advan- 
tages of  a  trip  to  China :  or,  now  that  the  fighting  was  over,  a 
journey  to  Mexico  I  thought  might  be  agreeable — or  why  not  travel 
in  the  United  States,  I  asked,  where  Punch's  Commissioner  would 
be  sure  of  a  welcome,  and  where  the  natives  have  such  a  taste  for 
humorous  description  1 

"  My  dear  Spec,"  *  said  the  sage,  in  reply  to  a  long  speech  of 
mine,  "  you  are,  judging  from  your  appearance,  five-and-twentj' 
years  old,  and  consequently  arrived  at  the  estate  of  man.  You 
have  written  for  my  publication  a  number  of  articles,  which,  good, 
bad,  and  indifferent  as  they  are,  make  me  suppose  that  you  have 
some  knowledge  of  tlie  world.  Have  you  lived  so  long  in;  this,  our 
country  as  not  to  know  that  Britons  do  not  care  a  fig  for  foreign 

*  A  name  sometimes  assumed  by  the  writer  in  his  contributions  to,  jfuncfi^.. 


542     SKETCHES    AND    TRAVELS    IN    LONDON 

affairs  ?  Who  takes  any  heed  of  the  Si)anish  marriages  now  ? — of 
the  Mexican  wars  1— of  the  row  in  Switzerland"?  Do  you  know 
whetlier  a  Vorort  is  a  gentleman,  or  a  legislative  body,  or  a  village 
in  the  Canton  of  Uri  ?  Do  you  know  a  man  who  reads  tlie  Spanish 
and  Portuguese  corrcspondenee  in  the  newspapers?  Sir,  I  grow 
sick  at  the  sight  of  tlie  name  of  Bomfin,  and  shudder  at  the  idea  of 
Costa  Cabral ! "  and  he  yawned  so  portentously  as  he  spoke,  that  I 
saw  all  my  hopes  of  a  tour  were  over.  Recovered  from  tliat  spasm, 
the  Good  and  Wise  One  continued, — "  You  are  fond  of  dabbling  in 
the  fine  arts,  Mr.  Spec— now  pray,  sir,  tell  me,  which  department 
of  the  Exhibition  is  most  popular  1 " 

I  unhesitatingly  admitted  that  it  was  the  portraits  the  British 
public  most  liked  to  witness.     Even  when  I  exhibited  my  great 

picture  of  Heliogabalus,  I  owned  that  nobody 

"  Exactly — that  noljody  looked  at  it ;  whereas  every  one  examines 
the  portraits  with  interest,  and  you  hear  people  exclaim,  '  Law,  ma  ! 
if  it  ain't  a  portrait  of  Mrs.  Jones,  in  a  white  satin  and  a  tiara ; ' 
or,  '  Mercy  me !  here's  Alderman  Blogg  in  a  thunderstorm,'  &c.  &c. 
The  British  public  like  to  see  representations  of  what  they  have 
seen  before.  Do  you  mark  me.  Spec  1  In  print  as  in  art,  sir,  they 
like  to  recognise  Alderman  Blogg."  He  paused,  for  we  had  by  this 
time  mounted  the  Duke  of  York's  Steps,  and,  panting  a  little, 
pointed  to  the  noble  vista  before  us  with  his  cape.  We  could  see 
the  street  thronged  with  life ;  the  little  children  gathered  round  the 
colomn;  the  omnibuses  whirling  past  the  Drummond  light;  the 
carriages  and  flunkeys  gathered  round  Howell  and  James's;  the 
image  of  Britannia  presiding  over  the  County  Fire  Office  in  the 
Quadrant,  and  indeed  over  the  scene  in  general. 

"  You  want  to  travel  1 "  said  he,  whisking  his  bamboo.  "  Go 
and  travel  there,  sir.  Begin  your  journey  this  moment.  I  give 
you  my  commission.  Travel  in  London,  and  bring  me  an  account 
of  your  tour.  Describe  me  yonder  beggar's  impudence,  sir;  or 
yonder  footman's  calves ;  or  my  Lord  Bishop's  cob  and  apron  (my 
Lord  Bishop,  how  do  you  dol).  Describe  anything— anybody. 
Consider  your  journey  is  begun  from  this  moment ;  and,  left  foot 
forward— March  ! "  So  speaking,  my  benefactor  gave  me  a  playful 
push  in  the  back,  in  the  direction  of  Waterloo  Place,  and  turned 
into  the  Athenseum,  in  company  with  my  Lord  Bishop  of  Bullock- 
smithy,  whose  cob  had  just  pulled  u])  at  the  door,  and  I  walked 
away  alone  into  the  immensity  of  London,  which  my  Great  Master 
had  bidden  me  to  explore. 

I  staggered  before  the  vastness  of  that  prospect.  Not  naturally 
a  modest  man,  yet  I  asked  myself  mentally,  how  am  I  to  grapple 
with  a  subject  so  tremendous  1     Every  man  and  woman  I  met  was 


TRAVELS    IN    LONDON  543 

invested  witli  an  awful  character,  and  to  be  examined  as  a  riddle 
to  be  read  lieuceforth.  The  street-sweeper  at  the  crossing  gave 
me  a  leer  and  a  wink  and  a  patronising  request  for  a  little  trifle, 
which  made  me  turn  away  from  him  and  push  rapidly  forward. 
"How  do  I  know,  my  boy,"  thought  I  inwardly,  "but  that  in 
the  course  of  my  travels  I  may  be  called  upon  to  examine  you — 
to  follow  you  home  to  your  lodgings  and  back  into  your  early  years 
- — to  turn  your  existence  inside  out,  and  explain  the  mystery  of 
your  life  ?  How  am  I  to  get  the  clue  to  that  secret  ?  "  He  luckily 
spun  away  towards  Waterloo  Place  with  a  rapid  flourish  of  his  broom, 
to  accost  the  Honourable  Member  for  Mufi^borough,  just  arrived 
in  town,  and  who  gave  tije  sweejier  a  gratuity  of  twopence  ;  and 
I  passed  over  the  crossing  to  the  United*  Service  Club  side. 
Admiral  Boarder  and  Colonel  Charger  were  seated  in  the  second 
window  from  the  corner,  reading  the  paper — tlie  Admiral,  bald- 
headed  and  jolly-faced,  reading  with  his  spectacles- — the  Colonel, 
in  a  rich,  curly,  dark-purple  wig,  holding  the  Standard  as  far  off" 
as  possible  from  his  eyes,  and  making  believe  to  read  without 
glasses.  Other  persons  were  waiting  at  the  gate.  Mrs.  General 
Cutaudthrust's  little  carriage  was  at  the  door,  waiting  for  the 
General,  while  the  young  ladies  M-ere  on  the  back  seat  of  tlie 
carriage,  entertained  by  Major  Slasher,  who  had  his  hand  on  the 
button.  I  ran  away  as  if  guilty.  "  Slasher,  Boarder,  Charger, 
Cutandthrust,  the  young  ladies,  and  their  motlier  with  the  chestnut 
front — there  is  not  one  of  you,"  thought  I,  "  but  may  come  under 
my  hands  professionally,  and  I  must  show  up  all  your  histories 
at  the  stern  mandate  of  Mr.  Punch." 

I  rushed  up  that  long  and  dreary  passage  which  skirts  the  back 
of  the  Opera,  and  where  the  mysterious  barbers  and  boot-shops 
are.  The  Frenchman  wlio  was  walking  up  and  down  there,  the 
very  dummies  in  the  hairdressers'  windows  seemed  to  look  at  me 
with  a  new  and  dreadful  significance— a  fast-looking  little  fellow 
in  check  trousers  and  glossy  boots,  who  was  sucking  the  end  of 
his  stick  and  liis  cigar  alternately,  while  bestriding  a  cigar  chest 
in  Mr.  Alvarez's  shop— Mr.  A.  himself,  that  stately  and  courteous 
merchant  who  offers  you  an  Havanna  as  if  you  were  a  Grandee 
of  the  first  class — everybody,  I  say,  struck  me  with  fright.  "  Not 
one  of  these,"  says  I,  "but  next  week  you  may  be  called  upon 
to  copy  him  down ;  "  and  I  did  not  even  look  at  the  fast  young 
man  on  the  chest,  further  than  to  observe  that  a  small  carrot  sprouted 
from  his  chin,  and  that  he  wore  a  shirt  painted  in  scarlet  arabesques. 

I  passed  down  Saint  Albans  Place,  where  the  noble  H.P.  officers 
have  lodgings,  without  ever  peeping  into  any  one  of  their  parlours. 
and  the  Haymarket,  brilliant  with  gin-sliops,  brawling  with  cabmen, 


544     SKETCHES    AND    TRAVELS    IN    LONDON 

and  tlironged  with  lobsters.  At  the  end  towards  the  Quadrant,  the 
poor  dirty  foreigners  were  sauntering  about  greasily ;  the  hansoms 
were  rattling ;  tlie  omnibuses  cutting  in  and  out ;  my  Lord  Tom- 
noddy's cab  witli  the  enormous  white  horse,  was  locked  in  with 
Doctor  Bullfrog's  purple  brougham,  and  a  cartful  of  window-frames 
and  shop-fronts.  Part  of  the  pavement  of  course  was  up,  and 
pitch-caldrons  reeking  in  the  midst ;  omnibus  cads  bawding  out 
"Nowtlieu,  stoopid!"  over  aU.  "Am  I  to  describe  all  these," 
I  thought;  "to  unravel  this  writhing  perplexity;  to  set  sail  into 
this  boundless  ocean  of  life  ?  What  does  my  Master  mean  by  setting 
me  so  cruel  a  task ;  and  how  the  deuce  am  I  to  travel  in  London  1 " 
I  felt  dazzled,  amazed,  and  confounded^  like  stout  Cortes,  when 
with  eagle's  eyes  he« stared  at  the  Pacific  in  a  wild  surprise,  silent 
upon  a  peak  in  What-d'ye-call-'era.     And  I  wandered  on  and  on. 

"Well  met,"  said  a  man,  accosting  me.  What  is  the  matter. 
Spec  ?     Is  your  banker  broke  ? " 

I  looked  down.  It  was  little  Frank  Whitestock,  the  Curate 
of  Saint  Timothy's,  treading  gingerly  over  the  mud. 

I  explained  to  Frank  my  mission,  and  its  tremendous  nature, 
my  modest  fears  as  to  my  competency,  my  perplexity  where  to 
begin. 

The  little  fellow's  eyes  twinkled  roguishly.  "Mr.  Punch 
is  right,"  said  he.  "  If  you  want  to  travel,  my  poor  Spec,  you 
should  not  be  trusted  very  far  beyond  Islington.  It  is  certain  that 
you  can  describe  a  tea-kettle  better  than  a  pyramid." 

"Tea-kettle,  tea-kettle  yourself,"  says  I.  "How  to  begin  is 
the  question." 

"Begin?"  says  he,  "begin  this  instant.  Come  in  here  with 
me ; "  and  he  pulled  at  one  of  four  bells  at  an  old-fashioned  door 
by  which  we  were  standing.  Spec. 


THE    CURATE'S   WALK 

I 

IT  was  the  third  out  of  the  four  bell-buttons  at  the  door  at  which 
my  friend  the  Curate  pulled ;  and  the  summons  was  answered 
after  a  brief  interval. 

I  must  premise  that  the  house  before  which  we  stopped  was 
No.  14  Sedan  Buildings,  leading  out  of  Great  Guelph  Street,  Det- 
tingen  Street,  Culloden  Street,  Minden  Square  ;  and  Upper  and 
Lower  Caroline  Row  form  part  of  the  same  quarter — a  very  queer 
and  solemn  quarter  to  walk  in,  I  think,  and  one  which  always 
suggests  Fielding's  novels  to  me.  I  can  fancy  Captain  Booth 
strutting  out  of  the  very  door  at  which  we  were  standing,  in 
tarnished  lace,  with  his  hat  cocked  over  his  eye,  and  his  hand  on 
his  hanger ;  or  Lady  Bellaston's  chair  and  bearers  coming  swinging 
down  Great  Guelph  Street,  which  we  have  just  quitted  to  enter 
Sedan  Buildings. 

Sedan  Buildings  is  a  little  flagged  square,  ending  abniptly  with 
the  huge  walls  of  Bluck's  Brewery.  The  houses,  by  many  degrees 
smaller  than  the  large  decayed  tenements  in  Great  Guelph  Street, 
are  still  not  uncomfortable,  although  shabby.  There  are  brass-plates 
on  the  doors,  two  on  some  of  them  :  or  simple  names,  as  "  Lunt," 
"  Padgemore,"  &c.  (as  if  no  other  statement  about  Lunt  and  Padge- 
more  were  necessary  at  all)  under  the  bells.  There  are  pictures  of 
mangles  before  two  of  the  houses,  and  a  gilt  arm  with  a  hammer 
sticking  out  from  one. .  I  never  saw  a  Goldbeater.  What  sort  of 
a  being  is  he  that  he  always  sticks  out  his  ensign  in  dark,  mouldy, 
lonely,  dreary,  but  somewliat  respectable  places  ■?  What  powerful 
Mulciberian  fellows  they  must  be,  those  Goldbeaters,  whacking  and 
thumping  with  huge  mallets  at  the  precious  metals  all  day.  I 
wonder  what  is  Goldbeaters'  skin?  and  do  they  get  impregnated 
with  the  metal  1  and  are  their  great  arms  under  their  clean  shirts 
on  Sundays,  all  gilt  and  shining?. 

It  is  a  quiet,  kind,  respectable  place  somehow,  in  spite  of  its 
shabbiness.  Two  pewter  pints  and  a  jolly  little  half-pint  are  hang- 
ing on  the  railings  in  perfect  confidence,  basking  in  what  little  sun 
comes  into  tlie  court.     A  group  of  small  children  are  making  an 


546     SKETCHES    AND    TRAVELS    IN    LONDON 

ornament  of  oyster-shells  in  one  corner.  Who  has  that  half-i)int  ? 
Is  it  for  one  of  those  small  ones,  or  for  some  delicate  female  recom- 
mended to  take  bcerl  The  windows  in  the  court,  upon  some  of 
which  the  sun  glistens,  are  not  cracked,  and  pretty  clean ;  it  is  only 
the  black  and  dreary  look  beliind  which  gives  them  a  poverty-stricken 
appearance.  No  curtains  or  blinds.  A  bird-cage  and  very  few  pots 
of  flowers  here  and  there.  This— with  the  exception  of  a  milkman 
talking  to  a  whitey-browu  woman,  made  up  of  bits  of  flannel  and 
strips  of  faded  chintz  and  calico  seemingly,  and  holding  a  long 
bundle  which  cried— this  was  all  I  saw  in  Sedan  Buildings  while 
we  were  waiting  until  the  door  should  open. 

At  last  the  door  was  opened,  and  by  a  portercss  so  small,  that 
I  wonder  how  she  ever  could  have  lifted  up  the  latch.  She  bobbed 
a  curtsey,  and  smiled  at  the  Curate,  whose  face  gleamed  with  bene- 
volence too,  in  reply  to  that  salutation. 

"  Mother  not  at  home  1 "  says  Frank  Whitestock,  patting  the 
child  on  the  head. 

"Mother's  out  charing,  sir,"  replied  the  girl;  "but  please  to 
walk  up,  sir."  And  she  led  the  way  up  one  and  two  pair  of  stairs 
to  that  apartment  in  the  house  which  is  called  the  second-floor 
front ;  in  which  was  the  abode  of  the  charwoman. 

There  were  two  young  persons  in  the  room,  of  the  respective 
ages  of  eight  and  five,  I  should  think.  She  of  five  years  of  age  was 
hemming  a  duster,  being  perched  on  a  chair  at  the  table  in  the 
nuddle  of  the  room.  The  elder,  of  eight,  politely  wiped  a  chair 
with  a  cloth  for  the  accommodation  of  the  good-natured  Curate,  and 
came  and  stood  between  his  knees,  immediately  alongside  of  his 
umbrella,  which  also  reposed  there,  and  which  she  by  no  means 
equalled  in  height. 

"These  children  attend  my  school  at  St.  Timothy's,"  Mr. 
Whitestock  said,  "  and  Betsy  keeps  the  house  while  her  mother  is 
from  home." 

Anything  cleaner  or  neater  than  this  house  it  is  impossible  to 
conceive.  There  was  a  big  bed,  which  must  have  been  the  resting- 
place  of  the  whole  of  this  little  family.  There  were  three  or  four 
religious  prints  on  the  walls ;  besides  two  framed  and  glazed,  of 
Prince  Coburg  and  the  Princess  Charlotte.  There  were  brass 
candlesticks,  and  a  lamb  on  the  chimney-piece,  and  a  cupboard  in 
the  corner,  decorated  with  near  half-a-dozen  plates,  yellow  bowls, 
and  crockery.  And  on  the  table  there  were  two  or  three  bits  of 
dry  bread,  and  a  jug  with  water,  with  which  these  three  young 
people  (it  being  then  nearly  three  o'clock)  were  about  to  take  their 
meal  called  tea. 

That  little  Betsy  who  looks  so  small  is  nearly  ten  years  old : 


THE    CURATE'S    WALK  547 

and  has  been  a  mother  ever  since  the  age  of  about  five.  I  mean  to 
say,  that  her  own  mother  having  to  go  out  upon  her  charing  opera- 
tions, Betsy  assumes  command  of  the  room  during  her  parent's 
absence :  has  nursed  her  sisters  from  babyliood  up  to  the  present 
time :  keeps  order  over  them,  and  the  house  clean  as  you  see  it ; 
and  goes  out  occasionally  and  transacts  the  family  purchases  of  bread, 
moist  sugar,  and  mother's  tea.  They  dine  upon  bread,  tea  and 
breakfost  upon  bread  when  they  have  it,  or  go  to  bed  without  a 
morsel.  Their  holiday  is  Sunday,  which  they  spend  at  Church  and 
Sunday-school.  The  younger  children  scarcely  ever  go  out,  save 
on  that  day,  but  sit  sometimes  in  the  sun,  which  come's  in  pretty 
pleasantly  ]  sometimes  blue  in  the  cold,  for  they  very  seldom  see  a 
fire  except  to  heat  irons  by,  when  mother  has  a  job  of  linen  to  get 
up.  Father  was  a  journeyman  bookbinder,  who  died  four  years  ago, 
and  is  buried  among  thousands  and  thousands  of  tlie  nameless  dead 
who  lie  crowding  the  black  churchyard  of  St.  Timothy's  parish. 

The  Curate  evidently  took  especial  pride  in  Victoria,  the 
youngest  of  these  three  children  of  the  charwoman,  and  caused 
Betsy  to  fetch  a  book  which  lay  at  the  window,  and  bade  her  read. 
It  was  a  Missionary  Register  which  the  Curate  opened  haphazard, 
and  this  baby  began  to  read  out  in  an  exceedingly  clear  and  resolute 
voice  about — 

"The  island  of  Raritongo  is  the  least  frequented  of  all  the 
Caribbean  Archipelago.  Wankyfungo  is  at  four  leagues  S.E.  by  E., 
and  the  peak  of  the  crater  of  Shuagnahua  is  distinctly  visible.  The 
Irascible  entered  Raritongo  Bay  on  the  evening  of  Thursday  29th, 
and  the  next  day  the  Rev.  Mr.  Flethers,  Mrs.  Flethers,  and  their 
nine  children,  and  Sliangi)Ooky,  the  native  converted  at  Cacabawgo, 
landed  and  took  up  their  residence  at  the  house  of  Ratatatua,  the 
Principal  Chief,  who  entertained  us  with  yams  and  a  pig,"  &€. 
&c.  &c. 

"Raritongo,  Wankyftuigo,  Archipelago."  I  protest  this  little 
woman  read  off"  each  of  these  long  words  with  an  ease  which  per- 
fectly  astonished  me.  Many  a  lieutenant  in  her  Majesty's  Heavies 
would  be  puzzled  with  words  half  the  length.  Whitestock,  by  way 
of  reward  for  her  scholarship,  gave  her  another  pat  on  the  head ; 
having  received  which  present  with  a  curtsey,  she  went  and  put  the 
book  back  into  the  window,  and  clambering  back  into  the  chair, 
resumed  the  hemming  of  the  blue  duster. 

I  suj)pose  it  was  the  smallness  of  these  people,  as  well  as  their 
singular,  neat,  and  tidy  behaviour,  which  interested  me  so.  Here 
were  three  creatures  not  so  high  as  tlie  table,  with  all  the  labours, 
duties,  and  cares  of  life  upon  their  little  shoulders,  working  and 
doing  their  duty  like  the  biggest  of  my  readers ;  regular,  laborious, 


548     SKETCHES    AND    TRAVELS    IN    LONDON 

clicerful — content  with  small  jiittances,  practising  a  hundred  virtues 
of  tlirift  and  order. 

Elizabetli,  at  ten  years  of  age,  might  walk  out  of  this  house  and 
take  the  command  of  a  small  establishment.  She  can  wash,  get  up 
linen,  cook,  make  purchases,  and  buy  bargains.  If  I  were  ten  years 
old  and  three  feet  in  height,  I  wo\dd  marry  her,  and  we  would  go  and 
live  in  a  cupboard,  and  share  the  little  half-})int  i)ot  for  dinner.  'Melia, 
eight  years  of  age,  though  inferior  in  accomplishments  to  her  sister,  is 
her  equal  in  size,  and  can  wash,  scrub,  hem,  go  errands,  put  her  hand 
to  the  dinner,  and  make  herself  generally  useful.  In  a  word,  she  is  fit 
to  be  a  little  housemaid,  and  to  make  everything  but  the  beds,  which 
she  cannot  as  yet  reach  up  to.  As  for  Victoria's  qualifications,  they 
have  been  mentioned  before.  I  wonder  whether  the  Princess  Alice  can 
read  off"  "  Raritongo,"  &c.,  as  glibly  as  this  surprising  little  animal. 

I  asked  the  Curate's  permission  to  make  these  young  ladies  a 
present,  and  accordingly  produced  the  sum  of  sixpence  to  be  divided 
amongst  the  three.  "  What  will  you  do  with  it  1 "  I  said,  laying 
down  the  coin. 

They  answered  all  three  at  once,  and  in  a  little  cliorus,  "  We'll 
give  it  to  mother."  This  verdict  caused  the  disbursement  of  another 
sixpence,  and  it  was  explained  to  them  that  the  sum  was  for  their 
own  private  pleasures,  and  each  was  called  upon  to  declare  what 
she  would  purchase. 

Elizabeth  says,  "  I  would  like  twopenn'orth  of  meat,  if  you 
please,  sir." 

'Melia :  "  Ha'porth  of  treacle,  three-farthings'-worth  of  milk, 
and  the  same  of  fresh  bread." 

Victoria  speaking  very  quick,  and  gasi)ing  in  an  agitated  manner : 
"Ha'pny — aha — orange,   and    ha'pny — aha — apple,    and  ha'pny — 

aha— treacle,  and — and "  here  her  imagination  failed  her.     She 

did  not  know  what  to  do  with  the  rest  of  the  money. 

At  this  'Melia  actually  interposed,  "  Suppose  she  and  Victoria 
subscribed  a  farthing  apiece  out  of  their  money,  so  that  Betsy  might 
have  a  quarter  of  a  pound  of  meat  1 "  She  added  that  her  sister 
wanted  it,  and  that  it  would  do  her  good.  Upon  my  word,  she 
made  the  proposal  and  the  calculations  in  an  instant,  and  all  of  her 
own  accord.  And  before  we  left  them,  Betsy  had  put  on  the 
queerest  little  black  shawl  and  bonnet,  and  had  a  mug  and  a  basket 
ready  to  receive  the  purchases  in  question. 

Sedan  Buildings  has  a  particularly  friendly  look  to  me  since 
that  day.  Peace  be  with  you,  0  thrifty,  kindly,  simple,  loving 
little  maidens  !  May  their  voyage  in  life  prosper !  Think  of  the 
great  journey  before  them,  and  the  little  cockboat  manned  by 
babies  venturing  over  the  great  stormy  occjm. 


II 

FOLLOWING  the  steps  of  little  Betsy  with  her  mug  and 
basket,  as  she  goes  pattering  down  the  street,  v,-e  watch  her 
into  a  grocer's  shop,  where  a  startling  placard  with  "Down 
Again  ! "  written  on  it  announces  that  the  Sugar  Market  is  still  in 
a  depressed  condition — and  where  slie  no  doubt  negotiates  the  pur- 
chase of  a  certain  quantity  of  molasses.  A  little  farther  on,  in 
Lawfeldt  Street,  is  Mr.  Filch's  fine  silversmith's  shop,  where  a  man 
may  stand  for  a  half-hour  and  gaze  with  ravishment  at  the  beautiful 
gilt  cups  and  tankards,  the  stunning  waistcoat-chains,  the  little 
white  cushions  laid  out  with  delightful  diamond  pins,  gold  horse- 
shoes and  splinter-bars,  pearl  owls,  turquoise  lizards  and  dragons, 
enamelled  monkeys,  and  all  sorts  of  agreeable  monstei-s  for  your 
neckcloth.  If  I  live  to  be  a  hundred,  or  if  the  girl  of  my  heart 
were  waiting  for  me  at  the  corner  of  tlie  street,  I  never  could  pass 
Mr.  Filch's  shop  without  having  a  couple  of  minutes'  good  stare 
at  the  window.  I  like  to  fancy  myself  dressed  up  in  some  of  the 
jewellery.  "  Spec,  you  rogue,"  I  say,  "  suppose  you  were  to  get 
leave  to  wear  three  or  four  of  those  rings  on  your  fingers  ;  to  stick 
that  opal,  round  which  twists  a  brilliant  serpent  with  a  ruby  head, 
into  your  blue  satin  neckcloth;  and  to  sport  that  gold  jack-chain 
on  your  waistcoat.  You  might  walk  in  the  Park  with  that  black 
whalebone  prize  riding-whip,  which  has  a  head  the  size  of  a  snuff- 
box, surmounted  with  a  silver  jockey  on  a  silver  race-horse ;  and 
what  a  sensation  you  would  create,  if  you  took  that  large  ram's 
horn  with  the  cairngorm  top  out  of  your  pocket,  and  offered  a  pinch 
of  rappee  to  the  company  round  ! "  A  little  attorney's  clerk  is 
staring  in  at  the  window,  in  whose  mind  very  similar  ideas  are 
passing.  What  would  he  not  give  to  wear  that  gold  pin  next  Sunday 
in  his  blue  hunting  neckcloth'?  The  ball  of  it  is  almost  as  big 
as  those  wliich  are  painted  over  the  side  door  of  Mr.  Filch's  shop, 
which  is  down  that  pa.ssage  which  leads  into  Trotter's  Court. 

I  have  dined  at  a  house  where  the  silver  dishes  and  covers 
came  from  Filch's,  let  out  to  their  owner  by  Mr.  Filch  for  the 
day,  and  in  charge  of  the  grave-looking  man  whom  I  mistook  for 
the  butler.  Butlers  and  ladies'-maids  innumerable  have  audiences 
of  Mr.  Filch  in  his  back-parlour.  There  are  suits  of  jewels  which 
he  and  his  shop  have  known  for  a  half-century  past,  so  often  have 
they  been  pawned  to  liim.  When  we  read  in  the  Con7^t  Journal 
of  Lady  Fitzball's  head-dress  of  laj)pets  and  superb  diamonds,  it 
is  because  the  jewels  get  a  day  rule  from  Filch's,  and  come  back 


550     SKETCHES    AND    TRAVELS    IN    LONDON 

to  his  iron  box  as  soon  as  the  Drawing-room  is  over.  These  jewels 
become  historical  among  pawnbrokers.  It  was  here  that  Lady 
Prigsby  brought  her  diamonds  one  evening  of  last  year,  and  desired 
hurriedly  to  raise  two  thousand  pounds  upon  them,  when  Filch 
respectfully  pointed  out  to  her  Ladyship  that  she  had  pawned 
the  stones  already  to  his  comrade,  Mr.  Tubal,  of  Charing  Cross. 
And,  taking  his  hat,  and  putting  the  case  under  his  arm,  he  went 
with  her  Ladyship  to  the  hack-cab  in  which  she  had  driven  to 
Lawfeldt  Street,  entered  the  veliicle  with  her,  and  they  drove  in 
silence  to  tlie  back  entrance  of  her  mansion  in  Monmouth  Square, 
where  Mr.  Tubal's  young  man  was  still  seated  in  the  hall,  waiting 
until  her  Ladyship  should  be  undressed. 

We  walked  round  the  splendid  shining  shop  and  down  the 
passage,  which  would  be  dark  but  that  the  gas-lit  door  is,  always 
swinging  to  and  fro,  as  the  people  who  come  to  pawn  go  in  and 
out.  You  may  be  sure  there  is  a  gin-shop  handy  to  all  pawn- 
brokers'. 

A  lean  man  in  a  dingy  dress  is  walking  lazily  up  and  down 
the  flags  of  Trotter's  court.  His  ragged  trousers  trail  in  the  slimy 
mud  there.  The  doors  of  the  pawnbroker's,  and  of  the  gin-shop 
on  the  other  side,  are  banging  to  and  fro :  a  little  girl  comes  out 
of  the  former  with  a  tattered  old  handkerchief,  and  goes  up  and 
gives  something  to  the  dingy  man.  It  is  ninepence,  just  raised 
on  his  waistcoat.  The  man  bids  the  child  to  "cut  away  home," 
and  when  she  is  clear  out  of  the  court,  he  looks  at  us  with  a 
lurking  scowl  and  walks  into  the  gin-shop  doors,  which  swing 
always  oppo5ite  the  pawnbroker's  shop. 

Why  should  he  have  sent  the  waistcoat  wrapped  in  that  ragged 
old  cloth  1  Why  should  he  have  sent  the  child  into  the  pawn- 
broker's box,  and  not  have  gone  himself?  He  did  not  choose  to 
let  her  see  him  go  into  the  gin-shop ^why  drive  her  in  at  the 
opposite  door  ?  The  child  knows  well  enough  whither  he  is  gone. 
She  might  as  well  have  carried  an  old  waistcoat  in  her  hand  through 
the  street  as  a  ragged  napkin.  A  sort  of  vanity,  you  see,  drapes 
itself  in  that  dirty  rag ;  or  is  it  a  kind  of  debauched  shame,  which 
does  not  like  to  go  naked  1  The  fancy  can  follow  the  poor  girl 
up  the  black  alley,  up  the  black  stairs,  into  the  bare  room,  where 
mother  ami  children  are  starving,  while  the  lazy  ragamutiftn,  the 
family  bully,  is  gone  into  the  gin-shop  to  "  try  our  celebrated  Cream 
of  the  Valley,"  as  the  bill  in  red  letters  bids  him, 

"I  waited  in  this  court  the  other  day,"  Whitestock  said,  "just 
like  that  man,  while  a  friend  of  mine  w^ent  in  to  take  her  husband's 
tools  out  of  pawn — an  honest  man — a  journeyman  shoemaker,  w^ho 
lives  hard  by."     And  we  went  to  call  on  the  journeyman  shoe- 


THE    CURATE'S    WALK  551 

maker — Randle's  Buildings — two-pair  back — over  a  blacking  manu- 
factory. The  blacking  was  made  by  one  manufacturer,  who  stood 
before  a  tub  stirring  up  his  produce,  a  good  deal  of  which — and 
nothing  else — was  on  the  floor.  We  passed  through  this  emporium, 
which  abutted  on  a  dank  steaming  little  court,  and  up  the  narrow- 
stair  to  the  two-pair  back. 

The  shoemaker  was  at  work  with  his  recovered  tools,  and  hi.s 
wife  was  making  woman's  shoes  (an  inferior  branch  of  the  business) 
by  him.  A  shrivelled  child  was  lying  on  the  bed  in  the  corner 
of  the  room.  There  was  no  bedstead,  and  indeed  scarcely  any 
furniture,  save  the  little  table  on  which  lay  his  tools  and  shoes — 
a  fair-haired,  lank,  handsome  young  man,  with  a  wife  who  may 
have  been  pretty  once,  in  better  times,  and  before  starvation  pulled 
her  down.  She  had  but  one  thin  gown  :  it  clung  to  a  frightftilly 
emaciated  little  body. 

Their  story  was  the  old  one.  The  man  had  been  in  good  work, 
and  had  the  fever.  The  clothes  had  been  pawned,  the  furniture 
and  bedstead  had  been  sold,  and  they  slept  on  the  mattress ;  the 
mattress  went,  and  they  slept  on  the  floor;  the  tools  went,  and 
the  end  of  all  things  seemed  at  hand,  when  the  gracious  apparition 
of  the  Curate,  with  his  umbrella,  came  and  clieered  those  stricken- 
down  poor  folks. 

The  journeyman  shoemaker  must  have  been  astonished  at  such 
a  sight.  He  is  not,  or  was  not,  a  church-goer.  He  is  a  man  of 
"advanced"  opinions;  believing  that  priests  are  hypocrites,  and 
that  clergj-men  in  general  drive  about  in  coaches-and-four,  and  eat 
a  tithe-pig  a  day.  This  proud  priest  got  Mr.  Crispin  a  bed  to  lie 
upon,  and  some  soup  to  eat ;  and  (being  the  treasurer  of  certain 
good  folks  of  his  parish,  whose  charities  lie  administers)  as  soon  as 
the  man  was  strong  enough  to  work,  the  Curate  lent  him  money 
wherewith  to  redeem  his  tools,  and  which  our  friend  is  paying  back 
by  instalments  at  this  day.  And  any  man  who  has  seen  these  two 
honest  men  talking  together,  would  have  said  the  shoemaker  was 
the  haughtier  of  the  two. 

We  paid  one  more  morning  visit.  This  was  witli  an  order  for 
work  to  a  tailor  of  reduced  circumstances  and  enlarged  family.  He 
had  been  a  master,  and  was  now  forced  to  take  work  by  the  job. 
He  who  had  commanded  many  men,  was  now  fallen  down  to  the 
ranks  again.  His  wife  told  us  all  about  his  misfortunes.  She  is 
evidently  very  proud  of  them.  "  He  failed  for  seven  thousand 
pounds,"  the  poor  woman  said,  three  or  four  times  during  the 
course  of  our  visit.  It  gave  her  husband  a  sort  of  dignity  to  have 
been  trusted  for  so  much  money. 

The  Curate  must  have  heard  that  story  many  times,  to  which 


552  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

he  now  listened  with  great  patience  in  the  tailor's  house — a  large, 
clean,  dreaiy,  faint-looking  room,  smelling  of  poverty.  Two  little 
stunted  yellow-headed  children,  with  lean  pale  faces  and  large  pro- 
truding eyes,  were  at  the  window  staring  with  all  their  might  at 
Guy  Fawkes,  who  was  passing  in  the  street,  and  making  a  great 
clattering  and  shouting  outside,  while  the  luckless  tailor's  wife  was 
prating  within  about  her  husband's  bygone  riches.  I  shall  not  in 
a  hurry  forget  the  picture.  The  empty  room  in  a  dreary  back- 
groinid ;  tlie  tailor's  wife  in  brown,  stalking  up  and  down  the 
planks,  talking  endlessly ;  the  solemn  children  staring  out  of  the 
window  as  the  sunshine  fell  on  their  faces,  and  honest  Whitestock 
seated,  listening,  with  the  tails  of  his  coat  through  tlie  chair. 

His  business  over  with  the  tailor,  we  start  again  ;  Frank  White- 
stock  trips  through  alley  after  alley,  never  getting  any  mud  on  his 
boots  somehow,  and  his  white  neckcloth  making  a  wonderful  shine 
in  those  shady  places.  He  has  all  sorts  of  acquaintance,  chiefly 
amongst  the  extreme  youth,  assembled  at  the  doors,  or  about  the 
gutters.  There  was  one  small  person  occupied  in  emptying  one 
of  these  rivulets  with  an  oyster-shell,  for  the  purpose,  apparently, 
of  making  an  artificial  lake  in  a  hole  hard  by,  whose  solitary  gravity 
and  business  air  struck  me  much,  while  the  Curate  was  very  deep 
in  conversation  with  a  small-coalman.  A  half-dozen  of  her  com- 
rades were  congregated  round  a  scraper  and  on  a  grating  hard  by, 
playing  with  a  mangy  little  puppy,  the  property  of  the  Curate's 
friend. 

I  know  it  is  wrong  to  give  large  sums  of  money  away  pro- 
miscuously, but  I  could  not  help  dropping  a  j^enny  into  the  child's 
oyster-shell,  as  she  came  forward  holding  it  before  her  like  a  tray. 
At  first  her  expression  was  one  rather  of  wonder  than  of  pleasure 
at  this  influx  of  capital,  and  was  certainly  quite  worth  the  small 
charge  of  one  penny,  at  which  it  was  purchased. 

For  a  moment  she  did  not  seem  to  know  what  steps  to  take ; 
but,  having  communed  in  her  own  mind,  she  presently  resolved  to 
turn  them  towards  a  neighbouring  apple-stall,  in  the  direction  of 
which  she  went  without  a  single  word  of  compliment  passing  be- 
tween us.  Now,  tlie  cliildren  round  the  scraper  were  witnesses 
to  the  transaction.  "  He's  give  her  a  penny,"  one  remarked  to 
another,  with  hopes  miserably  disappointed  that  they  might  come 
in  for  a  similar  jjresent. 

She  walked  on  to  the  apple-stall  meanwhde,  holding  her  penny 
behind  her.  And  what  did  the  other  little  ones  do"?  They  put 
down  the  puppy  as  if  it  had  been  so  much  dross.  And  one  after 
another  they  followed  the  penny-piece  to  the  apple-stall. 


A    DINNER    IN    THE    CITY 

I 

OUT  of  a  mere  love  of  variety  and  contrast,  I  think  we  cannot 
do  better,  after  leaving  the  wretched  Whitestock  among  his 
starving  parishioners,  than  transport  ourselves  to  the  City, 
where  we  are  invited  to  dine  with  tlie  Worshipful  Company  of 
Bellows-Menders,  at  their  splendid  Hall  in  Marrow-pudding  Lane. 

Next  to  eating  good  dinners,  a  healthy  man  with  a  benevolent 
turn  of  mind  must  like,  I  think,  to  read  about  them.  When  I 
was  a  boy,  I  had  by  heart  the  Barmecide's  feast  in  the  "  Arabian 
Nights " ;  and  the  culinary  jDassages  in  Scott's  novels  (in  which 
works  there  is  a  deal  of  good  eating)  always  were  my  favourites. . 
The  Homeric  poems  are  full,  as  everybody  knows,  of  roast  aad 
boiled :  and  every  year  I  look  forward  with  pleasure  to  the  news- 
papers of  the  10th  of  November  for  the  menu  of  the  Lord  IMayor's 
feast,  which  is  sure  to  appear  in  those  journals.  What  student  of 
history  is  there  who  does  not  remember  the  City  dinner  given  to 
the  Allied  Sovereigns  in  1814?  It  is  good  even  now,  and  to  read 
it  ought  to  make  a  man  hungry,  liad  he  had  five  meals  that  day. 
In  a  word,  I  had  long,  long  yearned  in  my  secret  heart  to  be  present 
at  a  City  festival.  The  last  year's  papers  had  a  bill  of  fare  com- 
mencing with  "  four  hundred  tureens  of  turtle,  each  containing  five 
pints  ;  "  and  concluding  with  the  pine-apples  and  ices  of  the  dessert. 
"  Fancy  two  thousand  pints  of  turtle,  my  love,"  I  have  often  said 
to  Mrs.  Spec,  "  in  a  vast  silver  tank,  smoking  fragrantly,  with  lovely 
green  islands  of  cali])ash  and  calipee  floating  about — why,  my  dear, 
if  it  had  been  invented  in  the  time  of  Vitellius  he  would  have  bathed 
in  it ! " 

"  He  would  have  been  a  nasty  wretch,"  Mrs.  Spec  said,  who 
tliinks  that  cold  mutton  is  the  most  wholesome  food  of  man.  How- 
ever, wiien  she  heard  what  great  company  was  to  be  present  at 
the  dinner,  the  Ministers  of  State,  the  Foreign  Ambassadors, 
some  of  the  bench  of  Bishops,  no  doubt  the  Judges,  and  a  great 
portion  of  the  Nobility,  she  was  pleased  at  the  card  which  was 
sent  to  her  husband,  and  made  a  neat  tie  to  my  white  neckcloth 
l)efore  I  set  off  on  the  festive  journey.  She  warned  me  to 
14 


554     SKETCHES    AND    TRAVELS    IN    LONDON 

be  very  cautious,  and  obstinately  refused  to  allow  me  the  Chubb 
door-key. 

The  very  card  of  invitation  is  a  curiosity.  It  is  almost  as  big 
as  a  tea-tray.  It  gives  one  ideas  of  a  vast  enormous  hospitality. 
Gog  and  Magog  in  livery  might  leave  it  at  your  door.  If  a  man  is 
to  eat  up  that  card,  Heaven  help  us,  I  thought ;  the  Doctor  nuist 
be  called  in.  Indeed,  it  was  a  D(5ctor  who  procured  me  the  })lacard  of 
invitation.  Like  all  medical  men  who  have  i>ublished  a  book  upon 
diet,  Pillkington  is  a  great  gourmand,  and  he  made  a  great  favour  of 
procuring  the  ticket  for  me  from  his  brother  of  the  Stock  Excliange, 
who  is  a  Citizen  and  a  Bellows-Mender  in  his  corporate  capacity. 

We  drove  in  Pillkington's  brougham  to  the  place  of  mangczvous, 
through  the  streets  of  the  town,  in  the  broad  daylight,  dressed  out 
in  our  white  waistcoats  and  ties  ;  making  a  sensation  upon  all  be- 
holders by  the  premature  splendour  of  our  appearance.  There  is 
something  grand  in  that  hospitality  of  the  citizens,  who  not  only  give 
you  more  to  eat  than  other  jjeople,  but  who  begin  earlier  than  anybody 
else.  Major  Bangles,  Captain  Canterbury,  and  a  host  of  the  fashion- 
ables of  my  acquaintance,  were  taking  their  morning's  ride  in  the 
Park  as  we  drove  through.  You  should  have  seen  how  they  stalled 
at  us  !  It  gave  me  a  pleasure  to  be  able  to  remark  mentally,  "  Look 
on,  gents ;  we  too  are  sometimes  invited  to  the  tables  of  the  great." 

We  fell  in  with  numbers  of  carriages  as  we  were  approaching 
Citywards,  in  which  reclined  gentlemen  with  white  neckcloths- 
grand  equipages  of  foreign  ambassadors,  whose  uniforms,  and  stars, 
and  gold  lace  glistened  within  the  carriages,  while  their  servants 
with  coloured  cockades  looked  splendid  without :  these  careered  by 
the  Doctor's  brougham  horse,  which  was  a  little  fatigued  with  his 
professional  journeys  in  the  morning.  General  Sir  Roger  Bluff, 
K.C.B.,  and  Colonel  Tucker,  were  stepping  into  a  cab  at  the  United 
Service  Club  as  we  passed  it.  The  veterans  blazed  in  scarlet  and 
gold  lace.  It  seemed  strange  that  men  so  famous,  if  they  did  not 
mount  their  chargers  to  go  to  dinner,  should  ride  in  any  vehicle 
under  a  coach-and-six ;  and  instead  of  having  a  triumphal  car  to 
conduct  them  to  the  City,  should  go  tliither  in  a  rickety  cab,  driven 
by  a  ragged  charioteer  smoking  a  dhoodeen.  In  Cornhill  we  fell 
into  a  line,  and  formed  a  complete  regiment  of  the  aristocracy. 
Crowds  were  gathered  round  the  steps  of  the  old  hall  in  ]\Iarrow- 
pudding  Lane,  and  welcomed  us  nobility  and  gentry  as  we  stepped 
out  of  our  equipages  at  the  door.  The  policemen  could  hardly 
restrain  the  ardour  of  these  low  fellows,  and  their  sarcastic  cheers 
were  sometimes  very  unpleasant.  There  was  one  rascal  who  made 
an  observation  about  the  size  of  my  white  waistcoat,  for  which  I 
should  have  liked  to  sacrifice  him  on  the  spot;  but  Pillkington 


A    DINNER    IN    THE    CITY  555 

hurried  me,  as  the  policemen  did  oiir  little  brougham,  to  give  pla«e 
to  a  prodigious  fine  equipage  which  followed,  -uith  immense  grey 
horses,  immense  footmen  in  powder,  and  driven  by  a  grave  coachman 
in  an  episcopal  wig. 

A  veteran  officer  in  scarlet,  with  silver  epaulets,  and  a  profuse 
quantity  of  bullion  and  silver  lace,  descended  from  this  carriage 
between  the  two  footmen,  and  was  nearly  upset  by  his  curling  sabre, 
which  had  twisted  itself  between  his  legs,  which  were  cased  in  duck 
trousers  very  tight  except  about  the  knees  (where  they  bagged  quite 
freely),  and  with  rich  long  white  straps.  I  thought  he  must  be  a 
great  man  by  the  oddness  of  his  uniform. 

"  Who  is  the  General  1 "  says  I,  as  the  old  warrior,  disentangling 
himself  from  his  scimitar,  entered  the  outer  hall.  "Is  it  the 
Marquis  of  Anglesey,  or  the  Rajah  of  Sarawak  1 " 

I  spoke  in  utter  ignorance,  as  it  appeared.  "That!  Pooh," 
says  Pillkington;  "that  is  Mr.  Champignon,  M.P.,  of  Whitehall 
Gardens  and  Fungus  Abbey,  Citizen  and  Bellows-Mender.  His 
uniform  is  tjiat  of  a  Colonel  of  the  Diddlesex  Militia."  There  was 
no  end  to  similar  mistakes  on  that  day.  A  venerable  man  with  a 
bloe  and  gold  uniform,  and  a  large  crimson  sword-belt  and  brass- 
scabbarded  sabre,  passed  presently,  whom  I  mistook  for  a  foreign 
ambassador  at  the  least ;  whereas  I  found  out  that  he  was  only  a 
Billingsgate  Commissioner— and  a  little  fellow  in  a  blue  livery, 
which  fitted  him  so  badly  that  I  thought  he  must  be  one  of  the 
hired  waiters  of  the  Company,  who  had  been  put  into  a  coat  that 
didn't  belong  to  him,  turned  out  to  be  a  real  right  honourable  gent, 
who  had  been  a  Minister  once. 

I  was  conducted  upstairs  by  my  friend  to  the  gorgeous  drawing- 
room,  where  the  company  assembled,  and  where  there  was  a  picture 
of  George  IV.  I  cannot  make  out  what  public  Companies  can 
want  with  a  picture  of  George  IV.  A  fellow  with  a  gold  chain, 
and  in  a  black  smt,  such  as  the  lamented  Mr.  Cooper  wore  pre- 
paratory to  execution  in  the  last  act  of  "  George  Barnwell,"  bawled 
out  our  names  as  we  entered  the  apartment.  "  If  my  Eliza  could 
hear  that  gentleman,"  thouglit  I,  "roaring  out  the  name  of  'Mr, 
Spec ! '  in  the  presence  of  at  least  two  hundred  Earls,  Prelates, 
Judges,  and  distinguished  characters  ! "  It  made  little  impression 
upon  them,  however ;  and  I  slunk  into  the  embrasure  of  a  window, 
and  watched  the  company. 

Every  man  who  came  into  the  room  was,  of  course,  ushered 
in  with  a  roar.  "  His  Excellency  the  Minister  of  Topinambo  !  " 
the  usher  yelled  ;  and  the  Minister  appeared,  bowing,  and  in  tights. 
"  Mr.  Hoggin !  The  Right  Honourable  the  Earl  of  Bareacres  ! 
Mr.  Snog  I    Mr.  Braddle !     Mr.  Alderman  Moodle  !     Mr.  Justice 


556     SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

Bunker  !  Lieutenant-General  Sir  Roger  Bluff  !  Colonel  Tucker  ! 
Mr.  Tims!"  witli  tlie  same  emphasis  and  mark  of  admiration,  for 
us  all,  as  it  were.  The  Warden  of  the  Bellows-Menders  came  forward 
and  made  a  profusion  of  bows  to  the  various  distinguished  guests  as 
they  arrived.  He,  too,  was  in  a  Court  dress,  with  a  sword  and 
bag.  His  lady  must  like  so  to  behold  him  turning  out  in  arms 
and  ruffles,  shaking  hands  with  Ministers,  and  bowing  over  his 
wineglass  to  tiieir  Excellencies  the  Foreign  Ambassadors. 

To  be  in  a  room  with  these  great  ])eople  gave  me  a  thousand 
sensations  of  joy.  Once,  I  am  positive,  the  Secretary  of  the  Tape 
and  Sealing-Wax  Office  looked  at  me,  and  turning  round  to  a  noble 
lord  in  a  red  ribbon,  evidently  asked,  "Who  is  that?"  0  Eliza, 
Eliza !  How  I  wish  you  had  been  there  !— or  if  not  there,  in  the 
ladies'  gallery  in  the  dining-hall,  wlien  the  music  began,  and  Mr. 
Shadrach,  Mr.  Meshech,  and  little  Jack  Oldboy  (whom  I  recollect 
1  the  part  of  Count  Almaviva  any  time  these  forty  years),  sang 
Non  nobis,  Domine." 

But  I  am  advancing  matters  prematurely.  We  are  not  in  the 
grand  dining-hall  as  yet.  The  crowd  grows  thicker  and  thicker,  so 
that  you  can't  see  people  bow  as  they  enter  any  more.  The  usher 
in  the  gold  chain  roars  out  name  after  name  :  more  ambassadors, 
more  generals,  more  citizens,  capitalists,  bankers  —  among  them 
Mr.  Rowdy,  my  banker,  from  whom  I  shrank  guiltily  from  private 
financial  reasons — -and,  last  and  greatest  of  all,  "  The  Right  Honour- 
able the  Lord  Mayor  !  " 

That  was  a  shock,  such  as  I  felt  on  landing  at  Calais  for  the 
first  time  ;  on  first  seeing  an  Eastern  bazaar ;  on  first  catching  a 
sight  of  Mrs.  Spec ;  a  new  sensation,  in  a  word.  .  Till  death  I 
shall  remember  that  surprise.  I  saw  ever  the  heads  ot  the  crowd, 
first  a  great  sword  borne  up  in  the  air  :  then  a  man  in  a  fur  cap  of 
the  shape  of  a  flower-pot ;  then  I  heard  the  voice  shouting  the 
august  name^the  crowd  separated.  A  handsome  man  with  a 
chain  and  gown  stood  before  me.  It  was  he.  He?  What  do  I 
say*?  It  was  his  Lordship.  I  cared  for  nothing  till  dinner-time 
after  that. 


II 

THE  glorious  company  of  banqueteers  v^'ere  now  pretty  well  all 
assembled  ;  and  I,  for  my  part,  attracted  by  an  irresistible 
fascination,  pushed  nearer  and  nearer  my  Lord  Mayor,  and 
surveyed  him,  as  the  Generals,  Lords,  Ambassadors,  Judges,  and 
other  bigwigs  rallied  round  him  as  their  centre,  and,  being  Intro- 


A   DINNER    IN    THE    CITY  557 

duced  to  his  Lordship  and  each  other,  made  themselves  the  most 
solenm  and  graceful  bows ;  as  if  it  had  been  the  object  of  that 
General's  life  to  meet  that  Judge ;  and  as  if  that  Secretary  of  the 
Tape  and  Sealing-Wax  Office,  having  achieved  at  length  a  presenta- 
tion to  the  Lord  Mayor,  had  gained  the  end  of  his  existence,  and 
might  go  home  singing  a  "  Nunc  dimittis.''  Don  Geronimo  de 
Mulligan  y  Guayaba,  Minister  of  the  Republic  of  Topinambo  (and 
originally  descended  from  an  illustrious  Irish  ancestor,  who  hewed 
out  with  his  pickaxe  in  the  Topinambo  mines  the  steps  by  which 
his  family  have  ascended  to  their  present  eminence),  holding  his 
cocked  hat  with  the  yellow  cockade  close  over  his  embroidered  coat- 
tails,  conversed  with  Alderman  Codshead,  that  celebrated  statesman, 
who  was  also  in  tights,  with  a  sword  and  bag. 

Of  all  the  articles  of  the  splendid  Court-dress  of  our  aristocracy, 
I  think  it  is  those  little  bags  which  I  admire  most.  The  dear  crisp 
curly  little  black  darlings  !  They  give  a  gentleman's  back  an  in- 
describable grace  and  air  of  chivalry.  They  are  at  once  manly, 
elegant,  and  useful  (being  made  of  sticking-plaster,  which  can  he 
applied  afterwards  to  heal  many  a  wound  of  domestic  life).  They 
are  something  extra  appended  to  men,  to  enable  them  to  appear  in 
the  presence  of  royalty.  How  vastly  the  idea  of  a  Coiu't  increases 
in  solemnity  and  grandeur  when  you  think  that  a  man  cannot  enter 
it  without  a  tail ! 

These  thoughts  passed  through  my  mind,  and  pleasingly 
diverted  it  from  all  sensations  of  hunger,  while  many  iriends 
around  me  were  pulling  out  their  watches,  looking  towards  the 
great  dining-room  doors,  rattling  at  the  lock  (the  door  gaped  open 
once  or  twice,  and  the  nose  of  a  functionary  on  the  other  side 
peeped  in  among  us  and  entreated  peace),  and  vowing  it  was 
scandalous,  monstrous,  shameful.  If  you  ask  an  assembly  of 
Englishmen  to  a  feast,  and  accident  or  the  cook  delays  it,  they 
show  their  gratitude  in  this  way.  Before  the  supper-rooms  were 
thrown  open  at  my  friend  Mrs.  Perkins's  ball,  I  recollect  Liversage 
at  the  door,  swearing  and  growling  as  if  he  had  met  with  au 
injury.  So  I  thought  the  Bellows-Menders'  guests  seemed  heaving 
into  mutiny,  when  the  great  doors  burst  open  in  a  flood  of  light, 
and  we  nished,  a  black  streaming  crowd,  into  the  gorgeous  hall 
of  banquet. 

Every  man  sprang  for  his  place  with  breathless  rapidity.  "We 
knew  where  those  places  were  beforehand ;  for  a  cunning  map  had 
been  put  into  the  hands  of  each  of  us  by  an  officer  of  tlie  Company, 
where  every  jtlate  of  this  grand  festival  was  numbered,  and  each 
gentleman's  place  was  ticked  off.  My  wife  keeps  my  card  still  in 
her  album ;  and  my  dear  eldest  boy  (who  has  a  fine  genius  and 


558  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

appetito)  will  gaze  on  it  for  half-aii-liour  at  a  time,  whereas  he 
passes  l)y  tlie  copies  of  verses  and  the  flower-pieces  with  an  entire 
iudifference. 

The  vast  hall  flames  with  gas,  and  is  emblazoned  all  over  with 
the  arms  of  bygone  Bellows-Menders.  Angnst  portraits  decorate 
tlie  walls.  The  Duke  of  Kent  in  scarlet,  with  a  crooked  sabre, 
stared  me  firmly  in  the  face  during  the  whole  entertainment.  The 
Duke  of  Cumberland,  in  a  hussar  uniform,  was  at  my  back,  and  I 
know  was  looking  down  into  my  plate.  The  eyes  of  those  gaunt 
portraits  follow  you  everywhere.  The  Prince  Regent  has  been 
mentioned  before.  He  has  his  place  of  honour  over  the  Great 
Bellows-Mender's  chair,  and  surveys  the  high  table  glittering  with 
plate,  t^pergnes,  candles,  hock-glasses,  moulds  of  blancmange  stuck 
over  with  flowers,  gold  statues  holding  up  baskets  of  barley-sugar,  and 
a  thousand  objects  of  art.  Piles  of  immense  gold  cans  and  salvers 
rose  up  in  buffets  behind  this  high  table ;  towards  which  presently, 
and  in  a  grand  procession — the  band  in  the  gallery  overliead  blow- 
ing out  the  Bellows-Menders'  march — a  score  of  City  tradesmen  and 
their  famous  guests  walked  solemnly  between  our  rows  of  tables. 

Grace  was  said,  not  by  the  professional  devotees  who  sang 
"  Non  nobis  "  at  the  end  of  the  meal,  but  by  a  chaplain  somewhere 
in  the  room,  and  the  turtle  began.  Armies  of  waiters  came  rushing 
in  with  tureens  of  this  broth  of  the  City. 

There  was  a  gentleman  near  us — a  very  lean  old  Bellows- 
Mender — indeed  who  had  three  platefuls.  His  old  hands  trembled, 
and  his  plate  quivered  with  excitement,  as  he  asked  again  and 
again.  That  old  man  is  not  destined  to  eat  much  more  of  the 
green  fat  of  this  life.  As  he  took  it  be  shook  all  over  like  the 
jelly  in  the  dish  opposite  to  him.  He  gasped  out  a  quick  laugh 
once  or  twice  to  his  neighbour,  when  his  two  or  three  old  tusks 
showed,  still  standing  up  in  those  jaws  which  had  swallowed  such 
a  deal  of  calipash.  He  winked  at  the  waiters,  knowing  them  from 
former  banquets. 

This  banquet,  which  I  am  describing  at  Christmas,  took  place 
at  the  end  of  May.  At  that  time  the  vegetables  called  peas  were 
exceedingly  scarce,  and  cost  six-and-twenty  shillings  a  quart. 

"  There  are  two  hundred  quarts  of  peas,"  said  the  old  fellow, 
winking  with  bloodshot  eyes,  and  a  laugh  that  was  perfectly  fright- 
ful. They  were  consumed  with  the  fragrant  ducks,  by  those  who 
were  inclined :  or  with  the  venison,  which  now  came  in. 

That  was  a  great  sight.  On  a  centre  table  in  tlie  hall,  on 
which  already  stood  a  cold  Baron  of  Beef — a  grotesque  piece  of 
meat — a  dish  as  big  as  a  dish  in  a  pantomime,  with  a  little  Standard 
of  England  stuck  into  the  top  of  it,  as  if  it  were  round  this  we  were 


A    DINNER    IN    THE    CITY  559 

to  rally — ou  this  centre  table,  six  men  placed  as  many  huge  dishes 
under  cover ;  and  at  a  given  signal  the  master  cook  and  five  assist- 
ants in  white  caps  and  jackets  marched  rapidly  up  to  tlic  dish- 
covers,  which  being  withdrawn,  discovered  to  our  sight  six  haunches, 
on  wliicli  the  six  carvers,  taking  out  six  sharp  knives  from  their 
girdles,  began  operating. 

It  was,  I  say,  like  something  out  of  a  Gothic  romance,  or  a 
grotesque  fairy  pantomime.  Feudal  barons  must  have  dined  so  five 
hundred  years  ago.  One  of  those  knives  may  have  been  the  iden- 
tical blade  which  "Walworth  plunged  into  Wat  Tyler's  ribs,  and 
which  was  afterwards  caught  up  into  the  City  Arms,  where  it 
blazes.  (Not  that  any  man  can  seriously  believe  that  "Wat  Tyler 
was  hurt  by  the  dig  of  the  jolly  old  Mayor  in  the  red  gown  and 
chain,  any  more  than  that  Pantaloon  is  singed  by  the  gieat  poker, 
which  is  always  forthcoming  at  the  present  season.)  Here  we  were 
practising  the  noble  custom  of  the  good  old  times,  imitating  our 
glorious  forefathers,  rallying  round  our  old  institutions,  like  true 
Britons.  These  very  flagons  and  platters  were  in  the  room  before  us, 
ten  times  as  big  as  any  we  use  or  want  nowadays.  They  served  us  a 
grace-cup  as  large  as  a  plate-basket,  and  at  the  end  they  passed  us  a 
rosewater  disli,  into  which  Pepys  might  have  dipped  his  napkin. 
Pepys? — what  do  I  say]  Pilchard  III.,  Cceur-de-Lion,  Guy  of  War- 
wick, Gog  and  Magog.     I    don't  know  how  antique  the  articles  are. 

Conversation,  rapid  and  befitting  the  place  and  occasion,  went 
on  all  round.  ''Waiter,  where's  the  turtle-fins?" — Gobble,  gobble. 
"Hice  Punch  or  My  deary,  sir?"  "Smelts  or  salmon,  Jowler,  my 
boy?"  "Always  take  cold  beef  after  turtle." — Hobble  gobble. 
"These  year  yjeas  have  no  taste."  Hobble-gobble-obble.  "Jones, 
a  glass  of  'ock  with  you?  Smith,  jine  us?  Waiter,  three  'ocks. 
S.,  mind  your  manners  !  There's  Mrs.  S.  a-looking  at  you  from  the 
gallery." — Hobble-obbl-gobble-gob-gob-gob.  A  steam  of  meats,  a 
flare  of  candles,  a  rushing  to  and  fro  of  waiters,  a  ceaseless  clinking 
of  glass  and  steel,  a  dizzy  mist  of  gluttony,  out  of  which  I  see  my 
olil  friend  of  the  turtle-soup  making  terrific  play  among  the  peas, 
his  knife  darting  down  his  throat. 

It  is  all  over.  We  can  eat  no  more.  We  are  full  of  Bacchus 
and  fat  venison.  We  lay  down  our  weapons  and  rest.  "  Why,  in 
tlie  name  of  goodness,"  says  I,  turning  round  to  Pillkington,  who 
had  behaved  at  dinner  like  a  doctor  ;   "  why ? " 

But  a  great  rap,  tap,  tap  proclaimed  grace,  after  which  the  pro-' 
fessional  gentlemen  sang  out,  "  Non  nobis,"  and  then  the  dessert 
and  the  speeches  began  ;  about  which  we  shall  speak  in  the  third 
course  of  our  entertainment. 


Ill 

ON  the  hammer  having  ceased  its  tapping,  Mr.  Chisel,  the 
immortal  toast-master,  Avho  presided  over  the  President, 
roared  out  to  my  three  professional  friends,  "  Non  nobis ; " 
and  what  is  called  "  the  business  of  the  evening"  commenced. 

First,  the  Warden  of  the  Worshijiful  Society  of  the  Bellows- 
Menders  proposed  "  Her  Majesty  "  in  a  reverential  voice.  We  all 
stood  up  respectfully,  Chisel  yelling  out  to  us  to  "  Charge  our 
glasses."  The  Royal  health  having  been  imbibed,  the  professional 
gentlemen  ejaculated  a  part  of  the  National  Anthem ;  and  I  do 
not  mean  any  disrespect  to  them  jjersonally,  in  mentioning  that 
this  eminently  religious  hymn  was  performed  by  Messrs.  Shadrach 
and  Meshech,  two  well-known  melodists  of  the  Hebrew  persuasion. 
We  clinked  our  glasses  at  the  conclusion  of  the  anthem,  making 
more  dents  upon  the  time-worn  old  board,  where  many  a  man 
present  had  clinked  for  George  III.,  clapped  for  George  IV.,  rapped 
for  William  IV.,  and  was  rejoiced  to  bump  the  bottom  of  his  glass 
as  a  token  of  reverence  for  our  present  Sovereign. 

Here,  as  in  the  case  of  the  Hebrew  melophonists,  I  would 
insinuate  no  wrong  thought.  Gentlemen,  no  doubt,  have  the  loyal 
emotions  which  exhibit  themselves  by  clapping  glasses  on  the 
tables.  We  do  it  at  home.  Let  us  make  no  doubt  that  the 
bellows-menders,  tailors,  authors,  public  characters,  judges,  aldermen, 
sheriffs,  and  what  not,  slioufc  out  a  health  for  the  Sovereign  every 
night  at  their  banquets,  and  that  their  families  fill  round  and  drink 
the  same  toast  fro:n  the  bottles  of  half-i^niinea  burgimdy. 

"  His  Royal  Highness  Prince  Albert,  and  Albert  Prince  of 
Wales,  and  the  rest  of  the  Royal  Family,"  followed.  Chisel  yelling 
out  the  august  titles,  and  all  of  us  banging  away  with  our  glasses, 
as  if  we  were  seriously  interested  in  drinking  healths  to  this  Royal 
race :  as  if  drinking  liealtlis  could  do  anybody  any  good ;  as  if  the 
imprecations  of  a  company  of  bellows-menders,  aldermen,  magistrates, 
tailors,  authors,  tradesmen,  ambassadors,  who  did  not  care  a  two- 
penny-piece for  all  the  Royal  families  in  Europe,  could  somehow 
affect  Heaven  kindly  towards  their  Royal  Highnesses  by  their  tipsy 
vows,  under  the  presidence  of  Mr.  Chisel. 

The  Queen  Dowager's  health  was  nest  prayed  for  by  us 
Bacchanalians,  I  need  not  say  with  what  fervency  and  efficacy. 
This  prayer  was  no  sooner  put  up  by  the  Chairman,  with  Chisel 
as  his  Boanerges  of  a  Clerk,  than  the  elderly  Hebrew  gentleman 
before  mentioned  began  striking  up  a  wild  patriotic  ditty  about  the 


A   DINNER    IN    THE    CITY  5f)l 

"  Queen  of  the  Isles,  on  whose  sea-gu-t  shores  the  bright  sun  smiles, 
and  the  ocean  roars ;  whose  cliffs  never  knew,  since  the  bright  smi 
rose,  but  a  people  true,  who  scorned  all  foes.  Oh,  a  people  true, 
who  scorn  all  wiles,  inhabit  you,  bright  Queen  of  the  Isles.  Bright 
Qiiee — Bright  Quee— ee— ee — ee — ee — en  awf  the  Isles  !  "  or  words 
to  that  effect,  which  Shadrach  toak  up  and  warbled  across  his  glass 
to  Meshech,  which  Meshech  trolled  away  to  his  brother  singer, 
until  the  ditty  was  ended,  nobody  understanding  a,  v/ord  of  what  it 
meant;  not  Oldboy— not  the  old  or  young  Israelite  minstrel  his 
companion— not  we,  who  were  clinking  our  glasses— not  Chisel, 
who  was  urging  us  and  the  Chairman  on — not  the  Chairman  and 
the  guests  in  embroidery— not  the  kind,  exalted,  and  amiable  lady 
whose  health  we  were  making  believe  to  drink,  certainly,  and  in 
order  to  render  whose  name  welcome  to  the  PoM^ers  to  whom  we 
recommended  her  safety,  we  offered  up,  through  the  moutlis  of  three 
singers,  hired  for  the  purpose,  a  perfectly  insane  and  irrelevant  song. 

"  Why,"  says  I  to  Pillkington,  "  the  Chairman  and  the  grand 
guests  might  just  as  well  get  up  and  dance  round  the  table,  or  cut 
off  Chisel's  head  and  pop  it  into  a  turtle-soup  tureen,  or  go  through 
any  other  mad  ceremony  as  the  last.  Which  of  us  here  cares  for 
her  Majesty  the  Queen  Dowager,  any  more  than  for  a  virtuous  and 
eminent  lady,  whose  goodness  and  private  worth  appear  in  all  her 
acts  1  What  the  deuce  has  that  absurd  song  about  the  Queen  of 
the  Isles  to  do  with  her  Majesty,  and  how  does  it  set  us  all  stamp- 
ing with  our  glasses  on  the  mahogany?"  Chisel  bellowed  out 
another  toast — ■"  The  Army  ; "  and  we  were  silent  in  admiration, 
while  Sir  George  BluflF,  the  gi-eatest  General  present,  rose  to  return 
thanks. 

Our  end  of  the  table  was  far  removed  from  the  thick  of  the 
affair,  and  we  only  heard,  as  it  were,  the  indistinct  cannonading  of 
the  General,  whose  force  had  just  advanced  into  action.  We  saw 
an  old  gentleman  with  white  whiskers,  and  a  flaring  scarlet  coat 
covered  with  stars  and  gilding,  rise  up  with  a  frightened  and  desperate 
look,  and  declare  that  "this  was  the  proudest— a-hem^moment  of 
his— a-hem — unworthy  as  he  was — a-hem — as  n  member  of  the 
British — a-hem— who  had  fought  under  the  illustrious  Duke  of — 
a-hem — his  joy  was  to  come  among  the  Bellows-Mendei-s — a-hem — 
and  inform  the  great  merchants  of  the  greatest  City  of  the^hum— 
that  a  British — a-hem— was  always  ready  to  do  his— hum.  Napoleon 
— Salamanca^-a-hcm — had  witnessed  their— hum,  haw— and  shotdd 
any  other — hum — ho — casiou  which  he  deeply  deprecated — haw — 
there  were  men  now  around  him— a-liaw — who,  inspired  by  the 
Bellows-Menders'  Company  and  the  City  of  London — a-hum — would 
do  their  duty  as — a-hum — a-haw — a-hali."  Immence  cheers,  yells, 
2q 


562     SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

hurrays,  roars,  glass-smackings,  and  applause  followed  this  harangue, 
at  the  end  of  which  tlie  three  Israelites,  encouraged  by  Chisel,  began 
a  military  cantata—"  Oh,  the  sword  and  sliield — on  the  battle-tiold 
— Are  the  joys  that  best  we  love,  boys— Where  the  Grenadiers,  with 
their  pikes  and  spears,  through  the  ranks  of  the  foemen  shove,  boys 
— Where  the  bold  hurray,  strikes  dread  dismay,  in  the  ranks  of  the 
dead  and  dyin' — and  the  baynet  clanks  in  the  Frenchmen's  ranks, 
as  they  fly  from  the  Britisli  Lion."  (I  repeat,  as  before,  that  I 
([uote  from  memory.) 

Then  the  Secretary  of  tlie  Tai)e  and  Sealing- Wax  Office  rose  to 
return  thanks  for  tlie  blessings  which  we  begged  upon  the  Ministry- 
He  was,  he  said,  but  a  humble — the  humblest  member  of  that 
body.  The  suftrages  whicli  that  body  had  received  from"  the  nation 
were  gratifying,  but  tlie  most  gratifying  testimonial  of  all  was  the 
approval  of  the  Bellows-Menders'  Company.  [Immense  applause.) 
Yes,  among  the  most  enlightened  of  the  mighty  corporations  of  the 
City,  the  most  enlightened  was  the  Bellows-Menders'.  Yes,  he 
might  say,  in  consonance  with  their  motto,  and  in  defiance  of  illiber- 
ality,  "  Afflavit  Veritas  et  dissipati  aunt."  {Enormous  a2)pkmse.) 
Yes,  the  thanks  and  pride  that  were  boiling  with  emotion  iji  his 
bosom,  trembled  to  find  utterance  at  his  lip.  Yes,  the  proudest 
moment  of  his  life,  the  crown  of  his  ambition,  the  meed  of  his  early 
hopes  and  struggles  and  aspirations,  was  at  that  moment  won  in  the 
approbation  of  the  Bellows-Menders.  Yes,  his  children  should  know 
that  he  too  had  attended  at  those  gi'eat,  those  noble,  those  joyous, 
those  ancient  festivals,  and  that  he  too,  the  humble  individual  who 
from  his  heart  jiledged  the  assembled  company  in  a  bumper—that 
he  too  was  a  Bellows-Mender. 

Shadrach,  Meshech,  and  Oldboy  at  this  began  singing,  I  don't 
know  for  what  reason,  a  rustic  madrigal,  describing,  "  Oh,  the  joys 
of  bonny  May — bonny  May^a-a-ay,  when  the  birds  sing  on  the 
spray,"  &c.,  which  never,  as  I  could  see,  had  the  least  relation  to 
that  or  any  other  Ministry,  but  which  was,  nevertheless,  applauded 
))y  all  present.  And  then  the  Judges  returned  thanks;  and  the 
Clergy  returned  thanks ;  and  the  Foreign  Ministers  had  an  innings 
(all  interspersed  by  my  friends'  indefatigable  melodies) ;  and  the 
distinguished  foreigners  present,  especially  Mr.  Washington  Jackson, 
were  greeted,  and  that  distinguished  American  rose  amidst  thunders 
of  applause. 

He  explained  how  Broadway  and  Cornhill  were  in  fact  the  same. 
He  showed  how  Washington  was  in  fact  an  Englishman,  and  how 
Franklin  would  never  have  been  an  American  but  for  his  education 
as  a  printer  in  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields.  He  declared  that  Milton  was 
his  cousin^  Locke  his  ancestor,  Newton  his  dearest  friend,  Shake- 


A   DINNER    IN    THE    CITY  563 

speare  his  grandfather,  or  more  or  less— he  vowed  that  he  had  vrept 
tears  of  briny  anguish  on  the  pedestal  of  Charing  Cross — kissed  with 
honest  fervour  the  clay  of  Runnymede — that  Ben  Jonson  and  Samuel 
— that  Pope  and  Dryden,  and  Dr.  Watts  and  Swift  were  the  darlings 
of  his  hearth  and  home,  as  of  ours,  and  in  a  speech  of  about  five- 
and-thirty  minutes,  explained  to  us  a  series  of  complimentary 
sensations  very  hard  to  repeat  or  to  remember. 

But  I  observed  that,  during  his  oration,  the  gentlemen  who 
report  for  the  daily  papers  were  occupied  with  their  wine  instead 
of  their  note-books — that  the  three  singers  of  Israel  yawned  and 
showed  many  signs  of  disquiet  and  inebriety,  and  that  my  old 
friend,  who  had  swallowed  the  tliree  plates  of  turtle,  was  sound 
asleep. 

Pillkington  and  I  quitted  the  banqueting-hall,  and  went  into 
the  tea-room,  Vi'here  gents  were  assembled  still,  drinking  slops  and 
eating  buttered  muffins,  until  the  grease  trickled  down  their  faces. 
Then  I  resumed  the  query  which  I  was  just  about  to  put  when 
grace  Avas  called  and  the  last  chapter  ended.  "And,  gracious 
goodness  !  "  I  said,  "  what  can  be  the  meaning  of  a  ceremony  so 
costly,  so  uncomfortable,  so  unsavoury,  so  unwholesome  as  this  1 
"Who  is  called  upon  to  pay  two  or  three  guineas  for  my  dinner  now, 
in  this  blessed  year  1847  1  Who  is  it  that  can  want  muffins  after 
such  a  banquet  ?  Are  there  no  poor  ?  Is  there  no  reason  ?  Is 
this  monstrous  belly-worship  to  exist  for  ever  1 " 

"  Spec,"  the  Doctor  said,  "  you  had  best  come  away.  I 
make  no  doubt  that  you  for  one  have  had  too  much."  And  we 
went  to  his  brougham.  May  nobody  have  such  a  headache  on  this 
happy  New  Year  as  befell  the  present  writer  on  the  morning  after 
the  Dinner  in  the  City  ! 


A    NIGHT'S   PLEASURE 
I 

HAVING  made  a  solemn  engagement  during  the  last  Mid- 
summer holidays  with  my  youig  friend  Augustus  Jones, 
that  we  should  go  to  a  Christmas  Pantomin:ie  together,  and 
being  a(;commodated  by  the  obligdng  proprietors  of  Covent  Grarden 
Theatre  with  a  private  box  for  last  Tuesday,  I  invited  not  only 
him,  but  some  other  young  friends  to  be  present  at  the  entertain- 
ment. The  two  Miss  Twiggs,  the  charming  daughters  of  the 
Reverend  Mr.  Twigg,  our  neighbour;  Miss  Minny  Twigg,  their 
youngest  sister,  eight  years  of  age ;  and  tlieir  maternal  aunt,  Mrs. 
Captain  Flather,  as  the  chaperon  of  the  young  ladies,  were  the 
four  other  partakers  of  this  amusement  with  myself  and  IMr.  Jones. 
It  was  agi-eed  that  the  ladies,  who  live  in  Montpellier  Square, 
Brompton,  should  take  up  myself  and  Master  Augustus  at  the 
"Sarcophagus  Club,"  which  is  on  the  way  to  the  theatre,  and  where 
we  two  gentlemen  dined  on  the  day  appointed.  Cox's  most  roomy 
fly,  the  mouldy  green  one,  in  which  he  insists  on  putting  the  roaring 
grey  horse,  was  engaged  for  the  happy  evening.  Only  an  intoxi- 
cated driver  (as  Cox's  man  always  is)  could  ever,  I  am  sure,  get 
that  animal  into  a  trot.  But  the  utmost  fury  of  the  whip  will 
not  drive  him  into  a  dangerous  pace ;  and  besides,  the  ladies  were 
protected  by  Thomas,  Mrs.  Flather's  page,  a  young  man  with  a 
gold  band  to  his  hat,  and  a  large  gilt  knob  on  the  top,  who  ensured 
the  safety  of  the  cargo,  and  really  gave  the  vehicle  the  dignity  of 
one's  own  carriage. 

The  dinner-hour  at  the  "  Sarcophagus  "  being  appointed  for  five 
o'clock,  and  a  table  secured  in  the  strangers'  room.  Master  Jones 
was  good  enough  to  arrive  (under  the  guardianship  of  the  Colonel's 
footman)  about  half-an-hour  before  the  appointed  time,  and  the 
interval  was  by  him  partly  i)assed  in  conversation,  but  chiefly  in 
looking  at  a  large  silver  watch  which  he  possesses,  and  in  hoping 
that  we  shouldn't  be  late. 

I  made  every  attempt  to  pacify  and  amuse  my  young  guest, 
whose  anxiety  was  not  about  the  dinner  but  about  the  play.  I 
tried  him  with  a  few  questions  about  Greek  and  Mathematics — a 


A    NIGHT'S    PLEASURE  565 

sort  of  talk,  however,  wliich  I  was  obliged  speedily  to  abandon,  for 
I  found  he  knew  a  great  deal  more  upon  these  subjects  than  I  did 
— (it  is  disgusting  how  preternaturally  learned  the  boys  of  our  day 
are,  by  the  way).  I  engaged  him  to  relate  anecdotes  about  his 
schoolfellows  and  ushers,  which  he  did,  but  still  in  a  hurried, 
agitated,  nervous  manner  —  evidently  thinking  about  that  sole 
absorbing  subject,  the  pantomime. 

A  neat  little  dinner,  served  in  Botibol's  best  manner  (our  chef 
at  the  "Sarcophagus"  knows  when  he  has  to  deal  with  a  con- 
noisseur, and  would  as  soon  serve  me  up  his  own  ears  as  a 
rechauffe  dish),  made  scarcely  any  impression  on  young  Jones. 
After  a  couple  of  spoonfuls,  he  pushed  away  the  Palestine  soup, 
and  took  out  his  large  silver  watch — he  applied  two  or  three  times 
to  the  chronometer  during  the  fish  25eriod — and  it  was  not  until  I 
had  him  employed  upon  an  omelette,  full  of  apricot  jam,  that  the 
young  gentleman  was  decently  tranquil. 

With  the  last  mouthful  of  the  omelette  he  began  to  fidget 
again )  and  it  still  wanted  a  quarter  of  an  hour  to  six.  Nuts, 
almonds  and  raisins,  figs  (the  almost  never-failing  soother  of  youth), 
I  hoped  might  keep  him  quiet,  and  laid  before  him  all  those  deli- 
cacies. But  he  beat  the  devil's  tattoo  with  the  nut-crackers,  had 
out  the  watch  time  after  time,  declared  that  it  stopped,  and  made 
such  a  ceaseless  kicking  on  the  legs  of  his  chair,  that  there  were 
moments  when  I  wished  he  was  back  in  the  jjarlour  of  Mrs.  Jones, 
his  mamma. 

I  know  oldsters  who  have  a  savage  pleasure  in  inaking  boys 
drunk — a  horrid  thought  of  this  kind  may,  perhaps,  have  crossed 
my  mind.  "  If  I  could  get  him  to  drink  half-a-dozen  glasses  of 
that  heavy  port,  it  might  soothe  him  and  make  him  sleep,"  I  may- 
have  thought.  But  he  would  only  take  a  couple  of  glasses  of  wine. 
He  said  he  didn't  like  more ;  that  his  father  did  not  wisli  him  to 
take  more :  and  abashed  by  his  frank  and  lionest  demeanour,  I 
would  not  press  him,  of  course,  a  single  moment  further,  and  so 
was  forced  to  take  the  bottle  to  myself,  to  soothe  me  instead  of 
my  young  guest. 

He  was  almost  frantic  at  a  quarter  to  seven,  by  which  time  the 
ladies  had  agreed  to  call  for  us,  and  for  about  five  minutes  was 
perfectly  dangerous.  "  We  shall  be  late,  I  know  we  shall ;  I  said 
we  should !  I  am  8ur§  it's  seven,  past,  and  that  the  box  will  be 
taken  ! "  and  countless  other  exclamations  of  fear  and  impatience 
passed  through  his  mind.  At  length  we  heard  a  carriage  stop, 
and  a  Club  servant  entering  and  directing  himself  towards  our 
table.  Young  Jones  did  not  wait  to  hear  him  s})eak,  but  crieil 
out, — "  Hoora}^,  here  they  are ! "  flung  his  napkin  over  his  liead, 


566     SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

dasheil  ort"  liis  chair,  sprang  at  his  hat  like  a  kitten  at  a  ball,  and 
bounced  out  of  the  door,  crying  out,  "  Come  along,  Mr.  Spec ! " 
^vhilst  the  individual  addressed  much  more  deliberately  followed. 
"  Hapi)y  Augustus  !  "  I  mentally  exclaimed.  "  0  tliou  brisk  and 
bounding  votary  of  pleasure  !  When  the  virile  toga  has  taken  the 
place  of  the  jacket  and  turned-down  collar,  that  Columbine,  who 
will  float  before  you  a  goddess  to-night,  will  only  be  a  third-rate 
dancing  female,  with  rouge  and  large  feet.  You  Avill  see  the  ropes 
by  which  the  genii  come  down,  and  the  dirty  crumpled  knees  of 
the  fliiries — and  you  won't  be  in  such  a  hurry  to  leave  a  good  bottle 
of  port  as  now  at  the  pleasant  age  of  thirteen," — [By  the  way,  boys 
are  made  so  abominably  comfortable  and  odiously  happy,  nowadays, 
that  when  I  look  kick  to  1802,  and  my  own  youth,  I  get  in  a 
rage  with  the  wliole  race  of  boys,  and  feel  inclined  to  flog  them 
all  round.]  Paying  the  bill,  I  say,  and  making  these  leisurely 
observations,  I  passed  under  the  hall  of  the  "  Sarcophagus,"  where 
Thomas,  the  page,  touched  the  gold-knobbed  hat  respectfully  to 
me  in  a  manner  Avhich  I  thiidv  must  have  rather  surprised  old 
General  Growler,  who  was  unrolling  himself  of  his  muftetees  and 
wrappers,  and  issued  into  the  street,  where  Cox's  fly  was  in  waiting  : 
the  windows  up,  and  whitened  with  a  slight  frost ;  the  silhouettes 
of  the  dear  beings  within  dimly  visible  against  the  chemist's  light 
opposite  the  Club ;  and  Master  Augustus  already  kicking  his  heels 
on  the  box,  by  the  side  of  the  inebriated  driver. 

I  caused  the  youth  to  descend  from  that  perch,  and  the  door 
of  the  fly  being  opened,  thrust  him  in.  Mrs.  Captain  Flather,  of 
course,  occupied  the  place  of  honour — an  uncommonly  capacious 
woman ^and  one  of  the  young  ladies  made  a  retreat  from  tlie  front 
seat,  in  order  to  leave  it  vacant  for  myself;  but  I  insisted  on  not 
incommoding  Mrs.  Captain  F.,  and  that  the  two  darling  children 
should  sit  beside  her,  while  I  occupied  the  place  of  back  bodkiu 
between  the  two  Miss  Twiggs. 

They  were  attired  in  white,  covered  up  with  shawls,  with 
bouquets  in  their  laps,  and  their  hair  dressed  evidently  for  the 
occasion ;  Mrs.  Flather  in  her  red  velvet  of  course,  with  her  large 
gilt  state  turban. 

She  saw  that  we  were  squeezed  on  our  side  of  the  carriage,  and 
made  an  offer  to  receive  me  on  hers. 

"Squeezed?  I  should  think  we  were ;%ut,  0  Emily,  0  Louisa, 
you  mischievous  little  black-eyed  creatures,  who  would  dislike  being 
squeezed  by  you?  I  wished  it  was  to  York  we  were  going,  and 
not  to  Covent  Garden.  How  swiftly  the  moments  passed.  We 
were  at  the  play-house  in  no  time ;  and  Augustus  jjlunged  instantly 
out  of  the  fly  over  the  shins  of  everybody. 


II 

WE  took  possession  of  the  private  box  assigned  to  us :  and 
Mrs.  Flather  seated  lierself  in  the  j)lace  of  honour — each 
of  tlie  young  ladies  taking  it  by  turns  to  occupy  the  other 
corner.  Miss  Minny  and  Master  Jones  occupied  the  middle  places ; 
and  it  Avas  pleasant  to  watch  the  young  gentleman  throughout  the 
performance  of  the  comedy — during  which  he  was  never  quiet  for 
two  minutes — now  shifting  his  chair,  now  swinging  to  and  fro  upon 
it,  now  digging  his  elbows  into  tlie  capacious  sides  of  Mrs.  Captain 
Flather,  now  beating  with  his  boots  against  the  front  of  the  box,  or, 
trampling  upon  the  skirts  of  Mrs.  Flather's  velvet  garment. 

He  occupied  himself  unceasingly,  too,  in  working  up  and  down 
Mrs.  F.'s  double-barrelled  French  opera-glass — not  a  little  to  the 
detriment  of  that  instrument  and  the  wrath  of  the  owner ;  indeed 
I  have  no  doubt,  that  had  not  ]\Irs.  Flather  reflected  that  Mrs. 
Colonel  Jones  gave  some  of  the  most  elegant  parties  in  London,  to 
which  she  was  very  anxious  to  be  invited,  she  Avoidd  have  boxed 
Master  Augustus's  ears  in  the  presence  of  the  whole  audience  of 
Covent  Garden. 

One  of  the  young  ladies  was,  of  course,  obliged  to  remain  in  the 
back  row  with  Mr.  Spec.  We  could  not  see  much  of  the  play  over 
Mrs.  F.'s  turban ;  but  I  trust  that  we  were  not  unhappy  in  our 
retired  position.  0  Miss  Emily  I  0  Miss  Louisa  !  there  is  one  who 
would  be  happy  to  sit  for  a  week  close  by  either  of  you,  though  it 
were  on  one  of  those  abominable  little  private  box  chairs.  I  know, 
for  my  part,  that  every  time  the  box-keeperess  popped  in  her  head, 
and  asked  if  we  would  take  any  refreshment,  I  tliought  the  inter- 
ruption odious. 

Our  young  ladies,  and  their  stout  chaperon  and  aunt,  had  come 
provided  with  neat  little  bouquets  of  flowers,  in  which  they  evi- 
dently took  a  considerable  pride,  and  which  were  laid,  on  their 
first  entrance,  on  the  ledge  in  front  of  our  box. 

But,  presently,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  house,  Mrs.  Cutbush, 
of  Pocklington  Gardens,  appeared  with  her  daughters,  and  bowed 
in  a  patronising  manner  to  the  ladies  of  our  party,  with  whom  the 
Cutbush  family  had  a  slight  acquaintance. 

Before  ten  minutes,  the  bouquets  of  our  party  Avere  whisked 
away  from  the  ledge  of  the  box.  Mrs.  Flather  dropped  hers  to 
the  ground,  where  Master  Jones's  feet  speedily  finished  it ;  Miss 
Louisa  Twigg  let  hers  foil  into  her  lap,  and  covered  it  with  her 
pocket-handkerchief.     Uneasy  signals  passed  between  her  and  her 


568  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

sister.  I  could  not,  at  first,  imderstaiid  -what  event  had  occurred  tc 
make  those  ladies  so  unha^jpy. 

At  last  the  secret  came  out.  The  Misses  Cutbush  had  bouquets 
like  little  haystacks  before  them.  Our  small  nosegays,  whicli  had 
quite  satisfied  the  girls  until  now,  had  l)ecome  odious  in  their  little 
jealous  eyes ;  and  the  Cutbushes  triumphed  over  them. 

I  have  joked  the  ladies  subsequently  on  this  adventure;  but 
not  one  of  them  will  acknowledge  the  charge  against  them.  It 
was  mere  accident  that  made  them  drop  the  flowers — pure  accident. 
They  jealous  of  the  Cutbushes  ! — not  they,  indeed  ;  and  of  course, 
each  person  on  this  head  is  welcome  to  his  own  opinion. 

How  different,  meanwhile,  was  the  behaviour  of  my  young 
friend  ^Master  Jones,  who  is  not  as  yet  sophisticated  by  the  world. 
'  He  not  only  nodded  to  his  father's  servant,  who  had  taken  a  place 
in  the  pit,  and  was  to  escort  his  young  master  liome,  but  he  dis- 
covereil  a  schoolfellow  in  the  pit  likewise.  "By  Jove,  there's 
Smith  I  "  he  cried  out,  as  if  the  sight  of  Smith  was  the  most 
extraordinary  event  in  the  world.  He  pointed  out  Smith  to  all 
of  us.  He  never  ceased  nodding,  winking,  grinning,  telegraphing, 
initil  he  had  succeeded  in  attracting  the  attention  not  only  of 
Master  Smith,  but  of  the  greater  part  of  the  house ;  and  whenever 
anything  in  the  jJay  struck  him  as  worthy  of  applause,  he  instantly 
made  signals  to  Smith  below,  and  shook  his  fist  at  him,  as  much 
as  to  say,  "  By  Jove,  old  fellow,  ain't  it  good  %  I  say,  Smith,  isn't 
it  2'>rime,  old  boy  ?  "  He  actually  made  remarks  on  liis  fingers 
to  Master  Smith  during  the  performance. 

I  confess  he  was  one  of  the  best  parts  of  the  night's  entertain- 
ment, to  me.  How  Jones  and  Smith  will  talk  about  that  play 
wlieu  they  meet  after  holidays !  And  not  only  then  will  they 
rememlier  it,  but  all  their  lives  long.  Why  do  you  remember  that 
play  you  saw  thirty  years  ago,  and  forget  the  one  over  which  you 
yawned  last  week  ?  "  Ah,  my  brave  little  boy,"  I  thought  in  my 
heart,  "  twenty  years  hence  you  will  recollect  this,  and  have  for- 
gotten many  a  better  thing.  You  will  have  been  in  love  t^ace  or 
thrice  by  that  time,  and  have  forgotten  it ;  you  will  have  buried 
your  wife  and  forgotten  lier;  you  will  have  had  ever  so  many 
friendships  and  forgotten  them.  You  and  Smith  won't  care  for 
each  other,  very  probably ;  but  you'll  remember  all  the  actors  and 
tlie  plot  of  this  piece  we  are  seeing." 

I  protest  I  have  forgotten  it  myself.  In  our  back  row  we 
could  not  see  or  hear  much  of  the  performance  (and  no  great  loss) 
— fitful  burets  of  elocution  only  occasionally  reaching  us,  in  which 
we  could  recognise  the  well-known  nasal  twang  of  the  excellent  Mr. 
Stupor,  who  performed  tlie  part  of  the  young  hero  \  or  the  ringing 


A    NIGHT'S    PLEASURE  569 

laughter  of  Mrs.  Belmore,  who   had  to  giggle  tlirough  the  whole 
piece. 

It  was  one  of  Mr.  Boyster's  comedies  of  Enghsh  Life  :  Frank 
Xightrake  (Stupor)  and  his  friend  Bob  Fitzofiicy  appeared  in  the 
first  scene,  having  a  conversation  with  that  impossible  valet  Qf 
English  Comedy,  whom  any  geiltleman  would  turn  out  of  doors 
before  he  could  get  through  lialf  a  length  of  the  dialogue  assigned. 
I  caught  only  a  glimpse  of  this  act.  Bob,  like  a  fashionable  young 
dog  of  the  aristocracy  (the  character  was  played  by  Bulger,  a  meri- 
torious man,  but  very  stout,  and  nearly  fifty  years  of  age),  was 
dressed  in  a  rhubarb-coloured  body-coat  with  brass  buttons,  a  couple 
of  under-waistcoats,  a  blue  satin  stock  with  a  paste  brooch  in  it,  and 
an  eighteenpenny  cane,  which  he  never  let  out  of  his  hand,  and 
with  which  he  poked  fun  at  everybody.  Frank  Xightrake,  on  the 
contrary,  being  at  home,  was  attired  in  a  very  close-fitting  chintz 
dressing-gown,  lined  with  glazed  red  calico,  and  was  seated  before 
a  large  pewter  teapot,  at  breakfast.  And,  as  your  true  English 
Comedy  is  the  representation  of  nature,  I  could  not  but  think  how 
like  these  figures  on  the  stage,  and  the  dialogue  which  they  used, 
were  to  the  appearance  and  talk  of  English  gentlemen  of  the 
present  day. 

The  dialogue  went  on  somewhat  in  the  following  fashion  : — 

Boh  Fdzoffley  {enters  whistlinrj).  The  top  of  the  morning  to 
thee,  Frank  !  *  What !  at  l^reakfost  abeady  1  At  chocolate  and  the 
Morning  Post,  like  a  dowager  of  sixty  ?  Slang !  {he  pokes  ^  the 
servant  with  his  cane)  what  lias  come  to  thj  master,  thou  Prince 
of  Valets  !  thou  pattern  of  Slaveys  !  tliou  swiftest  of  Mercuries  ! 
Has  the  Honourable  Francis  Nightrake  lost  his  heart,  or  his  head, 
or  his  health  ? 

Frank  {laying  doivn  the  pajjcr).  Bob,  Bob,  I  have  lost  all 
three !  I  liave  lost  my  health.  Bob,  with  thee  and  thy  like,  over 
the  burgundy  at  the  Club ;  I  have  lost  my  head.  Bob,  with  thinking 
how  I  shallpay  my  debts ;  and  I  have  lost  my  heart.  Bob,  oh,  to 
such  a  creature  ! 

Frank.  A  Venus,  of  course  I 

Slanfj.  With  the  presence  of  Juno. 

Boh.  And  the  modesty  of  Minerva. 

Frank.   And  the  caldncss  of  Diana. 

Boh.  Pisli !  What  a  sigh  is  that  about  a  woman  !  Thou  shalt 
be  Endymion,  tlie  niglitrake  of  old :  and  conquer  this  shy  goddess. 
Hey,  Slang? 

Herewith  Slang  takes  the  lead  of  the  conversation,  and  prtv 
pounds  a  plot  for  running  away  with  the  heiress ;  and  I  could  not 
15 


570  SKETCHES  AND  TKAVELS  IN  LONDON 

help  remarking  how  like  the  comedy  was  to  life — how  the  gentle- 
men always  say  "thou,"  and  "  pry  thee,"  and  "go  to,"  and  talk 
about  heathen  goddesses  to  each  other;  how  their  seiwants  are 
always  their  particular  intimates ;  how  when  there  is  serious  love- 
making  between  a  gentleman  and  lady,  a  comic  attachment  in- 
variably springs  up  between  the  valet  and  waiting-maid  of  each ; 
how  Lady  Grace  Gadabout,  when  she  calls  upon  Rose  Ringdove  to 
pay  a  morning  visit,  appears  in  a  low  satin  dress,  with  jewels  in 
lier  hair ;  how  Saucebox,  her  attendant,  wears  diamond  brooches, 
and  rings  on  all  her  fingers ;  while  Mrs.  Tallyho,  on  the  other  hand, 
transacts  all  the  business  of  life  in  a  riding-habit,  and  always  points 
her  jokes  by  a  cut  of  the  whip. 

Tliis  playfulness  ])roduced  a  roar  all  over  tlie  house,  whenever 
it  was  repeated,  and  always  made  our  little  friends  clap"  their  hands 
and  shout  in  chorus. 

Like  that  hon-vivant  who  envied  the  beggars  staring  into  the 
cook-shop  windows,  and  wished  he  could  be  hungry,  I  envied  the 
Ijoys,  and  wished  I  could  laugh  very  much.  In  the  last  act,  I 
remember — for  it  is  now  very  nearly  a  week  ago — everybody  took 
refuge  either  iu  a  secret  door,  or  behind  a  screen  or  curtain,  or 
under  a  table,  or  up  a  chimney :  and  the  house  roared  as  each 
person  came  out  from  his  place  of  concealment.  And  the  old  fellow 
in  top-boots,  joining  the  hands  of  the  young  couple  (Fitzoffley,  of 
course,  pairing  off  with  the  widow),  gave  them  his  blessing,  and 
thirty  thousand  pounds. 

And  all,  ye  gods  !  if  I  wished  before  that  comedies  Avere  like 
life,  how  I  wished  that  life  was  like  comedies !  Whereon  the  drop 
fell ;  and  Augustus,  clapping  to  the  opera-glass,  jumped  up,  crying 
— "  Hurrah  !  now  for  the  Pantomime  !  " 


III 

THE  composer  of  the  Overture  of  the  New  Grand  Comic 
Christmas  Pantomime,  "  Harlequin  and  the  Fairy  of  the 
Spangled  Pocket-handkerchief,  or  the  Prince  of  the  Enchanted 
Nose,"  arrayed  in  a  brand-new  Christmas  suit,  with  his  wristbands 
and  collar  turned  elegantly  over  his  cuffs  and  embroidered  satin  tie, 
takes  a  place  at  his  desk,  waves  his  stick,  and  away  the  Pantomime 
Overture  begins. 

I  pity  a  man  who  can't  appreciate  a  Pantomime  Overture. 
Children  do  not  like  it :  they  say,  "  Hang  it,  I  wish  the  Pantomime 
would  begin  :  "  but  for  us  it  is  always  a  pleasant  moment  of  reflection 


A    NIGHT'S    PLEASURE  571 

and  enjoyment.  It  is  not  difficult  music  to  understand,  like  that 
of  your  Mendelssohns  and  Beethovens,  whose  symphonies  and 
sonatas  Mrs.  Spec  states  must  be  heard  a  score  of  times  before 
you  can  comprehend  them.  But  of  the  proper  Pantomime-music 
I  am  a  delighted  connoisseur.  Perliaps  it  is  because  you  meet  so 
many  old  friends  in  these  comJ)ositions  consorting  together  in  the 
queerest  manner,  and  occasioning  numberless  pleasant  surprises. 
Hark!  there  goes  "Old  Dan  Tucker"  wandering  into  the  "Groves 
of  Blarney;"  our  friends  the  "Scots  wha  hae  wi'  Wallace  bled" 
march  rapidly  down  "  Wappiug  Old  Stairs,"  from  which  the  "  Figlia 
del  Reggimento "  comes  bounding  briskly,  when  she  is  met,  em- 
braced, and  carried  off  by  "  Billy  Taylor,"  that  brisk  young 
fellow. 

All  this  while  you  are  thinking  with  a  faint  sickly  kind  of 
hope,  that  perliaj^s  the  Pantomime  viay  be  a  good  one ;  something 
like  "  Harlequin  and  the  Golden  Orange-Tree,"  which  you  recollect 
in  your  youth ;  something  like  "  Fortunio,"  that  marvellous  and 
delightful  piece  of  buffoonery,  which  realised  the  most  gorgeous 
visions  of  the  absurd.  You  may  be  happy,  perchance  :  a  glimpse 
of  the  old  days  may  come  back  to  you.  Lives  there  the  man  with 
soul  so  dead,  the  being  ever  so  hla&e  and  travel-worn,  who  does  not 
feel  some  shock  and  thrill  still :  just  at  that  moment  when  the  bell 
(the  dear  and  familiar  bell  of  your  youth)  beghis  to  tinkle,  and  the 
curtain  to  rise,  and  the  large  shoes  and  ankles,  the  flesh-coloured 
leggings,  the  crumpled  knees,  the  gorgeous  robes  and  masks  finally, 
of  the  actors  ranged  on  the  stage  to  shout  the  opening  chorus  % 

All  round  the  liouse  you  hear  a  great  gasping  a^ha-a  fi-om  a 
thousand  cliildren's  throats.  Enjoyment  is  going  to  give  place 
to  Hope.  Desire  is  about  to  be  realised.  Oh  you  blind  little 
brats !  Clap  your  hands,  and  crane  over  the  boxes,  and  open  your 
eyes  with  hajjpy  wonder  !  Clap  yom*  hands  now.  In  three  weeks 
more  the  Reverend  Doctor  Swishtail  expects  the  return  of  his  young 
friends  to  Sugarcane  House, 

King  Beak,  Emperor  of  the  Romans,  having  invited  all  the 
neighbouring  Princes,  Fairies,  and  Enclianters  to  the  feast  at  wliich 
he  celebrated  the  marriage  of  his  only  son,  Prince  Aquiline,  un- 
luckily gave  the  liver  wing  of  tlie  fowl  which  he  was  carving  to 
the  Prince's  godmother,  the  Fairy  Bandanna,  Avliile  lie  put  the 
gizzard-))ini()n  on  tlie  })late  of  the  Enchanter  Gorgibus,  King  of  the 
Maraschino  ]\Iountains,  and  father  of  the  Princess  Rosolia,  to  whom 
the  Prince  was  affianced. 

Tlie  outraged  Gorgibus  rose  fnjm  the  table  in  a  fury,  smashed 
his  plate  of  chicken  over  the  head  of  King  Beak's  Chamberlain,  and 


572     SKETCHES    AND    TRAVELS    IN    LONDON 

wished  that  Prince  Aquilinc's  nose  iniglit  grow  on  tlie  instant  as 
long  as  the  sausage  hefore  liini. 

It  did  so  ;  the  screaming  Princess  rushed  away  from  her  bride- 
groom ;  and  her  fother,  breaking  ott"  tlic  matd\  witli  tlie  House  of 
Bealv,  ordered  his  daughter  to  be  carried  in  his  sedan  by  the  two 
giant  porters,  Gor  and  Gogstay,  to  his  castle  in  the  Juniper  Forest, 
by  the  side  of  the  bitter  waters  of  the  Absinthine  Lake,  whither, 
after  upsetting  the  marriage-tables,  and  flooring  King  Beak  in  a 
single  combat,  he  himself  repaired. 

The  latter  monarch  could  not  bear  to  see  or  even  to  hear  his 
disfigured  son. 

When  the  Prince  Aquiline  lilew  his  unfortunate  and  monstrous 
nose,  the  windows  of  his  father's  palace  broke ;  the  locks  of  the 
doors  started ;  the  dishes  and  glasses  of  the  King's  banquet  jingled 
and  smashed  as  they  do  on  board  a  steamboat  in  a  storm  ;  the  liquor 
turned  sour ;  the  Chancellor's  wig  started  off  his  head ;  and  the 
Prince's  Royal  father,  disgusted  with  his  son's  appearance,  drove 
him  forth  from  his  palace,  and  banished  him  the  kingdom. 

Life  was  a  burden  to  him  on  account  of  that  nose.  He  fled 
from  a  world  in  which  he  was  asliamed  to  show  it,  and  would  have 
preferred  a  perfect  solitude,  but  that  he  was  obliged  to  engage  one 
faithful  attendant  to  give  him  snuft'  (his  only  consolation)  and  to 
keep  his  odious  nose  in  order. 

But  as  he  was  wandering  in  a  lonely  forest,  entangling  his 
miserable  trunk  in  the  thickets,  and  causing  the  birds  to  fly  scared 
from  the  branches,  and  the  lions,  stags,  and  foxes  to  sneak  away  in 
terror  as  they  heard  the  tremendous  booming  which  issued  from  the 
fated  Prince  whenever  he  liad  occasion  to  use  his  pocket-handker- 
chief, the  Fairy  of  the  Bandanna  Islands  took  pity  on  him,  and, 
descending  in  her  car  drawn  by  doves,  gave  him  a  kerchief  which 
rendered  him  invisible  whenever  he  placed  it  over  his  monstrous 
l^roboscis. 

Having  occasion  to  blow  his  nose  (wliich  he  was  obliged  to 
do  pretty  frequently,  for  he  had  taken  cold  while  lying  out  among 
the  rocks  and  morasses  in  the  rainy  miserable  nights,  so  that  the 
peasants,  when  they  heard  him  snoring  fitfully,  thought  that  storms 
were  abroad)  at  the  gates  of  a  castle  l)y  which  he  was  jvassing, 
the  door  burst  open,  and  the  Irish  Giant  (afterwards  Clown, 
indeed)  came  out,  and  wondering  looked  about,  furious  to  see 
no  one. 

The  Prince  entered  into  the  castle,  and  whom  sliould  he  find 
there  but  the  Piincess  Rosolia,  still  plunged  in  despair.  Her  father 
snubbed  her  perpetually.  "  I  wish  he  would  snub  me  !  "  exclaimed 
the  Prince,  pointing  to  his  ov/n  monstrous  deformity.     In  spite  of 


A    NIGHT'S    PLEASURE  573 

his  misfortune,  she  still  remembered  her  Prince.  "  Even  with  his 
nose,"  the  faithful  Princess  cried,  "  I  love  him  more  tlian  all  the 
world  beside  ! " 

At  this  de('laration  of  unalterable  fidelity,  the  Prince  flung  away 
his  handkerchief,  and  knelt  in  capture  at  the  Princess's  feet.  She 
was  a  little  scared  at  first  by  the  hideousness  of  the  distorted  being 
before  her — but  what  will  not  woman's  faith  overcome  1  Hiding  her 
head  on  his  shoulder  (and  so  losing  sight  of  his  misfortune),  she 
vowed  to  love  him  still  (in  those  broken  verses  which  only  Princesses 
in  Pantomimes  deliver). 

At  this  instant  King  Gorgibus,  the  Giants,  the  King's  House- 
hold, with  clubs  and  battleaxcs,  rushed  in.  Drawing  his  immense 
scimitar,  and  seizing  the  Prince  by  his  too  prominent  feature,  he 
was  just  on  the  point  of  sacrificing  him,  when- — when,  I  need  not 
say,  the  Fairy  Bandanna  (Miss  Bendigo),  in  her  amaranthine  car 
drawn  by  Paphian  doves,  appeared  and  put  a  stop  to  the  massacre. 
King  Gorgibus  became  Pantaloon,  the  two  Giants  first  and  second 
Clowns,  and  the  Prince  and  Princess  (who  had  been,  all  the  time 
of  the  Fairy's  speech,  actually  while  under  their  father's  scimitar, 
unhooking  their  dresses)  became  the  most  elegant  Harlequin  and 
Columbine  that  I  have  seen  for  many  a  long  day.  The  nose  flew 
up  to  tlie  ceiling,  the  music  began  a  jig,  and  the  two  Clowns,  after 
saying,  **  How  are  you  1 "  went  and  knocked  down  Pantaloon. 


IV 

ON  the  conclusion  of  the  Pantomime,  the  present  memorialist 
had  the  honour  to  conduct  the  ladies  under  his  charge  to 
the  portico  of  the  theatre,  where  the  green  fly  was  in  waiting 
to  receive  them.  The  driver  was  not  more  inebriated  than  usual ; 
the  J'oung  page  with  the  gold-knobbed  hat  was  there  to  [irotect  his 
mistresses ;  and  though  the  chaperon  of  the  party  certainly  invited 
me  to  return  with  them  to  Brompton  and  there  driidc  tea,  the  pro- 
posal was  made  in  terms  so  faint,  and  the  refreshment  offered  was 
so  moderate,  tliat  I  declined  to  journey  six  miles  on  a  cold  night  in 
order  to  partake  of  such  a  meal.  The  waterman  of  the  coacli-stand, 
who  had  made  himself  conspicuous  by  bawling  out  for  Mrs.  Flather's 
carriage,  was  importunate  with  me  to  give  him  sixpence  for  pushing 
the  ladies  into  the  vehicle.  But  it  was  my  opinion  tliat  Mrs. 
Flatlier  ought  to  settle  that  demand  ;  and  as,  while  the  fellow  was 
urgina  it,  she  only  pulled  up  the  glass,  bidding  Cox's  man  to  drive 
on,  I  of  course  did  not  interfere.     In  vulgar  and  immoral  language 


574>     SKETCHES    AND    TRAVEL'S    IN    LONDON 

he  indicated,  as  usual,  his  discontent.      I  treated  the  fellow  with 
l)layrul,  and,  I  hope,  gentlemanlike  satire. 

Master  Jones,  -who  would  not  leave  the  box  in  the  theatre  until 
the  people  came  to  shroud  it  with  brown-holland  (by  the  way,  to  be 
the  last  person  in  a  theatre — to  put  out  the  last  light — and  then  to 
find  one's  way  out  of  the  vast  black  lonely  ])la(;e,  must  i-equire  a 
very  coura'j;(>ous  heart) — Master  Jones,  I  say,  had  previously  taken 
leave  of  us,  putting  his  arm  under  that  of  his  father's  footman,  who 
had  been  in  the  pit,  and  who  conducted  him  to  Russell  Square.  I 
heard  Augustus  proposing  to  have  oysters  as  they  went  home, 
though  lie  had  twice  in  the  course  of  the  performance  made  excur- 
sions to  the  cake-room  of  the  theatre,  where  he  had  partaken  of 
oranges,  macaroons,  apples,  and  ginger-beer. 

As  the  altercation  between  myself  and  the  linkman  was  going 
on,  young  Grigg  (brother  of  Grigg  of  the  Lifeguards,  himself  reading 
for  the  Bar)  came  up,  and  hooking  his  arm  into  mine,  desired  the 
man  to  leave  off  "chaffing"  me ;  asked  him  if  he  would  take  a  bill 
at  three  months  for  the  numey ;  told  him  if  he  would  call  at  tlie 
"  Horns  Tavern,"  Keimington,  next  Tuesday  wdek,  he  would  find 
sixpence  there,  done  up  for  him  in  a  brown  paper  parcel :  and 
quite  routed  my  opponent.  "  I  know  i/ou,  Mr.  Grigg,"  said  he  : 
"  you're  a  gentleman,  you  are ; "  and  so  retired,  leaving  the  victory 
with  me. 

Young  Mr.  Grigg  is  one  of  those  young  bucks  about  town,  who 
goes  every  night  of  his  life  to  two  theatres,  to  the  Casino,  to 
Weippert's  balls,  to  the  Cafd  de  I'Haymarket,  to  Bob  Slogger's,  the 
boxing-house,  to  the  Harmonic  Meetings  at  the  "  Kidney  Cellars," 
and  other  i^laces  of  fasliionable  resort.  He  knows  everybody  at 
these  haunts  of  pleasure ;  takes  boxes  for  the  actors'  benefits ;  has 
the  word  from  hearlijuarters  about  the  venue  of  the  fight  between 
Putney  Sambo  and  the  Tutbury  Pet ;  gets  up  little  dinners  at  their 
public-houses ;  shoots  pigeons,  fights  cocks,  plays  fives,  has  a  boat 
on  the  river,  and  a  room  at  Ruumier's  in  Conduit  Street,  besides 
his  chambers 'at  the  Temple,  where  his  parents,  Sir  John  and  Lady 
Grigg,  of  Portman  Square,  and  Grigsby  Hall,  Yorkshire,  believe 
that  he  is  assiduously  occupied  in  studying  the  Law.  "  Tom  applies 
too  much,"  her  Ladyship  says.  "  His  father  was  obliged  to  "remove 
him  from  Cambridge  on  account  of  a  brain-fever  brought  on  by  hard 
reading,  and  in  consequence  of  the  jealousy  of  some  of  the  collegians  ; 
otherwise,  I  am  told,  he  must  have  been  Senior  AVraugler,  and 
seated  first  of  the  Tripod." 

"  I'm  going  to  begin  the  evening,"  said  this  ingenuous  young 
fellow ;  "  I've  only  been  at  the  Lowther  Arcade,  Weippert's  hop, 
and  the  billiard-rooms.     I  just  toddled  in  for  half-au-hour  to  sec 


A   NIGHT'S    PLEASURE  575 

Brooke  in  '  Otliello,'  and  looked  in  for  a  few  minutes  behind  tlie 
scenes  at  the  Adelplii.  What  shall  be  the  next  resort  of  pleasure, 
Spec,  my  elderly  juvenile  ?  Shall  it  be  the  '  Sherry-Cobbler-Stall,'  or 
the  '  Cave  of  Harmony  '  1     There's  some  jirime  glee-singing  there." 

"  What !  is  the  old  '  Cave  of.Harmony '  still  extant  1"  I  asked. 
"  I  have  not  been  there  these  twenty  years."  And  memory  carried 
me  back  to  the  days  when  Lightsides  of  Corpus,  myself,  and  little 
Oaks,  the  Johnian,  came  up  to  town  in  a  chaise-and-four  at  the  long 
vacation  at  the  end  of  our  freshman's  year,  ordered  turtle  and 
venison  for  dinner  at  the  "  Bedford,"  blubbered  over  "  Black-eyed 
Susan "  at  the  play,  and  then  finished  the  evening  at  that  very 
Harmonic  Cave,  where  the  famous  English  Improvisa1>ore  sang  with 
such  prodigious  talent  that  we  asked  him  down  to  stay  with  us  in 
the  country.  Spurgin,  and  Hawker,  the  fellow-commoner  of  our 
College,  I  remember  me,  were  at  the  cave  too,  and  Bardolf  of 
Brasenose.  Lord,  lord  !  what  a  battle  and  struggle  and  wear  and 
tear  of  life  there  has  been  since  then  !  Hawker  levanted,  and 
Spurgin  is  dead  these  ten  years  ;  little  Oaks  is  a  whiskered  Captain 
of  Hea,vy  Dragoons,  who  cut  down  no  end  of  Sikhs  at  Sobraon ; 
Lightsides,  a  Tractarian  parson,  who  turns  his  head  and  walks 
another  way  when  we  meet ;  and  your  humble  servant — well,  never 
mind.  But  in  my  spirit  I  saw  them — all  those  blooming  and 
jovial  young  boyS' — and  Lightsides,  with  a  cigar  in  his  face,  and  a 
bang-up  white  coat,  covered  with  mother-of-pearl  cheese-plates, 
bellowing  out  for  "  First  and  Second  Turn-out,"  as  our  yellow  post- 
chaise  came  rattling  up  to  the  inn-door  at  Ware. 

"And  so  the  'Cave  of  Harmony'  is  open,"  I  said,  looking  at 
little  Grigg  with  a  sad  and  tender  interest,  and  feeling  that  I  was 
about  a  hundred  years  old. 

"  I  believe  you,  my  baw-aw-oy  !  "  said  he,  adopting  the  tone  of 
an  exceedingly  refined  and  i)Opular  actor,  whose  choral  and  comic 
powers  render  him  a  general  favourite. 

"Does  Bivins  keep  it?"  I  asked,  in  a  voice  of  profound 
melancholy. 

"  Hoh  !  What  a  flat  you  are  !  You  might  as  well  ask  if  Mrs. 
Siddons  acted  Lady  Macbeth  to-night,  and  if  Queen  Anne's  dead  or 
not.  I  tell  you  what,  Sjtec,  my  boy — you're  getting  a  regular  old 
flat — fogey,  sir,  a  positive  old  fogey.  How  the  deuce  do  ?/ou  pretend 
to  be  a  man  about  town,  and  not  know  that  Bivins  has  left  the 
Cavern  ?  Law  bless  yon  !  Come  in  and  see  :  I  know  the  landlord 
■ — I'll  introduce  you  to  him." 

This  was  an  offer  which  no  man  could  resist ;  and  so  Grigg  and 
I  went  through  the  Piazza,  and  down  the  steps  of  that  well-re- 
membered place  of  conviviality.     Grigg  knew  everybody ;  wagged 


576     SKETCPIES    AND    TRAVELS    IN    LONDON 

his  head  in  at  the  bar,  and  called  for  two  glasses  of  his  particular 
mixture ;  nodded  to  the  singers ;  winked  at  one  friend — i)Ut  his 
little  stick  against  his  nose  as  a  token  of  recognition  to  an(jthcr ; 
and  calling  tlie  waiter  by  his  Christian  name,  poked  him  playfully 
with  the  end  of  his  cane,  and  asked  him  whether  he,  Grrigg,  should 
have  a  lobster  kidney,  or  a  mashed  oyster  and  scalloped  'taters,  or 
a.  poached  raljbit,  for  supper. 

The  room  was  full  of  young  rakisli-looking  lads,  with  a  dubious 
sprinkling  of  us  middle-aged  youth,  and  stalwart  red-faced  fellows 
from  the  country,  with  whisky-noggins  before  them,  and  bent  upon 
seeing  life.  A  grand  piano  liad  been  introduced  into  the  apartment, 
which  did  not  exist  in  the  old  days  :  otherwise,  all  was  as  of  yore — 
smoke  rising  from  scores  of  human  chimneys,  waiters  bustling  about 
Avith  cigars  and  liquors  in  the  intervals  of  the  melody — and  the 
President  of  the  meeting  (Bivins  no  more)  encouraging  gents  to 
give  their  orders. 

Just  as  the  music  was  about  to  begin,  I  looked  opposite  me,  and 
there,  by  heavens  !  sat  Bardolph  of  Brasenose,  only  a  little  more 
purple  and  a  few  shades  more  dingy  than  he  used  to  look  twenty 
years  ago. 


V 

LOOK  at  that  old  Greek  in  the  -^^loak  and  fur  collar  opposite," 
said  my  friend  Mr.  Grigg.  "  That  chap  is  here  every  night. 
■^  They  call  him  Lord  Farintosh.  He  has  five  glasses  of  whisky- 
and-water  every  night — seventeen  hundred  and  twenty-five  goes  of 
alcohol  in  a  year ;  we  totted  it  np  one  night  at  the  bar,  James 
the  waiter  is  now  taking  number  three  to  him.  He  don't  count 
the  wine  he  has  had  at  dinner."  Indeed,  James  the  waiter,  know- 
ing the  gentleman's  peculiarities,  as  soon  as  he  saw  Mr.  Bardolph's 
glass  nearly  eni{)ty,  brought  him  another  noggin  and  a  jug  of  boiling 
water  without  a  word. 

Memory  carried  me  instantaneously  back  to  the  days  of  my 
youth.  I  had  the  honour  of  being  at  school  with  Bardolph  before 
he  went  to  Brasenose ;  the  under  boys  used  to  look  up  at  him  from 
afar  off,  as  at  a  godlike  being.  He  was  one  of  the  head  boys  of  tlie 
school ;  a  prodigious  dandy  in  pigeon-hole  trousers,  ornamented  with 
what  they  called  "  tucks  "  in  front.  He  wore  a  ring — leaving  the 
little  finger  on  which  he  wore  the  jewel  out  of  his  pjocket,  in  which 
he  carried  the  rest  of  his  hand.  He  had  whiskers  even  then  :  and 
to  this  day  I  cannot  understand  why  he  is  not  seven  feet  high. 
When  he  shouted  out  "  Under  boy  ! "  we  small  ones  trembled  and 


A    NIGHT'S    PLEASURE  577 

came  to  him.  I  recollect  he  called  me  once  from  a  hundred  yards 
ofiF,  and  I  came  up  in  a  tremor.     He  pointed  to  the  ground. 

"  Pick  up  my  hockey-stick,"  he  said,  pointing  towards  it  with 
the  hand  with  the  ring  on.  He  had  dropped  the  stick.  He  wa.s 
too  great,  wise,  and  good  to  stoop  to  pick  it  up  himself. 

He  got  the  silver  medal  for  Latin  Sapphics,  in  the  year  Pogram 
was  gold-medallist.  When  he  went  up  to  Oxford,  the  Head-Master, 
the  Rev.  J.  Flibber,  complimented  him  in  a  valedictory  speech, 
made  him  a  present  of  books,  and  prophesied  that  he  would  do 
great  things  at  the  University.  He  had  got  a  scholarship,  and  won 
a  prize-poem,  which  the  Doctor  read  out  to  the  sixth  form  with 
great  emotion.  It  was  on  "  The  Recollections  of  Childhood,"  and 
the  last  lines  Avere — 

'  Qualia  prospiciens  catulus  ferit  tethera  risii, 
Ipsaque  trans  lunse  cornua  vacca  s.alit." 

I  thought  of  these  things  rapidly,  gazing  on  the  individual  before 
me.  The  brilliant  young  fellow  of  1815  (by-the-bye,  it  was  the 
Waterloo  year,  by  wjiich  some  people  may  remember  it  better ; 
but  at  school  we  spoke  of  years  as  "  Pogram's  year,"  "  Tokely's 
year,"  &c.) — there,  I  say,  sat  before  me  the  dashing  young  buck 
of  1815,  a  fat,  muzzy,  red-faced  old  man,  in  a  battered  hat,  absorb- 
ing whisky-and-water,  and  half  listening  to  the  singing. 

A  wild,  long-haired,  professional  gentleman,  with  a  fluty  voice 
and  with  his  shirt-collar  turned  down,  began  to  sing  as  follows  : — 

"WHEN  THE  GLOOM  IS  ON  THE  GLEN. 

"When  the  moonlight's  on  the  mountain 

And  the  gloom  is  on  the  glen, 
At  the  cross  beciile  the  fountain 

There  is  one  will  meet  thee  then. 
At  the  cross  beside  tlie  fountain  ; 

Yes,  the  cross  beside  the  fountain, 
There  is  one  wiil  meet  thee  then  ! 

[Doivn  goes  half  of  Mr.  Bardolph's  j\'o.  3   Whisky  durinj  this 
refrain.'\ 

"I  have  braved,  since  first  we  met,  love. 
Many  a  danger  in  my  course  ; 
But  I  never  can  forget,  love, 

That  dear  fountain,  that  old  cross, 
Where,  her  mantle  shrouded  o'er  her, 

For  the  winds  were  chilly  then — 
First  I  met  my  Leonora, 

When  the  gloom  was  on  the  glen. 
Yes,  I  met  my,  &c.  t 


578     SKETCHES    AND    TRAVELS    IN    LONDON 

^Another'  qitl}^,  and  almost  total  disaj^j^earance  of  Whisky  Go, 
^0.  3.] 

"  Many  a  clime  I'vo  ranged  since  tlicn,  love, 

Many  a  land  I'vo  wandered  o'er  ; 
But  a  valley  like  that  glen,  love, 

Half  so  dear  I  never  sor  ! 
Ne'er  .«aw  maiden  fairer,  coyer, 

Than  wert  thou,  my  true  love,  when 
In  the  gloaming  first  I  saw  yer, 

In  the  gloaming  of  the  glen  ! " 

Bardolph,  who  had  not  shown  tlie  least  .symptom  of  emotion 
as  the  gentleman  with  the  fluty  voice  performed  this  delectable 
composition,  began  to  whack,  whack,  whack  on  the  mahogany  with 
liis  pewter  measure  at  the  conclusion  of  the  song,  wishing,  perhaps, 
to  show  that  the  noggin  was  empty ;  in  which  manner  James,  the 
waiter,  interpreted  the  signal,  for  he  brought  Mr,  Bardolph  another 
sui)ply  of  liquor. 

The  song,  words  and  music,  composed  and  dedicated  to  Charles 
Bivins,  Esquire,  by  Frederic  Snape,  and  ornamented  with  a  picture  of 
a  young  lady,  with  large  eyes  and  short  petticoats,  leaning  at  a  stone 
cross,  by  a  fountain,  was  now  handed  about  the  room  by  a  w-aiter, 
and  any  gentleman  was  at  liberty  to  purchase  it  for  half-a-crown. 
The  man  did  not  offer  the  song  to  Bardolph;  he  was  too  old  a  hand. 

After  a  pause,  the  president  of  the  musical  gents  cried  out  for 
silence  again,  and  then  stated  to  the  company  that  Mr.  HofF  w^ould 
sing  "  The  Red  Flag,"  which  announcement  was  received  by  the 
Society  with  immense  applause,  and  Mr.  Hoff,  a  gentleman  whom 
I  remember  to  have  seen  exceedingly  unwell  on  board  a  Gravebend 
steamer,  began  the  following  terrific  ballad  :— 

"THE  RED  FLAG. 

"  Where  the  quivering  lightning  flings 

His  arrows  from  out  the  clouds, 
And  the  howling  tempest  sings, 

And  whistles  among  the  shrouds, 
'Tis  pleasant,  'tis  pleasant  to  ride 

Along  the  foaming  brine — 
Wilt  he  the  Rover's  bride  ? 

Wilt  follow  him,  lady  mine? 
Hurrah  ! 

For  the  bonny  bonny  brine. 

Amidst  the  storm  and  rack, 

You  shall  see  our  gallej'  pass 
As  a  serpent,  lithe  and  black. 

Glides  through  the  waving  grass. 


A    NIGHT'S    TLEASURE  579 

As  the  vulture  swift  and  dark, 

Down  on  the  ringdove  flies, 
You  shall  see  the  Rover's  hark 

Swoop  down  upon  his  prize. 
Hurrah  ! 

For  the  bonny  boony  prize. 

Over  her  sides  we  dash, 

We  gallop  across  her  deck — 
Ha  !  there's  a  ghastly  gash 

On  the  merchant-captain's  neck — 
Well  shot,  well  shot,  old  Ned  ! 

Well  struck,  well  struck,  black  James  ! 
Our  arms  are  red,  and  our  foes  are  dead. 

And  we  leave  a  ship  in  flames  ! 
Hurrah  ! 

For  the  bonny  bonny  flames  !  " 

Frantic  shouts  of  applause  aud  encore  hailed  the  atrocious  senti- 
ments conveyed  by  Mr.  Hott"  in  this  ballad,  from  everybody  excejjt 
Bardolph,  who  sat  muzzy  and  unmoved,  and  only  winked  to  tlic 
waiter  to  brinci;  him  some  more  whiskv. 


VI 

WHEN  the  piratical  ballad  of  Mr.  Hoff  was  concluded,  a 
simple  and  quiet-looking  young  gentleman  performed  a 
comic  song,  in  a  way  which,  I  must  confess,  inspired  me 
with  the  utmost  melancholy.  Seated  at  the  table  with  the  other 
professional  gents,  this  young  gentleman  was  in  nowise  to  be  dis- 
tinguished from  any  other  young  man  of  fashion  :  he  has  a  thin, 
handsome,  and  rather  sad  countenance  ;  and  appears  to  be  a  perfectly 
sober  and  meritorious  young  man.  But  suddenly  (and  I  dare  .say 
every  night  of  his  life)  he  pulls  a  little  flexible  grey  countryman's 
hat  out  of  his  pocket,  and  the  moment  he  has  put  it  on,  his  face 
assumes  an  expression  of  unutterable  vacuity  and  folly,  his  eyes 
goggle  round  savage,  and  his  mouth  stretches  almost  to  his  ears, 
and  he  begins  to  sing  a  rustic  song. 

The  battle-song  and  the  sentimental  ballad  already  published 
arc,  I  trust,  sutficiently  foolish,  and  fair  specimens  of  the  class  of 
poetry  to  wliich  they  belong ;  but  the  folly  of  the  comic  country 
song  was  so  great  and  matchless,  that  I  am  not  going  to  compete 
for  a  moment  with  the  author,  or  to  venture  to  attempt  anything 
like  his  style  of  composition.  It  was  something  about  a  man  going 
a-courting  Molly,  and  "  feayther,"  and  "kyows,"  and  "  iieegs,"  and 


580     SKETCHES    AND    TRAVELS    IN    LONDON 

other  rustic  prochK.'c.  The  idiotic  verse  was  interspersed  with  spoken 
passages,  of  corresponding  imbecility.  For  tlic  time  during  which 
Mr.  Grinsby  performed  this  piece,  he  consented  to  abnegate  altogether 
his  claim  to  be  considered  as  a  reasonable  being ;  utterly  to  debase 
himself,  in  order  to  make  the  company  laugh ;  and  to  forget  the 
rank,  dignity,  and  privileges  of  a  man. 

His  song  made  me  so  profoundly  wretched  that  little  Grigg, 
remarking  my  depression,  declared  that  I  was  as  slow  as  a  parlia- 
mentary train.  I  was  glad  they  didn't  have  the  song  over  again. 
When  it  was  done,  Mr.  Grinsby  put  his  little  grey  hat  in  his  pocket, 
the  maniacal  grin  subsided  from  his  features,  and  he  sat  down  with 
his  naturally  sad  and  rather  handsome  young  countenance. 

0  Grinsby,  thinks  I,  what  a  number  of  people  and  things  in 
this  world  do  you  represent !  Though  we  weary  listening  to  you, 
we  may  moralise  over  you  ;  though  you  sing  a  foolish  witless  song, 
you  poor  young  melancholy  jester,  there  is  some  good  in  it  that 
may  be  had  for  the  seeking.  Perhaps  that  lad  has  a  family  at 
home  dependent  on  his  grinning :  I  may  entertain  a  reasonable  hope 
that  he  has  despair  in  his  heart ;  a  complete  notion  of  the  folly  of 
the  business  in  which  he  is  engaged  ;  a  contempt  for  the  fools 
laughing  and  guffawing  round  about  at  his  miserable  jokes ;  and  » 
perfect  weariness  of  mind  at  their  original  dulness  and  continued 
repetition.  What  a  sinking  of  spirit  must  come  over  that  young 
man,  quiet  in  his  chamber  or  family,  orderly  and  sensible  like  other 
mortals,  when  the  thought  of  toni'-fool  hour  comes  across  him,  and 
that  at  a  certain  time  that  night,  whatever  may  be  his  health,  or 
distaste,  or  mood  of  mind  or  body,  there  he  must  be,  at  a  table  at 
the  "  Cave  of  Harmony,"  uttering  insane  ballads,  with  an  iiliotic 
grin  on  his  face  and  hat  on  his  head. 

To  suppose  that  Grinsby  has  any  personal  pleasure  in  that  song, 
would  be  to  have  too  low  an  opinion  of  human  nature  :  to  imagine 
that  the  applauses  of  the  multitude  of  the  frequenters  of  the  Cave 
tickled  his  vanity,  or  are  bestowed  upon  him  deservedly — would  be, 
I  say,  to  think  too  hardly  of  him.  Look  at  him.  He  sits  there 
quite  a  quiet  orderly  young  fellow.  Mark  with  what  an  abstracted 
sad  air  he  joins  in  the  chorus  of  Mr.  Snape's  second  song,  "  The 
Minaret's  bells  o'er  the  Bosphorus  toll,"  and  having  applauded  his 
comrade  at  the  end  of  the  song  (as  I  have  remarked  these  poor 
gentlemen  always  do),  moodily  resumes  the  stump  of  his  cigar. 

"  I  wonder,  my  dear  Grigg,  how  many  men  there  are  in  the 
city  who  follow  a  similar  profession  to  Grinsby's  1  What  a  number 
of  poor  rogues,  wits  in  their  circle,  or  bilious,  or  in  debt,  or  hen- 
pecked, or  otherwise  miserable  in  their  private  circumstances,  come 
grinning  out  to  dinner  of  a  night,  and  laugh  and  crack,  and  let  off 


A    NIGHT'S    PLEASURE  581 

their  good  stories  like  yonder  professional  fuuny  felloir  !  Why,  I 
ouce  ^Ye^t  into  the  room  of  that  famous  dinner-party  conversationalist 
and  wit,  Horsely  CoUard ;  and  whilst  lie  was  in  his  dressing-room 
arranging  his  wig,  just  looked  over  the  books  on  the  table  before 
his  sofa.  There  were  '  Burton's  Anatomy  '  for  the  quotations,  three 
of  which  he  let  off  that  night;  'Spence's  Literary  Anecdotes,'  of 
which  he  fortuitously  introduced  a  couple  in  the  course  of  the 
evening;  'Baker's  Chronicle;'  the  last  new  Novel,  and  a  book* of 
Metaphysics,  every  one  of  which  I  heard  him  quote,  besides  four 
stories  out  of  his  commonplace  book,  at  which  I  took  a  peep  under 
the  pillow.  He  was  like  Grin.sby."  Who  isn't  like  Grinsby  in  life  ? 
thought  I  to. myself,  examining  that  young  fellow. 

"  When  Bawler  goes  down  to  the  House  of  Commons  from  a 
meeting  with  his  creditors,  and,  having  been  a  bankrupt  a  month 
before,  becomes  a  patriot  all  of  a  sudden,  and  pours  you  out  an 
intensely  interesting  speech  upon  the  West  Indies,  or  the  Window 
Tax,  he  is  no  better  than  the  poor  gin-and-water  practitioner 
yonder,  and  performs  in  his  Cave,  as  Grinsby  in  his  under  the 
Piazza. 

"When  Serjeant  Bluebag  fires  into  a  witness,  or  performs  a 
jocular  or  a  pathetic  speech  to  a  jury,  in  what  is  he  better  tiian 
Grinsby,  except  in  so  far  as  the  amount  of  gain  goes'? — than  poor 
Grinsby  rapping  at  the  table  and  cutting  professional  jokes,  at  half- 
a-pint-of-whisky  fee  1 

"When  Tightrope,  the  celebrated  literary  genius,  sits  down  to 
write  and  laugh — with  the  children  very  likely  ill  at  home — with 
a  strong  personal  desire  to  write  a  tragedy  or  a  sermon,  with  his 
wife  scolding  him,  his  head  racking  with  pain,  his  mother-in-law 
making  a  noise  at  his  ears,  and  telling  him  that  he  is  a  heartless 
.  and  abandoned  ruffian,  his  tailor  in  the  i»assage,  vowing  that  he 
will  not  quit  that  place  until  his  little  bill  is  settled — when,  I 
say,  Tightrope  writes  off,  under  the  most  miserable  private  circum- 
stances, a  brilliant  funny  article,  in  how  much  is  he  morally  superior 
to  my  friend  Grinsby  ?  When  Lord  Colchicum  stands  bowing  and 
smiling  before  his  sovereign,  with  gout  in  his  toes,  and  grief  in  his 
heart ;  when  parsons  in  the  pulpit — when  editors  at  their  desks — ■ 
forget  their  natural  griefs,  pleasures,  opinions,  to  go  through  the 
business  of  life,  the  masquerade  of  existence,  in  what  are  they  better 
than  Grinsby  yonder,  who  has  similarly  to  perform  his  buflboning'?" 

As  I  was  continuing  in  this  moral  and  interrogatory  mood — no 
doubt  boring  poor  little  Grigg,  who  came  to  the  Cave  for  pleasure, 
and  not  for  iihilosophical  discourse — Mr.  Bardolph  opposite  caught 
a  sight  of  the  present  writer  through  the  fumes  of  the  cigars,  and 
came  across  to  our  table,  holding  his  foiu:th  glass  of  toddy  in  his 


582  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

hand.  He  held  out  the  otlier  to  me  :  it  was  hot,  and  gouty,  and 
not  partieidarly  clean. 

"  Deuced  queer  i)lace  this,  hey  1 "  said  he,  pretending  to  survey 
it  with  the  air  of  a  stranger.  "  I  come  here  every  now  and  then, 
on  my  way  home  to  Lincoln's  Lm — from — from  i)arties  at  the  other 
end  of  the  town.  It  is  fre(iuented  by  a  parcel  of  queer  people — low 
.shopboys  and  attorneys'  clerks ;  but  liang  it,  sir,  they  know  a  gentle- 
man when  they  see  one,  and  not  one  of  those  fellows  would  dare  to 
speak  to  me — no,  not  one  of  'em,  by  Jove — if  I  didn't  address  him 
first,  by  Jove  !  I  don't  suppose  there's  a  man  in  this  room  could 
construe  a  page  in  the  commonest  Greek  book.  You  heard  that 
donkey  singing  about  '  Leouorar '  and  '  before  her '  1  .How  Flibber 
would  have  given  it  to  us  for  such  rhymes,  hey?  A  parcel  of 
ignoramuses  !  but,  hang  it,  sir,  they  do  know  a  gentleman  !  "  And 
here  he  winked  at  me  with  a  vinous  bloodshot  eye,  as  much  as  to 
intimate  that  he  ^vas  infinitely  superior  to  every  person  in  the  room. 

Now  this  Bardolph,  having  had  the  ill  luck  to  get  a  fellowship, 
and  subsequently  a  small  private  fortune,  has  done  nothing  since 
the  year  1820  but  get  drunk  and  read  Greek.  He  despises  every 
man  that  does  not  know  that  language  (so  that  you  and  I,  my  dear 
sir,  come  in  for  a  fair  share  of  his  contempt).  He  can  still  put  a 
slang  song  into  Greek  Iambics,  or  turn  a  police  report  into  the 
language  of  Tacitus  or  Herodotus  ;  but  it  is  difficult  to  see  what 
accomplishment  beyond  this  the  boozy  old  mortal  possesses.  He 
spends  nearly  a  third  part  of  his  life  and  income  at  his  dinner,  or 
on  his  whisky  at  a  tavern;  more  than  another  third  portion  is 
spent  in  bed.  It  is  past  noon  before  he  gets  up  to  breakfast,  and 
to  spell  over  the  Times,  which  business  of  the  day  being  completed, 
it  is  time  for  him  to  dress  and  take  his  walk  to  the  Club  to  dinner. 
He  scorns  a  man  who  puts  his  A's  in  the  wrong  place,  and  spits  at 
a  human  being  who  has  not  had  a  University  education.  And  yet 
I  am  sure  that  bustling  waiter  pushing  about  with  a  bumper  of 
cigars ;  that  tallow-faced  young  comic  singer ;  yonder  harmless  and 
happy  Snobs,  enjoying  the  conviviality  of  the  evening  (and  all  the 
songs  are  quite  modest  now,  not  like  the  ribald  old  ditties  which 
tliey  used  to  sing  in  former  days),  are  more  useful,  more  honourable, 
and'  more  worthy  men  than  tliat  whiskyfied  old  scholar  who  looks 
down  upon  them  and  their  like. 

He  said  he  would  have  a  sixth  glass  if  Ave  would  stop  :  but  we 
didn't;  and  he  took  his  sixth  glass  without  us.  My  melancholy 
young  friend  had  begun  another  comic  song,  and  I  could  bear  it  no 
more.  The  market  carts  were  rattling  into  Covent  Garden ;  and 
the  illuminated  clock  marked  all  sorts  of  small  hours  as  we  con- 
cluded this  night's  pleasure. 


A   CLUB  IX  AK   UPROAR 

THE  appearance  of  a  London  Club  at  a  time  of  great  excite- 
ment' is  well  •worthy  the  remark  of  a  traveller  in  this  city. 
The  "  Megatherium "'  lias  been  in  a  monstrous  state  of  frenzy 
during  the  past  days.  What  a,  queer  book  it  would  be  which 
should  chronicle  all  the  stories  which  have  been  told,  or  all  the 
opinions  which  have  been  uttered  there. 

As  a  revolution  brings  out  into  light  of  day,  and  into  the  streets 
of  the  convulsed  capital,  swarms  of  people  who  are  invisible  but  in 
such  times  of  agitation,  and  retreat  into  their  obscurity  as  soon  as 
the  earthcjuake  is  over,  so  you  may  remark  in  Clubs,  that  the  stir- 
ring of  any  great  news  brings  forth  the  most  wonderful  and  hither- 
to unheard-of  members,  of  whose  faces  not  the  habitues,  not  even 
the  hall-porters,  have  any  knowledge.  The  excitement  over,  they 
vanish,  and  are  seen  no  more  until  the  next  turmoil  calls  them  forth. 

During  the  past  week,  our  beloved  "  Megatherium  "  has  been 
as  crowded  as  they  say  her  Majesty's  Palace  of  Pimlico  at  present 
is,  where  distressed  foreigners,  fugitives,  and  other  Coburgs  are 
crowded  two  or  three  in  a  room ;  and  where  it  has  been  reported 
during  the  whole  of  the  past  week  that  Louis  Philippe  himself, 
in  disguise,  was  quartei-ed  in  the  famous  garden  pavilion,  and  jjlates 
of  dinner  sent  out  to  liim  from  her  Majesty's  table.  I  had  the 
story  from  Bowyer  of  the  "  Megatherium,"  who  had  seen  and  recog- 
nised the  ex-King  as  he  was  looking  into  the  palace  garden  from 
a  house  in  Grosvenor  Place  opposite.  We  have  had  other  wonder- 
ful stories  too,  whereof  it  is  our  present  purpose  to  say  a  word 
or  two. 

The  Club,  in  fact,  has  been  in  a  state  of  perfect  uproar,  to  the 
dis,gust  of  the  cotiee-room  habitues  of  the  quiet  library  arm-chair 
occupiers,  ami  of  the  newspaper-room  students,  who  could  not  get 
their  accustomed  Ijroad-shects.  Old  Doctor  Pokey  (who  is  in  the 
habit  of  secreting  newspapers  about  liis  person,  and  going  oft'  to  jieruse 
them  in  recondite  corners  of  the  building)  has  been  wandering  about, 
in  vain  endeavouring  to  seize  hold  of  a  few.  They  say  that  a 
Morninrj  Chronicle  was  actually  pulled  from  under  his  arm  during 
the   last   week's  excitement.     The  rush  for  second   editions   and 


584     SKETCHES    AND    TRAVELS    IN    LONDON 

evening  papers  is  terrific.  Members  pounce  on  tlie  newsboys  and 
rob  tiiein.     Dccoriun  is  overcome. 

All  the  decencies  of  society  are  forgotten  during  this  excitement. 
Men  speak  to  each  other  without  being  introduced.  I  saw  a  niau 
in  ill-made  trousers  and  with  strong  red  whiskers  and  a  strong 
northern  accent,  go  up  to  Colonel  the  Honourable  Otto  Dillwater 
of  the  Guards,  and  make  some  dreadful  remark  about  Louis  Feelip, 
which  caused  the  Colonel  to  turn  pale  with  anger.  I  saw  a  Bishop, 
an  Under-Secretary  of  State  and  General  de  Boots  listening  with 
the  utmost  gravity  and  eagerness  to  little  Bob  Noddy,  who  pre- 
tended to  have  brought  some  news  from  the  City,  where  they  say 
he  is  a  clerk  in  a  Fire  Office. 

I  saw  all  sorts  of  portents  and  wonders.  On  the  great  Saturday 
night  (the  26th  ult.),  when  the  news  was  rifest,  and  messenger  after 
messenger  came  rushing  in  with  wild  rumours,  men  were  seen  up  at 
midnight  who  were  always  known  to  go  to  bed  at  ten,  A  man 
dined  in  the  Club  who  is  married,  and  who  has  never  been  allowed 
to  eat  there  for  eighteen  years.  On  Sunday,  old  Mr.  Pugh  himself, 
who  moved  that  the  house  should  be  shut,  no  papers  taken  in,  and 
the  waiters  marched  to  church  under  the  inspection  of  the  steward, 
actually  came  down  and  was  seen  reading  the  Observer,  so  eager 
was  the  curiosity  which  the  great  events  excited. 

In  the  smoking-room  of  the  establishment,  where  you  ordinarily 
meet  a  very  small  and  silent  party,  there  was  hardly  any  seeing  for 
the  smoke,  any  sitting  for  the  crowd,  or  any  hearing  in  consequence 
of  the  prodigious  bawling  and  disputing.  The  men  uttered  the 
most  furious  contradictory  statements  there.  Young  Biffin  was 
praying  that  the  rascally  mob  might  be  cut  down  to  a  man ;  while 
Gullet  was  bellowing  out  that  the  safety  of  France  required  the  re- 
establishment  of  the  guillotine,  and  that  four  heads  must  be  had, 
or  that  tlie  Revolution  was  not  complete. 

In  the  card-room,  on  the  great  night  in  question,  there  wa,s 
only  one  whist-table,  and  at  that  even  they  were  obliged  to  have 
a  dummy.  Captain  Trumpington  could  not  be  brought  to  play 
that  night ;  and  Pamm  himself  trumped  his  partner's  lead,  and 
the  best  heart ;  such  was  the  agitation  which  the  great  European 
events  excited.  When  Dicky  Cuff  came  in  from  his  Excellency 
Loril  Pilgrimstone's  evening  party,  a  rush  was  made  upon  him  for 
news,  as  if  lie  had  come  from  battle.  Even  the  waiters  appeared 
to  be  interested,  and  seemed  to  try  to  overhear  the  conversation. 

Every  man  had  his  story,  and  liis  private  information ;  and 
several  of  these  tales  I  took  down. 

Saturday,  Jive  o'clock. — Jawkins  has  just  come  from  the 
City.     The   French   Rothschild   has   arrived.      He   escaped   in   a 


A    CLUB    IN    AN    UPKOAR  585 

water-butt  as  far  as  Amiens,  whence  he  went  on  in  a  coffin.  A 
fourgon  containing  two  hundred  and  twenty-two  thousand  two 
hundred  sovereigns,  and  nine-and-fourpence  in  silver,  was  upset  in 
the  Rue  Saint-Denis.  The  coin  was  picked  up,  and  the  whole 
sum,  •with  the  exception  of  the  fovu-penny  piece,  was  paid  over  to 
the  Commissioners  at  the  Hotel  de  Yille. 

"  Some  say  it  was  a  quarter-franc.  It  was  found  sticking, 
afterwards,  to  the  sabot  of  an  Auvergnat,  and  brought  in  safety 
to  the  Provisional  Government. 

"  Blankley  comes  in.  He  made  his  fortune  last  year  by  the 
railroads,  has  realised,  and  is  in  a  frantic  state  of  terror.  '  The 
miscreants  ! '  he  says.  '  The  whole  population  is  in  arms.  They 
are  p'ouring  down  to  the  English  coast ;  the  Sans-ndottes  will  be 
upon  us  to-morrow,  and  we  shall  have  them  upon — u])on  my  estate 
in  Sussex,  by  Jove  !  Cobden  was  in  a  league  with  the  Revolutionary 
Government  when  he  said  there  would  be  no  war — laying  a  trap  to 
lull  us  into  security,  and  so  give  free  ingress  to  the  infernal  revolu- 
tionary villains.  There  are  not  a  thousand  men  in  the  country  to 
resist  them,  and  we  shall  all  be  butchered  before  a  week  is  out — 
butchered,  and  our  property  confiscated.  Cobden  ought  to  be  im- 
peached and  hanged.  Lord  Jolm  Russell  ought  to  be  impeached 
and  hanged.  Hope  Guizot  will  be  guillotined  for  not  having  used 
cannon,  and  slaughtered  the  niffians  before  the  Revolution  came  to 
a  head.'  X.B. — Blankley  was  a  Liberal  before  he  made  his  money, 
and  had  a  picture  of  Tom  Paine  in  his  study. 

"  Towzer  arrives.  A  messenger  has  just  come  to  the  Foreign 
Office  wounded  in  three  places,  and  in  the  disguise  of  a  fishworaan. 
Paris  is  in  flames  in  twenty-four  quarters — the  mob  and  pikemen 
raging  through  it.  Lamartine  has  been  beheaded  The  forts  have 
declared  for  the  King  and  are  bombarding  tlie  town.  All  the 
English  liave  been  massacred. 

"  Captain  Shindy  says,  '  Nonsense!  no  such  thing.'  A  messenger 
has  come  to  the  French  Embassy.  The  King  and  Family  are  at 
Versailles.  The  two  Chambers  have  followed  them  thither,  and 
IMarshal  Bugeaud  has  rallied  a  hundred  and  twenty  thousand  men. 
The  Parisians  have  three  days'  warning ;  and  if  at  the  end  of  that 
time  they  do  not  yield,  seven  hundred  guns  will  open  on  the  dogs, 
and  the  whole  canaille  will  be  hurled  to  jjcrdition. 

"  Pipkiuson  arrives.  The  English  in  Paris  arc  congregated  in 
the  Protestant  cinu-ches ;  a  guard  is  ])laced  over  them.  It  is  with 
tlie  greatest  difficulty  chat  tlie  rabble  arc  prevented  from  mas- 
sacring tliem.  Lady  Lunchington  only  escajjcd  by  writing  '  Veuve 
d'O'Connell '  on  her  do(jr.  It  is  i)erfectly  certain  that  Guizot  is 
killed.  Lamartine  ami  the  rest  of  the  Provisional  Govcrumcut  have 
16 


586     SKETCHES    AND    TRAVELS    IN    LONDON 

but  a  f(!W  (lays  to  live  :  the  Communists  Avill  destroy  them  infallilily  ; 
and  universal  blood,  terror,  and  anarchy  will  prevail  over  France, 
over  Europe,  over  the  world. 

"  Bouncer — on  the  best  authority.  Thirty  thousand  French  en- 
tered Brussels  under  Lamoricifere.  No  harm  has  been  done  to  Leopold. 
The  united  French  and  Belgian  army  march  on  the  Rhine  on  Monday. 
Rhenish  Prussia  is  declared  to  form  a  part  of  the  Republic.  A  divi- 
sion under  General  Bedeau  will  enter  Savoy,  and  penetrate  into  Lom- 
bardy.  The  Pope  abdicates  his  temporal  authority.  The  Russians 
will  cross  the  Prussian  frontier  with  four  hundred  thousand  men. 

"  Bowyer  has  just  come  from  Mivart's,  and  says  that  rooms  are 
taken  there  for  tlie  Pope,  wlio  has  fled  from  his  dominions,  for  the 
Countess  of  Landsfeld,  for  the  King  of  Bavaria,  who  is  sure  to 
follow  inunediately,  and  for  all  tlie  French  Princes,  and  their  suite 
and  families." 

It  was  in  tliis  way  that  Rumour  was  chattering  last  week,  while 
the  great  events  were  pending.  But  oh,  my  friends  !  wild  and 
strange  as  these  stories  were,  were  they  so  wonderful  as  the  truth  ? 
— as  an  army  of  a  hundred  thousand  men  subdued  by  a  rising  of 
bare-handed  mechanics ;  as  a  great  monarch,  a  Minister  notorious 
for  wisdom,  and  a  great  monarchy  blown  into  annihilation  by  a  blast 
of  national  breath  ;  as  a  magnificent  dynasty  slinking  out  of  existence 
in  a  cab ;  as  a  gallant  prince,  with  an  army  at  his  back,  never  so 
much  as  drawing  a  sword,  but  at  a  summons  from  a  citizen  of  the 
National  Guard  turning  tail  and  sneaking  away ;  as  a  poet  braving 
the  pikes  wliich  had  scared  away  a  family  of  kings  and  princes,  and 
standing  forward,  wise,  brave,  sensible,  and  merciful,  undismayed 
on  the  tottering  pinnacle  of  popular  power  1  Was  there  ever  a  day 
since  the  beginning  of  history,  where  small  men  were  so  great,  and 
great  ones  so  little'?  What  satirist  could  ever  have  dared  to  invent 
such  a  story  as  that  of  the  brave  and  famous  race  of 'Orleans  flying, 
with  nobody  at  their  backs  ;  of  wives  and  husbands  separating,  and 
the  deuce  take  the  hindmost ;  of  Ulysses  shaving  his  whiskers  oft", 
and  flinging  away  even  his  wig  ?  It  is  the  shamefullest  chapter  in 
history— a  consummation  too  base  for  ridicule. 

One  can't  laugh  at  anything  so  miserably  mean.  All  tlie  Courts 
in  Europe  ought  to  go  into  mourning,  or  wear  sackcloth.  The 
catastrophe  is  too  degrading.  It  sullies  the  cause  of  all  kings,  as 
the  misconduct  of  a  regiment  does  an  army.  It  tarnishes  all 
crowns.  And  if  it  points  no  other  moral,  and  indicates  no  future 
consequences,  why,  Progress  is  a  mere  luunbug :  Railroads  lead  to 
nothing,  and  Signs  point  nowhere :  and  there  is  no  To-morrow  for 
the  world.  Spec. 


A    ROUNDABOUT   RIDE 

YOUNG  HENGIST  liaving  kindly  offere.l  to  lend  me  a  pony, 
I  went  out  for  a  ride  witli  bini  this  morning ;  and  being  now 
mercifully  restored  to  my  arm-chair  at  home,  I  write  down, 
with  a  rapid  and  faithful  pen,  the  events  of  the  day. 

Heugist  lives  in  the  Tyburn  district,  that  great  rival,  and  some- 
time, as  'twas  thought,  conqueror  of  Belgravia,  where  squares, 
cathedrals,  terraces  spring  up  in  a  night,  as  it  were:  where,  as 
you  wandered  yesterday,  you  saw  a  gi-een  strip  of  meadow,  with 
a  washerwoman's  cottage  and  a  tea-garden;  and  to-day  you  look 
up,  and  lo  !  you  see  a  portly  row  of  whitey-brown  bow-windowed 
houses,  with  plate-glass  windows,  through  the  clear  panes  of  which 
you  may  see  bald-headed  comfortable  old  fogeys  reading  the  Morning 
Herald.  Butlers  loll  at  the  doors— (by  the  way,  the  Tyburnian 
footmen  are  by  no  means  so  large  or  so  powdery  as  the  ]\Iayfair 
and  Belgravian  gentry) — the  road  is  always  freshly  laid  down  with 
sharp  large  flintstones.  Missis's  neat  little  brougham  with  two 
bay  horses,  and  the  page  by  the  coachman's  side,  is  creaking  over 
the  flints.  The  apothecary  is  driving  here  and  there  in  a  gig ;  the 
broad  flagstones  are  dotted  about  with  a  good  number  of  tartan 
jackets  and  hats,  enclosing  wholesome-looking  little  children.  A 
brand-new  fishmonger's  shop  is  just  open,  with  great  large  white- 
bellied  turlx»ts,  looking  very  cool  and  helpless  on  the  marble  slabs. 
A  genteel  stucco-faced  public-house  is  run  up  for  the  accommodation 
of  the  grooms,  and  the  domestics,  and  the  hodmen  of  the  neigh- 
1  )ourhood  ;  and  a  great  bar  is  placed  at  the  end  of  the  street,  beyond 
whi(;h  is  a  chaos  of  bricks,  wheelbarrows,  mounds  of  chalk,  with 
milky-looking  pools  beside  them,  scafibldings  and  brown  skeletons 
of  houses,  through  which  the  daylight  shines,  and  you  can  see 
l.atches  of  green  land  beyond,  which  are  to  be  swallowed  up 
presently  by  the  great  devouring  City. 

This  quarter,  my  dear  friends,  is  what  Baker  Street  was  in  the 
days  of  our  youth.  I  make  no  doubt  tliat  some  of  the  best  and 
stupidest  dinners  in  London  are  given  hereabouts;  dinners  where 
you  meet  a  Baronet,  a  Knight,  and  a  snuffy  little  old  General ;  and 
where  the  master  of  the  house,  the  big  bald  man,  leads  Lady 


588     SKETCHES    AND    TRAVELS    IN    LONDON 

Barhara  Maeraw  downstairs,  the  Earl  of  Strathbuiigo's  daughter, 
anil  go(hnother  to  his  seventh  chihl.  A  little  more  furniture  Avould 
make  the  rooms  look  more  comfortable ;  but  they  are  very  hand- 
some as  it  is.  The  silver  dish-covers  are  splendaceoiis.  I  wish 
the  butler  would  put  a  little  more  wine  into  the  glasses,  and  come 
round  rather  oftener.  You  are  the  only  poor  man  in  the  room. 
Those  awful  grave  fellows  give  each  otFier  dinners  round.  Their 
daughters  come  solemnly  in  the  evening.  The  young  fellow  of  the 
house  has  been  at  Oxford,  and  smokes  cigars,  but  not  in  the  house, 
and  dines  a  good  deal  out  at  his  tJlub. 

I  don't  wonder  :  I  once  dined  with  young  Hengist,  at  his 
father's,   Major-Gcneral  Sir  Hercules  Hengist,   K.C.B.,  and  of  all 

the But  hospitality  forbids  me  to  reveal  the  secrets  of  the 

mahogany. 

Having  partaken  there  of  a  slight  refreshment  of  a  sponge-cake 
from  a  former  dessert  (and  a  more  pretentious,  stuck-up,  tasteless, 
seedy  cake  than  a  sponge-cake  I  don't  know),  and  a  glass  of  wine, 
we  mounted  our  horses  and  rode  out  on  a  great  exploring  journey. 
We  had  heard  of  Bethual  Green  and  Spitalfields ;  we  wished  to 
see  those  regions ;  and  we  rode  forth  then  like  two  cavaliers  out 
of  Mr.  James's  novels— the  one  was  young,  with  curly  chestnut 
ringlets,  and  a  blond  moustache  just  shading  his  upper  lip,  &c. — 
We  rode  forth  out  of  Tyburnia  and  down  tlie  long  row  of  terraces 
to  which  two  Universities  have  given  their  names. 

At  the  end  of  Oxford  Terrace,  the  Edgware  Road  cuts  rapidly 
in,  and  the  genteel  district  is  over.  It  expires  at  that  barrier  of 
twopenny  omnibuses :  we  are  nearly  cut  in  two  by  one  of  those 
disgusting  veliicles,  as  we  pass  rapidly  through  the  odious  cordon. 

We  now  behold  a  dreary  district  of  mud,  and  houses  on  either 
side,  that  have  a  decayed  and  slatternly  look,  as  if  they  had 
become  insolvent,  and  subsequently  taken  to  drinking  and  evil 
courses  in  their  old  age.  There  is  a  corner  house  not  very  far 
from  the  commencement  of  the  New  Road,  which  is  such  a  picture 
of  broken-windowed  bankruptcy  as  is  only  to  be  seen  when  a  house 
is  in  Chancery  or  in  Ireland.  I  think  the  very  ghosts  must  be 
mildewed  that  haunt  that  most  desolate  spot. 

As  they-  rode  on,  the  two  cavaliers  peeped  over  the  board  of 
the  tea-garden  at  the  Yorkshire  Stingo.  The  j^illara  of  the  damp 
arbours  and  the  legs  of  the  tables  M'ere  reflected  in  the  mud. 

In  sooth  'tis  a  dismal  quarter.  What  are  those  whitey-brown 
small  houses  with  black  gardens  fronting,  and  cards  of  lodgings 
wafered  into  the  rickety  bow-windows  1  Would  not  the  very  idea 
that  you  have  to  pass  over  that  damp  and  reeking  strip  of  ground 
prevent  any  man  from  taking  those  hopeless  apartments?     Look 


A   ROUNDABOUT    RIDE  589 

at  the  shabby  children  paddling  through  the  slush ;  and  lo  !  the 
red-haired  maid-of-all-work,  coming  out  with  yesterday's  paper 
and  her  mistress's  beer-jug  in  her  hand,  through  the  creaking  little 
garden  door,  on  which  the  name  of  "  Sulsh  "  is  written  on  a  dirty 
brass  plate. 

Who  is  Sulsh  !  Why  do  I  want  to  know  that  he  lives  there  1 
Ha !  there  is  the  Lying-in  Hospital,  which  always  looks  so  com- 
fortable that  we  feel  as  if  we  should  like  to  be  in  an  interesting — 
fiddlestick  !  Here  is  Milksop  Terrace.  It  looks  like  a  dowager. 
It  has  seen  better  days,  but  it  holds  its  head  up  still,  and  has 
nothing  to  do  with  Marylebone  Workhouse  opposite,  that  looks 
as  cheerful  as  a  cheese-paring. 

We  rise  in  respectability :  we  come  upon  tall  brown  houses, 
and  can  look  up  long  vistas  of  brick.  Off  with  your  hat.  That 
is  Baker  Street;  jolly  little  Upper  Baker  Street  stretches  away 
Regent's  Park-ward ;  v:c  pass  by  Glum  Street,  Great  Gaunt  Street, 
Upper  Hatchment  Street ;  Tressel  Place,  and  Pall  Street— dark, 
tragic,  and  respectable  abodes  of  worthy  people.  Their  names 
should  be  printed  in  a  black  book,  instead  of  a  red  book,  however, 
I  think  they  must  have  been  built  by  an  architect  and  undertaker. 

How  the  omnibuses  cut  through  the  mud  Citywards,  and  the 
rapid  cabs  wiUi  canvas-backed  trunks  on  the  top,  rush  towards  the 
Great  Western  Railway.  Yonder  it  lies,  beyond  the  odious  line  of 
twopenny  "buses. 

See,  we  are  at  Park  Crescent.  Portland  Place  is  like  a  Pyramid, 
and  has  resisted  time.  It  still  looks  as  if  Aldermen  lived  there, 
and  very  beneficed  clergymen  came  to  them  to  dine.  The  footmen 
are  generally  fat  in  Portland  Place,  I  have  remarked ;  fat  and  in 
red  plush  breeches— different  from  the  Belgravian  gents  :  from  the 
Tyburnian.  Every  quarter  has  its  own  expression  of  plush,  as 
flowers  bloom  differently  in  different  climates. 

Chariots  with  lozenges  on  the  panels,  and  elderly  ladies  inside, 
are  driving  through  the  iron  gates  to  take  the  cheerful  round  of 
Regent's  Park.  When  all  Nature  smiles  and  the  skies  are  intoler- 
ably bright  and  blue,  the  Regency  Park  seems  to  me  to  have  this 
advantage,  that  a  cooling  and  agreeable  mist  always  lies  over  it,  and 
keeps  off"  the  glare. 

Do  people  still  continue  to  go  to  the  Diorama  1  It  is  an  enter- 
tainment congenial  to  the  respectability  of  the  neighbourhood,  I 
know  nothing  more  charming  than  to  sit  in  a  black  room  there, 
silent  and  frightened,  and  with  a  dim  sense  that  you  are  turning 
round  ;  and  then  to  see  the  view  of  the  Church  of  Saint  Rawhead 
by  moonlight,  while  a  distant  barrel-organ  plays  the  Dead  March  in 
"  Saul  "  almost  inaudibly. 


590  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

Yoicks !  we  have  passed  the  long  defile  of  Albany  Street ;  we 
cross  the  road  of  Tottenham — on  eitlier  side  of  us  the  cheerful 
factories  with  ready-made  tombstones  and  funereal  urns ;  or  great 
zinc  slipper-baths  and  chimney-pots  tliat  look  like  the  helmets  of 
the  Castle  of  Otranto.  Extremely  small  cigar-shops,  and  dentists ; 
one  or  two  bug-destroyers,  and  coffee-shops  that  look  by  no  means 
inviting,  are  remarked  by  self  and  Hengist  as  our  rapid  steeds 
gallop  swiftly  onwards — onwards  through  the  Square  of  Euston — • 
onwards  where  the  towers  of  Pancridge  rise  before  us — rapidly, 
rapidly. 

Ha!  he  is  down^is  he  hurt? — He  is  up  again — it  is  a  cab- 
horse  on  ahead,  not  one  of  ours.  It  is  the  wood-pavement.  Let 
us  turn  aside  and  avoid  the  dangerous  path.  Spec. 


CHILD'S    PARTIES: 

AND  A  REMONSTRANCE  CONCERNING  THEM* 

I 

SIR,— As  your  publication  finds  its  way  to  almost  every  drawing- 
rooni  table  in  this  metropolis,  and  is  read  by  the  young  and 
old  in  every  family,  I  beseech  you  to  give  admission  to  the 
remonstrance  of  an  unhappy  parent,  and  to  endeavour  to  put  a  stop 
to  a  practice  which  appears  to  me  to  be  increasing  daily,  and  is 
likely  to  operate  most  injuriously  upon  the  health,  morals,  and 
comfort  of  society  in  general. 

The  awful  spread  of  Juvenile  Parties,  sir,  is  the  fact  to  which  I 
vv'ould  draw  your  attention.  There  is  no  end  to  those  entertain- 
ments, and  if  the  custom  be  not  speedily  checked,  people  will  be 
obliged  to  fly  from  London  at  Christmas,  and  hide  their  children 
during  the  holidays.  I  gave  mine  warning  in  a  speech  at  breakfast 
this  day,  and  said  with  tears  in  my  eyes,  that  if  the  Juvenile  Party 
system  went  on,  I  would  take  a  house  at  Margate  next  winter,  for 
that,  by  heavens  !  I  could  not  bear  another  Juvenile  Season  in 
London. 

If  they  would  but  transfer  Innocents'  Day  to  the  summer 
holidays,  and  let  the  children  have  their  pleasures  in  May  or  June, 
we  might  get  on.  But  now  in  this  most  ruthless  and  cut-throat 
season  of  sleet,  thaw,  frost,  wind,  snow,  mud,  and  sore  throats,  it  is 
quite  a  tempting  of  fate  to  be  going  mucli  abroad ;  and  this  is  the 
time  of  all  others  that  is  selected  for  the  amusement  of  our  little 
darlings. 

As  the  first  step  towards  the  remedying  of  the  evil  of  which  I 
complain,  I  am  obliged  to  look  Mr.  Punch  himself  in  his  venerable 
beard,  and  say,  "  You,  sir,  liave,  by  your  agents,  caused  not  a  little 
of  the  mischief  I  desire  that,  during  Christmas  time  at  least,  Mr. 
Leech  should  be  abolished,  or  sent  to  take  a  holiday.  Judging  from 
his  sketches,  I  should  say  that  he  must  be  endowed  with  a  perfectly 
monstrous  organ  of  philoprogenitiveness  :  he  revels  in  the  delineation 

*  Addressed  to  Mr.  Punch. 


592     SKETCHES    AND    TRAVELS    IN    LONDON 

of  the  dearest  and  most  beautiful  little  boys  and  girls  in  turn-down 
collars  and  broad  sashes,  and  produces  in  your  Almanack  a  jneturc 
of  a  child's  costume  ball,  in  whicli  he  has  made  the  little  wretches 
in  the  dresses  of  every  age,  and  looking  so  happy,  beautiful,  and 
charming,  that  I  have  carefully  kej)t  the  picture  from  tlie  sight  of 
tlie  women  and  children  of  my  own  household,  and — I  will  not  say 
burned  it,  for  I  had  not  the  heart  to  do  that — but  locked  it  away 
privately,  lest  they  should  conspire  to  have  a  costume  ball  them- 
selves, and  little  Polly  should  insist  upon  appearing  ni  the  dress 
of  Anne  Boleyn,  or  little  Jacky  upon  turning  out  as  an  Ancient 
Briton." 

An  odious,  revolting,  and  disagreeable  practice,  sir,  I  say,  ought 
not  to  be  described  in  a  manner  so  atrociously  pleasing.  The  real 
satirist  has  no  right  to  lead  the  public  astray  about  the  Juvenile 
Fete  nuisance,  and  to  describe  a  child's  ball  as  if  it  was  a  sort  of 
Paradise,  and  the  little  imps  engaged  as  happy  and  pretty  as  so 
many  cherubs.  They  should  be  drawn,  one  and  all,  as  hideous — 
disagreeable — distorted — affected — ^jealous  of  each  other — ^^dancing 
awkwardly— with  shoes  too  tight  for  them — overeating  themselves 
at  supper— very  unwell  (and  deservedly  so)  the  next  morning,  with 
mamma  administering  a  mixture  made  after  the  Doctor's  prescrip- 
tion, and  which  should  be  painted  awfully  black,  in  an  immense 
large  teacup,  and  (as  might  be  shown  by  the  horrible  expression  on 
the  little  patient's  face)  of  the  most  disgusting  flavour.  Banish,  I 
say,  that  Mr.  Leech  during  Christmas  time,  at  least ;  for,  by  a  mis- 
placed kindness  and  absurd  fondness  for  children,  he  is  likely  to  do 
them  and  their  parents  an  incalculable  quantity  of  harm. 

As  every  man,  sir,  looks  at  tlie  world  out  of  his  own  eyes  or 
spectacles,  or,  in  other  words,  speaks  of  it  as  he  finds  it  himself, 
I  will  lay  before  you  my  own  case,  being  perfectly  sure  that  many 
another  parent  will  sympathise  with  me.  My  family,  already 
inconveniently  large,  is  yet  constantly  on  the  increase,  and  it  is 
out  of  the  question  that  Mrs.  Spec  should  go  to  parties,  as  that 
admirable  woman  has  the  best  of  occupations  at  home ;  where  she 
is  always  nursing  the  baby.  Hence  it  becomes  the  fother's  duty 
to  accompany  his  children  abroad,  and  to  give  them  pleasure  during 
the  holidays. 

Our  own  place  of  residence  is  in  Soutli  Carolina  Place,  Clapham 
Road  North,  in  one  of  the  most  healtliy  of  the  suburbs  of  this  great 
City.  But  our  relativ^es  and  acquaintances  are  numerous  ;  and  they 
are  spread  all  over  the  town  and  its  outskirts.  Mrs.  S.  has  sisters, 
married,  and  dwelling  respectively  in  Islington,  Haverstock  Hill, 
Bedford  Place,  Upper  Baker  Street,  and  Tyburn  Gardens ;  besides 
the  children's  grandmother,  Kensington  Gravel  Pits,  whose  parties 


CHILD'S    PARTIES  593 

we  are  all  of  course  obliged  to  attend.  A  very  great  connection  of 
ours,  and  nearly  related  to  a  B-r-n-t  and  M.P.,  lives  not  a  hundred 
miles  from  B-lg — ve  Square.  I  could  enumerate  a  dozen  more 
places  where  our  kinsmen  or  intimate  friends  are — h-eads  of  families 
every  one  of  them,  with  their  quivers  more  or  less  full  of  little 
arrows. 

What  is  the  consequence?  I  herewith  send  it  to  you  in  tlie 
shape  of  these  eighteen  enclosed  notes,  written  in  various  styles 
more  or  less  correct  and  corrected,  from  Miss  Fanny's,  aged  seven, 
wdio  hopes,  in  round  hand,  that  her  dear  cousins  will  come  and 
drink  tea  with  her  on  New  Year's  Eve,  her  birthday, — to  that  of 
the  Governess  of  the  B-r-n-t  in  question,  who  requests  the  pleasure 
of  our  company  at  a  ball,  a  conjurer,  and  a  Christmas  Tree.  Mrs. 
Spec,  for  the  valid  reason  above  stated,  cannot  frequent  these  meet- 
ings :  I  am  the  deplorable  chaperon  of  the  young  people.  I  am 
called  upon  to  conduct  my  family  five  miles  to  tea  at  six  o'clock. 
No  count  is  taken  of  our  personal  habits,  hours  of  dinner,  or  intervals 
of  rest.  We  are  made  the  victims  of  an  infantile  conspiracy,  nor 
will  the  lady  of  the  house  hear  of  any  revolt  or  denial. 

"Why,"  says  she,  with  the  spirit  which  becomes  a  woman  and 
mother,  "  you  go  to  your  man's  parties  eagerly  enough :  wdiat 
an  unnatural  wretch  you  must  be  to  grudge  your  children  their 
pleasures  ! "  She  looks  round,  sweeps  all  six  of  them  into  her 
arms,  whilst  the  baby  on  her  lap  begins  to  bawl,  and  you  are 
assailed  by  seven  pairs  of  imploring  eyes,  against  whicli  there  is 
no  appeal.  You  must  go.  If  you  are  dying  of  lumbago,  if  you 
are  engaged  to  the  best  of  dinners,  if  you  are  longing  to  sto])  at 
home  and  read  Macaulay,  you  must  give  up  all  and  go. 

And  it  is  not  to  one  party  or  two,  but  to  almost  all.  You 
must  go  to  the  Gravel  Pits,  otherwise  the  gi-andmother  will  cut  the 
children  out  of  her  will,  and  leave  her  property  to  her  other  grand- 
children. If  you  refuse  Islington,  and  accept  Tyburn  Gardens,  you 
sneer  at  a  poor  relation,  and  acknowledge  a  rich  one  readily  enough. 
If  you  decline  Tyburn  Gardens,  you  fling  away  the  chances  of  the 
poor  dear  children  in  life,  and  the  hopes  of  the  cadetship  for  little 
Jacky.  If  you  go  to  Hampstead,  having  declined  Bedford  Place, 
it  is  because  you  never  refuse  an  invitation  to  Hampstead,  where 
they  make  much  of  you,  and  Miss  Maria  is  pretty  (as  you  think, 
though  your  wife  doesn't),  and  do  not  care  for  the  Doctor  in 
Bedford  Place.  And  if  you  accept  Bedford  Place,  you  dare  not 
refuse  Upper  Baker  Street,  because  there  is  a  coolness  between  the 
two  families,  and  you  must  on  no  account  seem  to  take  part  with 
one  or  the  other. 

In  this  wav  manv  a  man  besides  myself,  I  dare  s'ay,  finds  him- 
2  s 


rm     SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  TN  LONDON 

sL'lt'  miserably  tied  down,  and  a  helpless  ])ris(nu'r,  like  Gulliver  in 
tlio  hands  of  the  Lilliputians.  Let  us  just  enumerate  a  few  of  the 
misei'ics  of  the  pitiable  i)arental  .slave. 

In  the  first  place,  exan)ine  the  question  in  a  pecuniary  point 
of  view.  Tlie  expenses  of  children's  toilets  at  this  present  time 
are  perfectly  frightfid. 

My  eldest  boy,  Gustavus,  at  home  from  Dr.  Birch's  Academy, 
Rodwell  Regis,  wears  turquoise  studs,  fine  linen  shirts,  white  waist- 
coats, and  shiny  boots  :  and,  when  I  jjroposed  that  he  should  go 
to  a  party  in  Berlin  gloves,  asked  me  if  I  wished  that  he  should 
be  mistaken  for  a  footman  1  My  second,  Augustus,  grumbles  about 
getting  his  elder  brother's  clothes,  nor  could  he  be  brought  to  accom- 
modate hiinself  to  Gustavus's  waistcoats  at  all,  had  not  his  mother 
coaxed  him  by  the  loan  of  her  chain  and  watch,  which  latter  the 
child  broke  after  many  desperate  attempts  to  wind  it  up.  As  for 
the  little  fellow,  Adolphus,  his  mother  has  him  attired  in  a  costume 
partly  Scotch,  partly  Hungarian,  mostly  buttons,  and  with  a  Louis 
Quatorze  hat  and  scarlet  feather,  and  she  curls  this  child's  hair 
with  her  own  blessed  tongs  every  night. 

I  wish  she  would  do  as  much  for  the  girls,  though  :  but  no, 
Monsieur  Floridor  must  do  that :  and  accordingly,  every  day  this 
season,  that  abonnnable  little  Frenchman,  who  is,  I  have  no  doubt, 
a  Red  Republican,  and  smells  of  cigars  and  hair-oil,  comes  over,  and, 
at  a  cost  of  eighteenpence  j>«Tr  tete,  figs  out  my  little  creatures'  heads 
with  fixature,  bandoline,  crinoline — the  deuce  knows  what. 

The  bill  for  silk  stockings,  sashes,  white  frocks,  is  so  enormous, 
that  I  liave  not  been  able  to  pay  my  own  tailor  these  three  years. 

The  bill  for  flys  to  'Amstid  and  back,  to  Hizzlington  and  take 
up,  &c.,  is  fearful.  The  drivers,  in  this  extra  weather,  must  be 
paid  extra,  and  they  drink  extra.  Having  to  go  to  Hackney  in 
the  snow,  on  the  night  of  the  5th  of  January,  our  man  was  so 
hopelessly  inebriated,  that  I  was  compelled  to  get  out  and  drive 
myself;  and  I  am  now,  on  what  is  called  Twelfth  Day  (with,  of 
course,  another  child's  party  before  me  for  the  evening),  writing  this 
from  my  bed.  Sir,  with  a  severe  cold,  a  violent  toothache,  and  a 
most  acute  rheumatism. 

As  I  hear  the  knock  of  our  medical  man,  wliom  an  anxious  wife 
has  called  in,  I  close  this  letter ;  asking  leave,  however,  if  I  survive, 
to  return  to  this  painful  subject  next  week.  And,  wishing  you 
a  merry  !  New  Year,  I  have  the  honour  to  be,  dear  Mr.  Punch, 
your  constant  reader,  Spec. 


II 

CONCEIVE,  sir,  tliat  in  spite  of  my  warning  and  entreaty  we 
were  invited  to  no  less 'than  three  Child's  Parties  last 
Tuesday  ;  to  two  of  which  a  lady  in  this  house,  who  shall 
be  nameless,  desired  that  her  children  should  be  taken.  On 
Wednesday  we  had  Dr.  Lens's  microscope  ;  and  on  Thursday  you 
were  good  enough  to  send  me  your  box  for  the  Haymnrket  Theatre ; 
and  of  course  Mrs.  S.  and  the  children  are  extremely  obliged  to  you 
for  the  attention.  I  did  not  mind  the  theatre  so  much.  I  sat  in 
the  back  of  the  box,  and  fell  asleep.  I  wish  there  was  a  room  with 
easy-chairs  and  silence  enjoined,  whither  parents  might  retire,  in 
the  houses  where  Children's  Parties  are  given.  But  no — it  would 
be  of  no  use  :  the  fiddling  and  pianoforte-playing  and  scuffling  and 
laughing  of  the  children  would  keep  you  awake. 

I  am  looking  out  in  the  papers  for  some  eligible  schools  where 
there  shall  be  no  vacations — I  can't  bear  these  festivities  much 
longer.  I  begin  to  hate  children  in  their  evening  dresses  :  when 
children  are  attired  in  those  absurd  best  clothes,  what  can  you 
expect  from  them  but  affectation  and  airs  of  foshion  1  One  day  last 
year,  sir,  having  to  conduct  the  two  young  ladies  who  then  fre- 
quented juvenile  parties,  I  found  them,  upon  entering  the  fiy,  into 
which  they  had  preceded  me  under  convoy  of  their  maid — I  found 
them — in  what  a  condition,  think  you  1-  Why,  with  the  skirts  of 
their  stiff  muslin  frocks  actually  thrown  over  their  heads,  so  that 
they  should  not  crumple  in  the  carriage  !  A  child  who  cannot  go 
into  society  but  with  a  muslin  frock  in  this  position,  I  say,  had 
best  stay  in  the  nursery  in  her  pinafore.  If  you  are  not  able  to 
enter  the  world  with  your  dress  in  its  proper  place,  I  say  stay  at 
home.  I  blushed,  sir,  to  see  that  Mrs.  S.  didn't  blush  when  I 
informed  her  of  this  incident,  but  only  laughed  in  a  strange  in- 
decorous manner,  and  said  that  the  girls  must  keep  their  dresses 
neat. — Neatness  as  much  as  you  please;  but  I  should  have  thought 
Neatness  would  wear  her  frock  in  the  natural  way. 

And  look  at  the  cliildren  when  they  arrive  at  their  place  of 
destination  :  what  processes  of  coquetry  they  are  made  to  go  through ! 
They  are  first  carried  into  a  room  where  there  are  pins,  combs, 
looking-glasses,  and  lady's-maids,  who  shake  the  children's  ringlets 
out,  spread  abroad  their  great  immense  sashes  and  ribbons,  and 
finally  send  them  full  sail  into  the  dancing-room.  With  what  a 
monstrous  precocity  they  ogle  their  own  faces  in  the  looking-glasses ; 
I  have  seen  my  boys,  Gustavus  and  Adolphus,  grin  into  the  glass, 


596     SKETCHES    AND    TRAVELS    IN    LONDON 

and  arrange  tlieir  curls  or  the  ties  of  their  neckcloths  witli  as  nmcli 
eagerness  as  any  grown-up  man  could  show,  m'Iio  was  going  to  j)ay 
a  visit  to  tile  lady  of  his  heart.  Witii  what  an  abonunahle  coui- 
placency  they  get  out  their  little  gloves,  and  exaniint!  their  silk 
stockings  !  How  can  they  be  natural  or  unattected  when  they  are 
so  preposterously  conceited  about  their  fine  clothes?  The  other 
day  we  met  one  of  Gus's  schoolfellows,  Master  Chaffers,  at  a  party, 
who  entered  the  room  with  a  little  gibus  hat  under  liis  arm,  and  to 
be  sure  made  his  bow  with  the  aplomb  of  a  dancing-master  of  sixty  ; 
and  my  boys,  who  I  suspect  envied  their  comrade  the  gibus  hat, 
began  to  giggle  and  sneer  at  him  ;  and,  further  to  disconcert  him, 
Gus  g(5es  up  to  him  and  says,  "  Why,  Chaffers,  you  consider  youi-self 
a  deuced  fine  fellow,  but  there's  a  straw  on  your  trousers."  Why 
shoiddu't  there  be  1  And  M'hy  should  that  poor  little  boy  be  called 
upon  to  blush  because  he  came  to  a  party  in  a  hack-cab  1  I,  for 
my  part,  ordered  the  children  to  walk  home  on  tliat  night,  in  order 
to  punish  them  for  their  pride.  It  rained.  Gus  wet  and  spoiled 
his  shiny  boots,  Dol  got  a  cold,  and  my  wife  scolded  me  for 
cruelty. 

As  to  the  airs  which  the  wretches  give  themselves  about  dancing, 
I  need  not  enlarge  upon  them  here,  for  the  dangerous  artist  of  the 
"  Rising  Generation  "  has  already  taken  them  in  hand.  Not  that 
his  satire  does  the  children  the  least  good  :  the!/  don't  see  anything 
absurd  in  courting  pretty  girls,  or  in  asserting  the  superiority  of 
their  own  sex  over  the  female.  A  few  nights  since,  I  saw  Master 
Sultan  at  a  juvenile  ball,  standing  at  the  door  of  the  dancing-room 
egregiously  displaying  his  muslin  pocket-handkerchief,  and  waving 
it  about  as  if  he  was  in  doubt  to  which  of  the  young  beauties  he 
should  cast  it.  "  Why  don't  you  dance.  Master  Sultan  1 "  says  I. 
"My  good  sir,"  he  answered,  "just  look  round  at  those  girls  and 
say  if  I  can  dance  ?  "  Blas^  and  selfish  now,  what  will  that  boy 
be,  sir,  when  his  whiskers  grow  1 

And  when  you  think  how  Mrs.  Mainchance  seeks  out  rich 
partners  for  her  little  lx)ys  —  how  my  own  admirable  Eliza  has 
warned  her  children — "  My  dears,  I  would  rather  you  should  dance 
with  your  Brown  cousins  than  your  Jones  cousins,"  who  are  a  little 
rough  in  their  manners  (the  fact  1)eing,  that  our  sister  Maria  Jones 
lives  at  Islington,  while  Fanny  Brown  is  an  Upper  Baker  Street 
lady) ; — when  I  have  heard  my  dear  wife,  I  say,  instruct  our  boy, 
on  going  to  a  party  at  the  Baronet's,  by  no  means  to  neglect  his 
cousin  Adeliza,  but  to  dance  with  her  as  soon  as  ever  he  can  engage 
lier — what  can  I  say,  sir,  but  that  the  world  of  men  and  boys  is 
the  same — tliat  society  is  poisoned  at  its  source — and  that  our  little 
chubby-cheeked  cherubim  are  instructed  to  be  artful  and  egotistical 


CHILD'S    PARTIES  597 

when   you  would  think  by  their  faces  they  were  just  fresh  from 
heaven. 

Among  the  veri/  little  children,  I  confess  I  get  a  consolation  as 
I  watch  them,  in  seeing  the  artless  little  girls  walking  after  the 
boys  to  whom  they  incline,  and  coyrting  them  by  a  hundred  innocent 
little  wiles  and  caresses,  putting  out  their  little  hands  and  inviting 
them  to  dances,  seeking  them  out  to  pull  crackers  Avith  them,  and 
begging  them  to  read  the  mottoes,  and  so  forth — this  is  as  it  should 
be — this  is  natural  and  kindly.  The  women,  by  rights,  ought  to 
court  the  men  ;  and  they  would  if  we  but  left  them  alone.* 

And,  absurd  as  the  games  are,  I  own  I  like  to  see  some  thirty 
or  forty  of  the  creatures  on  the  floor  in  a  ring,  playing  at  petits 
Jeuj;  of  all  ages  and  sexes,  from  the  most  insubordinate  infanthood 
of  Master  Jacky,  who  will  crawl  out  of  the  circle,  and  talks  louder 
than  anybody  in  it,  though  he  can't  siteak,  to  blushing  Miss  Lily, 
who  is  just  conscious  that  she  is  sixteen — I  own,  I  say,  that  I  can't 
look  at  such  a  circlet  or  chaplet  of  children,  as  it  were,  in  a  hundred 
different  colours,  laughing  and  hajjpy,  without  a  sort  of  pleasure. 
How  they  laugh,  how  they  twine  together,  how  they  wave  about, 
as  if  tlie  wind  was  passing  over  the  flowers  !  Poor  little  buds,  shall 
you  bloom  long? — (I  then  say  to  myself,  by  way  of  keeping  up  a 
proper  frame  of  mind) — shall  frosts  nip  you,  or  temjiests  scatter 
you,  drought  wither  you,  or  rain  beat  you  down  1  And  oppressed 
with  my  feelings,  I  go  below  and  get  some  of  the  weak  negus  with 
which  Children's  Parties  are  refreshed. 

At  those  houses  where  the  magic  lantern  is  practised,  I  still 
sometimes  get  a  degree  of  pleasure,  by  hearing  the  voices  of  the 
children  in  the  dark,  and  the  absurd  remarks  which  they  make  as 
the  various  scenes  are  presented — as,  in  the  dissolving  views.  Corn- 
hill  changes  into  Grand  Cairo;  as  Cupid  comes  down  with  a  wreath, 
and  pops  it  on  to  the  head  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington;  as  Saint 
Peter's  at  Rome  suddenly  becomes  illuminated,  and  fireworks,  not 
the  least  like  real  fireworks,  begin  to  go  oft'  from  Fort  St.  Angelo — 
it  is  certainly  not  unpleasant  to  hear  the  "  o-o-o's  "  of  the  audience, 
and  the  little  children  chattering  in  the  darkness.  But  I  think  I 
used  to  like  the  "Pull  devil,  pull  baker,"  and  the  Doctor  Syntax  of 
our  youth,  much  better  than  all  your  new-fongled  dissolving  views 
and  pyrotecluiic  imitations. 

As  for  the  conjurer,  I  am  sick  of  him.  There  is  one  conjurer  I 
liave  met  so  often  during  this  year  and  the  last,  that  the  man  looks 
quite  guilty  when  the  folding  doors  are  opened,  and  he  sees  my 
party  of  children,  and  myself  amongst  the  seniors  in  the  back  rows. 

*  On  our  friend's  manuscript   there  is  written,   in  a  female  handwriting, 
"  Vulgar,  immodest. — E.  S." 


598     SKETCHES    AND    TRAVELS    IN    LONDON 

He  forgets  .his  jokes  when  he  beholds  me  :  his  wretched  claptraps 
and  waggeries  fail  him  :  he  trembles,  falters,  and  turns  pale. 

I  on  my  side  too  feel  reciprocally  uneasy.  What  right  have  we 
to  be  staring  that  creature  out  of  his  silly  countenance'?  Very 
likely  he  has  a  wife  and  femily  dependent  for  their  bread  upon  his 
antics.  I  should  be  glad  to  admire  theur  if  I  could  ;  but  how  do 
so  1  When  I  see  him  squeeze  an  orange  or  a  cannon-ball  right  away 
into  nothing,  as  it  were,  or  multiply  either  into  three  cannon-balls 
or  oranges,  I  know  the  others  are  in  his  pocket  somewhere.  I 
know  that  he  doesn't  put  out  his  eye  when  he  sticks  the  penknife 
into  it :  or  that  after  swallowing  (as  the  miserable  humbug  pretends 
to  do)  a  pocket-handkerchief,  he  cannot  by  any  possibility  convert  it 
into  a  quantity  of  coloured  wood-shavings.  These  flimsy  articles 
may  amuse  children,  but  not  us.  I  think  I  shall  go  and  sit  down 
below  amongst  the  servants  whilst  this  wretched  man  pursues  his 
idiotic  delusions  before  the  children. 

And  the  supper,  sir,  of  which  our  darlings  are  made  to  partake. 
Have  they  dined?  I  ask.  Do  they  have  a  supper  at  home,  and 
why  do  not  they  1  Because  it  is  unwholesome.  If  it  is  unwhole- 
some, why  do  they  have  supper  at  alH  I  have  mentioned  the 
wretched  quality  of  the  negus.  How  they  can  administer  such 
stuff  to  children  I  can't  think.  Though  only  last  week  I  heard  a 
little  boy.  Master  Swilby,  at  Miss  Waters's,  say  that  he  had  drunk 
nine  glasses  of  it,  and  eaten  I  don't  know  how  many  tasteless 
sandwiches  and  insipid  cakes;,  after  which  feats  he  proposed  to 
fight  my  youngest  son. 

As  for  that  Christmas  Tree,  which  we  have  from  the  Germans — 
anybody  who  knows  what  has  happened  to  them  may  judge  what 
will  befall  us  from  following  their  absurd  customs.  Are  we  to  put 
up  pine-trees  in  our  parlours,  with  wax-candles  and  bon-bons,  after 
the  manner  of  the  ancient  Druids  1     Are  we 1 

.  .  .  My  dear  sir,  my  manuscript  nmst  here  abruptly  terminate. 
Mrs.  S.  has  just  come  into  my  study,  and  my  daughter  enters 
grinning  behind  her,  with  twenty-five  little  notes,  aimouncing  that 
Master  and  Miss  Spec  request  the  pleasure  of  Miss  Brown,  Miss  F. 
Brown,  and  M.  A.  Brown's  company  on  the  25th  instant.  There 
is  to  be  a  conjurer  in  the  back  drawing-room,  a  magic  lantern  in  my 
study,  a  Christmas  Tree  in  the  dining-room,  dancing  in  the  drawing- 
i-oom — "And,  my  dear,  we  can  have  whist  in  our  bedroom,"  my 
wife  says.  "You  know  we  must  be  civil  to  those  who  have  been 
so  kind  to  our  darling  children."  Spec. 


WAITING  AT  THE  STATION 

WE  are  amongst  a  number  of  people  waiting  for  the  Black- 
wall  train  at  the  Fenchurch  Street  Station.  Some  of 
us  are  going  a  little  farther  than  Blaokwall — as  far  as 
Graveseiiil — some  of  us  are  going  even  farther  than  Gravesend — to 
Port  Phillip  in  Australia,  leaving  behind  the  ^Ja^?•^ce  ^fines  and  the 
pleasant  fields  of  Old  England.  It  is  rather  a  queer  sensation  to 
be  in  the  same  boat  and  station  with  a  i)arty  that  is  going  uj^on 
so  prodigious  a  journey.  One  speculates  aliout  them  with  more 
than  an  ordinary  interest,  thinking  of  the  difference  between  your 
fate  and  theirs,  and  that  we  shall  never  behold  these  faces  again. 

Some  eight-and-thirty  women  are  sitting  in  the  large  hall  of 
the  station,  with  bundles,  baskets,  and  light  baggage,  Avaiting  for 
the  steamer,  and  the  orders  to  embark.  A  few  friends  are  taking 
leave  of  them,  bonnets  are  laid  togetlier,  and  whis})ering  going  on. 
A  little  crying  is  taking  place ; — only  a  very  little  crying, — and 
among  those  who  remain,  as  it  seems  to  me,  not  those  who  are 
going  away.  They  leave  behind  them  little  to  weep  for :  they 
are  going  from  bitter  cold  and  hunger,  constant  want  and  unavailing 
labour.  Why  should  they  be  sorry  to  quit  a  mother  who  has  been 
so  hard  to  them  as  our  country  has  been "?  How  many  of  these 
women  will  ever  see  the  shore  again,  upon  the  brink  of  which  they 
stand,  and  from  which  they  will  dej^art  in  a  few  minutes  more  1  It 
makes  one  sad  and  ashamed  too,  that  they  should  not  be  more  sorry. 
But  how  are  you  to  expect  love  where  you  have  given  such  scanty 
kindness  ?  If  you  saw  your  children  glad  at  the  thoughts  of  leaving 
you,  and  for  ever :  would  you  blame  yourselves  or  them  ?  '  It  is  not 
that  the  children  are  ungrateful,  but  the  home  was  unhappy,  and 
the  parents  indifferent  or  unkind.  You  are  in  the  wrong,  under 
whose  government  they  only  had  neglect  and  wretchedness ;  not 
they,  who  can't  be  called  upon  to  love  such  an  unlovely  thing  as 
misery,  or  to  make  any  other  return  for  neglect  but  indifference  and 
aversion 

You  and  I,  let  us  suppose  again,  are  civilised  persons.  We 
have  been  decently  educated  :  and  live  decently  every  day,  and 
wear  tolerable  clothes,  and  practise  cleanliness :  and  love  the  arts 


600  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN-  LONDON 

and  graces  of  life.  As  -vve  Avalk  down  tliis  rank  of  eiglit-and-tliirty 
female  emigrants,  lot  us  faney  tliat  wo  are  at  Melbourne,  and  not  in 
London,  and  that  we  hiive  come  down  from  our  sheep-walks  or  clearings, 
having  heard  of  tlie  arrival  of  forty  honest  well-reconunended  young 
women,  and  having  a  natural  longing  to  take  a  wife  home  to  the 
bush — which  of  these  would  you  like  1  If  you  were  an  Australian 
Sultan,  to  which  of  these  would  you  throw  the  handkerchief?  I 
am  afraid  not  one  of  them.  I  fear,  in  our  present  mood  of  mind, 
we  should  mount  horse  and  return  to  tlie  country,  preferring  a 
solitude,  and  to  be  a  bachelor,  than  to  i)ut  uj)  with  one  of  these 
for  a  companion.  There  is  no  girl  here  to  tempt  you  by  her  looks 
(and  world-wiseacre  as  you  are,  it  is  by  these  you  are  principally 
moved) — there  is  no  pretty,  modest,  red-cheeked  rustic,  no  neat 
trim  little  grisette,  such  as  wdiat  we  call  a  gentleman  might  cast 
his  eyes  upon  without  too  much  derogating,  and  might  tind  favour 
in  the  eyes  of  a  man  about  town.  No ;  it  is  a  homely  bevy  of 
women  with  scarcely  any  beauty  amongst  them — their  clothes  are 
decent,  but  not  the  least  picturesque — their  faces  are  pale  and 
careworn  for  the  most  part — how,  indeed,  should  it  be  otherwise, 
seeing  that  they  have  known  care  and  want  all  their  days  ? — there 
they  sit,  upon  bare  benches,  with  dingy  bundles,  and  gi-eat  cotton 
umbrellas — and  the  truth  is  you  are  not  a  hardy  colonist,  a  feeder 
of  sheep,  feller  of  trees,  a  hunter  of  kangaroos — but  a  London  man, 
and  my  Lord  the  Sultan's  cambric  handkerchief  is  scented  with 
Bond  Street  perfumery — you  put  it  in  your  pocket,  and  couldn't 
give  it  to  any  one  of  these  women. 

They  are  not  like  you,  indeed.  They  have  not  your  tastes  and 
feelings  :  your  education  and  refinements.  They  would  not  under- 
stand a  hundred  things  which  seem  perfectly  simple  to  you.  They 
w'ould  shock  you  a  luuidred  times  a  day  by  as  many  deficiencies  of 
politeness,  or  by  outrages  upon  the  Queen's  English — by  practices 
entirely  harmless,  and  yet  in  y(3ur  eyes  actually  worse  than  crimes 
— they  have  large  hard  hands  and  clumsy  feet.  The  woman  you 
love  nuist  have  pretty  soft  fingers  that  you  may  hold  in  yours : 
must  speak  her  language  properly,  and  at  least  when  you  ofter  her 
your  heart,  must  return  hei"s  with  its  h  in  the  right  place,  as  she 
whisi)ers  that  it  is  yours,  or  you  will  have  none  of  it.  If  she  says, 
"  0  Hedward,  I  ham  so  unappy  to  think  I  shall  never  beold  you 
agin," — though  her  emotion  on  leaving  you  might  be  perfectly 
tender  and  genuine,  you  would  be  obliged  to  laugh.  If  she  said, 
"  Hedward,  my  art  is  yours  for  hever  and  hever "  (and  anybody 
heard  her),  she  might  as  well  stab  you, — you  couldn't  accept  the 
most  faithful  affection  offered  in  such  terms — you  are  a  town-bred 
man,  I  say,  and  your  handkerchief  smells  of  Bond  Street  musk  and 


WAITING    AT    THE    STATION  601 

millefleur.  A  sunburnt  settler  out  of  the  Bush  won't  feel  any  of 
these  exquisite  tortures  :  or  understand  this  kind  of  laughter  :  cr 
object  to  Molly  because  her  hands  are  coarse  and  her  ankles  thick  : 
but  he  will  take  her  back  to  his  farm,  where  she  will  nurse  his 
children,  bake  his  dough,  milk  his  cows,  and  cook  his  kangaroo 
for  him. 

But  between  you,  an  educated  Londoner,  and  that  woman,  is 
not  the  union  absurd  and  impossible  ?  Would  it  not  be  unbearable 
for  either  1  Solitude  would  be  incomparably  pleasanter  than  such 
a  companion. — You  might  take  her  with  a  handsome  fortune, 
perhaps,  were  you  starving;  but  then  it  is  because  you  want  a 
house  and  carriage,  let  us  say  {^our  necessaries  of  life),  and  must 
have  them  even  if  you  purchase  them  with  your  precious  person. 
You  do  as  much,  or  your  sister  does  as  much  every  day.  That, 
however,  is  not  tlie  point :  I  am  not  talking  about  the  meanness 
to  which  your  worship  may  be  possibly  obliged  to  stoop,  in  order, 
as  you  say,  "  to  keep  up  your  rank  in  society  " — only  stating  that 
this  immense  social  difference  does  exist.  You  don't  like  to  own 
it :  or  don't  choose  to  talk  about  it,  and  such  things  had  much 
better  not  be  spoken  about  at  all.  I  hear  your  worship  say,  there 
must  be  differences  in  rank  and  so  forth  !  Well !  out  with  it  at 
once  :  you  don't  think  Molly  is  your  equal — nor  indeed  is  she  in 
the  possession  of  many  artificial  acquirements.  She  can't  make 
Latin  verses,  for  example,  as  you  used  to  do  at  school ;  she  can't 
speak  French  and  Italian,  as  your  wife  very  likely  can,  &c. — and 
in  so  far  she  is  your  inferior,  and  your  amiable  lady's. 

But  what  I  note,  what  I  marvel  at,  what  I  acknowledge,  what 
I  am  ashamed  of,  what  is  contrary  to  Christian  morals,  manly 
modesty  and  honesty,  and  to  the  national  well-being,  is  that  there 
should  be  that  immense  social  distinction  between  the  well-dressed 
clas.-es  (as,  if  you  will  permit  me,  we  will  call  ourselves),  and  our 
brethren  and  sisters  in  the  fustian  jackets  and  pattens.  If  you  deny 
it  for  your  part,  I  say  that  you  are  mistaken,  and  deceive  yourself 
wofuUy.  I  say  that  you  have  been  educated  to  it  through  Gothic 
ages,  and  have  had  it  handed  down  to  you  from  your  fathers  (not 
that  they  were  anybody  in  particular,  but  respectable  well-dressed 
progenitors,  let  us  say  for  a  generation  or  two) — from  your  well-dressed 
fathers  before  you.  How  long  ago  is  it,  that  our  preachers  were 
teaching  the  poor  "  to  know  their  station  "  ?  that  it  was  the  peculiar 
boast  of  Englishmen,  that  any  man,  the  humblest  among  us,  could, 
by  talent,  industry,  and  good  luck,  liope  to  take  his  place  in  the 
aristocracy  of  his  country,  and  that  we  pointed  with  jiride  to  Lord 
This,  who  was  the  grandson  of  a  barber  :  and  to  Earl  That,  whose 
father  was  an  apothecary  ?     What  a  nudtitude  of  most  respectable 

17 


602     SKETCHES    AND    TRAVELS    IN    LONDON 

folks  pride  themselves  on  tliese  things  still !  The  gulf  is  not  im- 
passable, be(!ause  one  man  in  a  million  swims  over  it,  and  we  hail 
him  for  his  strength  and  success.  He  has  landed  on  the  happy 
island.  He  is  one  of  the  aristocracy.  Let  us  clap  hands  and 
applaud.     There's  no  country  like  ours  for  rational  freedom. 

If  you  go  up  and  speak  to  one  of  these  women,  as  you  do  (and 
very  good-naturedly,  and  you  can't  help  tliat  confounded  condescen- 
sion), she  curtseys  and  holds  down  her  head  meekly,  and  replies 
with  modesty,  as  becomes  iier  station,  to  your  lionour  with  the  clean 
shirt  and  tlie  well-made  coat.  "  And  so  slie  should,"  is  what  hundreds 
of  thousands  of  us,  rich  and  poor,  say  still.  Botli  1  telle ve  this  to  be 
bounden  duty ;  and  that  a  poor  person  should  naturally  bob  her 
head  to  a  rich  one  physically  anil  morally. 

Let  us  get  her  last  curtsey  from  her  as  she  stands  here  upon  the 
English  shore.  When  she  gets  into  the  Australian  woods  her  back 
won't  bend  except  to  her  labour ;  or,  if  it  do,  from  old  habit  and 
the  reminiscence  of  the  old  country,  do  you  suppose  her  children  will 
be  like  that  timid  creature  before  you  ?  They  will  know  nothing  of 
that  Gothic  society,  with  its  ranks  and  hierarchies,  its  cumbrous 
ceremonies,  its  glittering  antique  paraphernalia,  in  which  we  have 
been  educated ;  in  which  rich  and  poor  still  acquiesce,  and  which 
multitudes  of  both  still  admire  :  far  removed  from  these  old-world 
traditions,  they  will  be  bred  up  in  the  midst  of  plenty,  freedom,  manly 
brotherhood.  Do  you  think  if  your  worship's  grandson  goes  into 
the  Australian  woods,  or  meets  the  grandchild  of  one  of  yonder 
w^omen  by  the  banks  of  the  AVarrawarra,  tlie  Australian  will  take 
a  hat  off  or  bob  a  curtsey  to  the  new-comer  1  He  will  hold  out  his 
hand,  and  say,  "  Stranger,  come  into  my  house  and  take  a  shake- 
down, and  have  a  share  of  our  supper.  You  come  out  of  the  old 
country,  do  you  1  There  was  some  people  were  kind  to  my  grand- 
mother there,  and  sent  her  out  to  Melbourne.  Times  aFe  changed 
since  then — come  in  and  welcome  !  " 

What  a  confession  it  is  that  we  have  almost  all  of  us  been 
obliged  to  make  !  A  clever  and  earnest-minded  writer  gets  a  com- 
mission from  the  Morning  Chronicle  newspaper,  and  reports  upon 
the  state  of  our  poor  in  London  ;  he  goes  amongst  labouring  people 
and  poor  of  all  kinds — and  brings  back  what  1  A  picture  of  human 
life  so  wonderful,  so  awful,  so  piteous  and  pathetic,  so  exciting  and 
terrible,  tliat  readers  of  romances  own  they  never  read  anything  like 
to  it ;  and  that  the  griefs,  struggles,  strange  adventures  here  depicted, 
exceed  anything  that  any  of  us  could  imagine.  Yes ;  and  these 
wonders  and  terrors  have  been  lying  by  your  door  and  mine  ever 
since  we  had  a  door  of  our  own.  We  had  but  to  go  a  hundred 
yards  off  and  see  for  ourselves,  but  we  never  did.     Don't  we  pay 


WAITING    AT    THE    STATION  603 

poor-rates,  and  are  they  not  heavy  enough  in  tlie  name  of  patience  1 
Very  true ;  and  we  have  our  own  private  pensioners,  and  give  away 
some  of  our  superfluity,  very  likely.  You  are  not  unkind ;  not 
ungenerous.  But  of  such  wondrous  and  complicated  misery  as  this 
you  confess  you  had  no  idea.  No.  How  should  you  1 — you  and  I 
— we  are  of  the  upper  classes ;  we  have  had  hitherto  no  community 
with  the  poor.  We  never  speak  a  word  to  the  servant  who  waits 
on  us  for  twenty  years;  we  condescend  to  employ  a  tradesman, 
keeping  him  at  a  proper  distance,  mind,  of  course,  at  a  proper 
distance — we  laugh  at  his  young  men,  if  they  dance,  jig,  and  amuse 
themselves  like  their  betters,  and  call  them  counter-jumpers,  snobs, 
and  what  not ;  of  his  workmen  we  know  nothing,  how  pitilessly 
they  are  ground  down,  how  they  live  and  die,  here  close  by  us  at 
the  backs  of  our  houses — until  some  poet  like  Hood  wakes  and  sings 
that  dreadful  "  Song  of  the  Shirt "  ;  some  prophet  like  Carlyle  rises 
up  and  denounces  woe ;  some  clear-sighted  energetic  man  like  the 
writer  of  the  Chronicle  travels  into  the  poor  man's  country  for  us, 
and  comes  back  with  his  tale  of  terror  and  wonder. 

Awful  awful  poor  man's  country  !  The  bell  rings,  and  these 
eight-and-thirty  women  bid  adieu  to  it,  rescued  from  it  (as  a  few 
thousands  more  will  be)  by  some  kind  people  who  are  interested  in 
their  behalf  In  two  hours  more,  the  steamer  lies  alongside  the 
ship  "  Culloden,"  which  will  bear  them  to  their  new  home.  Here 
are  the  berths  aft  for  tlie  unmamed  women,  the  married  couides 
are  in  the  midships,  the  bachelors  in  the  fore-part  of  the  ship. 
Above  and  below  decks  it  swarms  and  eclioes  with  the  bustle  of 
departure.  The  Emigration  Commissioner  comes  and  calls  over 
their  names :  there  are  old  and  young,  large  families,  numbers  of 
children  already  accustomed  to  the  ship,  and  looking  about  with 
amused  unconsciousness.  One  was  born  but  just  now  on  board ; 
lie  will  not  know  how  to  speak  English  till  he  is  fifteen  thousand 
miles  away  from  home.  Some  of  these  kind  people  whose  bounty 
and  benevolence  organised  the  Female  Emigration  Scheme,  are  here 
to  give  a  last  word  and  shake  of  the  hand  to  their  ]>rote(iees.  They 
hang  sadly  and  gratefully  round  tlieir  patrons.  One  of  them,  a 
clergyman,  who  lias  devoted  himself  to  this  good  work,  says  a  few 
words  to  them  at  parting.  It  is  a  solemn  minute  indeed — for  those 
who  (with  a  few  thousands  who  will  follow  them)  are  leaving  the 
country  and  escaping  from  the  question  between  ricli  and  poor :  and 
wliat  for  tliose  who  remain  1  But,  at  least,  those  who  go  will  re- 
member that  in  their  misery  here  they  found  gentle  hearts  to  love 
and  pity  them,  and  generous  hands  to  give  them  succour,  and  will 
plant  in  tlie  new  country  this  grateful  tradition  of  the  old. — May 
Heaven's  good  mercy  speed  them  ! 


MR    BROWN'S  LETTERS   TO   HIS  NEPHEW 

IT  is  with  tlie  greatest  satisfaction,  my  dear  Robert,  tluit  I  have 
you  as  a  neighbour,  within  a  cou})le  of  miles  of  uie,  and  that  I 
have  seen  you  established  comfortably  in  your  chambers  in  Fig- 
tree  Court.  The  situation  is  not  cheerful,  it  is  true  ;  and  to  clamber 
up  tliree  pairs  of  black  creaking  stairs  is  an  exercise  not  pleasant  to 
a  man  who  never  cared  for  ascending  mountains.  Nor  did  the 
performance  of  the  young  barrister  who  lives  under  you — and,  it 
appears,  plays  pretty  constantly  upon  the  French  horn — give  me 
any  great  pleasure  as  I  sat  and  partook  of  luncheon  in  your  rooms. 
Your  female  attendant  or  laundress,  too,  struck  me  from  her  personal 
appearance  to  be  a  lady  addicted  to  the  use  of  ardent  spirits  ;  and 
the  smell  of  tobacco,  which  you  say  some  old  college  friends  of  yours 
had  partaken  on  the  night  jirevious,  was,  I  nuist  say,  not  pleasant 
in  the  chambers,  and  I  even  thought  might  be  remarked  as  lingering 
in  your  own  morning-coat.  However,  I  am  an  old  fellow.  The 
use  of  cigars  has  come  in  since  my  time  (and,  I  must  own,  is  adopted 
by  many  people  of  the  first  fashion),  and  these  and  other  inconveni- 
ences are  surmounted  more  gaily  by  young  fellows  like  yourself 
than  by  oldsters  of  my  standing.  It  pleased  me,  however,  to  see 
the  picture  of  the  old  house  at  home  over  the  mantelpiece.  Your 
college  prize-books  make  a  very  good  show  in  your  bookcases ;  and 
I  was  glad  to  remark  in  the  looking-glass  the  cards  of  both  our 
excellent  county  Members.  The  rooms,  altogether,  have  a  reputable 
appearance ;  and  I  hope,  my  dear  fellow,  that  the  Society  of  the 
Inner  Temple  will  have  a  punctual  tenant. 

As  you  have  now  comi)leted  your  academical  studies,  and  are 
about  to  commence  your  career  in  London,  I  propose,  my  dear 
Nephew,  to  give  you  a  few  hints  for  your  guidance  ;  which,  although 
you  have  an  undoubted  genius  of  your  own,  yet  come  from  a 
person  who  has  had  considerable  personal  experience,  and,  I  have 
no  doubt,  would  be  useful  to  you  if  you  did  not  disregard  tliem,  as, 
indeed,  you  will  most  probably  do. 

With  your  law  studies  it  is  not  my  duty  to  meddle.  I  have 
seen  you  established,  one  of  six  pupils,  in  Mr.  Tapeworm's  chambers 
in  Pump  Court,  seated  on  a  high-legged  stool  on  a  foggy  day,  with 


MR.    BROAVN'S    LETTERS    TO    HIS   NEPHEW     605 

your  back  to  a  blazing  fire.  At  your  father's  desire,  I  have  paid  a 
hundred  guineas  to  that  eminent  special  pleader,  for  the  advantages 
which  I  liave  no  doubt  you  will  enjoy,  while  seated  on  the  high- 
legged  stool  in  liis  back  room,  and  rest  contented  with  your  mother's 
prediction  that  you  will  be  Lord  Chief-Justice  some  day.  May 
you  j)rosper,  my  dear  fellow  !  is  all  I  desire.  By  the  way,  I  should 
like  to  know  what  was  the  meaning  of  a  pot  of  porter  which  entered 
into  your  chambers  as  I  issued  from  them  at  one  o'clock,  and  trust 
that  it  was  not  ■i/our  thirst  which  was  to  be  ciuenched  with  such  a 
beverage  at  such  an  hour. 

It  is  not,  then,  with  regard  to  your  duties  as  a  law  student  that 
I  have  a  desire  to  lectui'e  you,  but  in  respect  of  your  pleasures, 
amusements,  acquaintances,  and  general  conduct  and  bearing  as  a 
young  man  of  tlie  world. 

I  will  rush  into  the  subject  at  once,  and  exemplify  my  morality 
in  your  own  person.  "Why,  sir,  for  instance,  do  you  wear  that  tuft 
to  your  chin,  and  those  sham  turquoise  buttons  to  your  waistcoat  1 
A  chin-tuft  is  a  cheap  enjoyment  certainly,  and  the  twiddling  it 
about,  as  I  see  you  do  constantly,  so  as  to  show  your  lower  teeth,  a 
harmless  anuisement  to  fill  up  your  vacuous  hours.  And  as  for 
waistcoat-buttons,  you  will  say,  "  Do  not  all  the  young  men  wear 
them,  and  what  can  I  do  but  buy  artificial  turquoise,  as  I  cannot 
afford  to  buy  real  stones  1 " 

I  take  you  up  at  once  and  sliow  you  why  you  ought  to  shave  off 
your  tip  and  give  up  tlie  factitious  jewellery.  My  dear  Bob,  in  spite 
of  us  and  all  the  Republicans  in  the  world,  there  are  ranks  and  degrees 
in  life  and  society,  and  distinctions  to  be  maintained  by  each  man  ac- 
cording to  his  rank  and  degiee.  You  have  no  more  right,  as  I  take 
it,  to  sport  an  imperial  on  your  chin  than  I  have  to  wear  a  .shovel- 
hat  with  a  rosette.  I  hold  a  tuft  to  a  man's  diin  to  be  the  centre  of  a 
system,  so  to  speak,  which  ought  all  to  correspond  and  be  harmonious 
— the  whole  tune  of  a  man's  life  ought  to  be  played  in  that  key. 

Look,  for  instance,  at  Lord  Hugo  Fitzurse  seated  in  the  private 
box  at  the  Lyceum,  by  the  side  of  that  beautiful  creature  with  the 
black  eyes  and  the  magnificent  point-lace,  who  you  fancie<l  was 
ogling  you  through  her  enormous  sjjy-glasses.  Lord  Hugo  has  a 
tuft  to  his  chin,  certainly ;  his  countenance  grins  with  a  perfect 
vacuity  behind  it ;  and  his  whiskers  curl  crisply  round  one  of  the 
handsomest  and  stupidest  countenances  in  the  world. 

But  just  reckon  up  in  your  own  mind  what/  it  costs  him  to  keep 
up  that  simple  ornament  on  his  chin.  Look  at  every  article  of  that 
amiable  and  most  gentlemanlike — though,  I  own,  foolish — young 
man's  dress,  and  see  how  absurd  it  is  of  you  to  attempt  to  imitate 
him.     Look  at  his  hamls  (I  have  the  young  nobleman  perfectly 


606     SKETCHES    AND    TRAVELS    IN    LONDON 

before  my  mind's  eye  now) ;  the  little  hands  are  dangling  over  the 
cushion  of  the  box,  gloved  as  tightly  and  delicately  as  a  lady's.  His 
wristbands  are  fastened  up  towards  his  elbows  with  jewellery.  Gems  ■ 
and  rubies  meander  down  his  pink  shirt-front  and  waistcoat.  He 
wears  a  watch  with  an  ajjparatus  of  gimcracks  at  his  waistcoat-pocket. 
He  sits  in  a  splendid  side-box,  or  he  simpers  out  of  the  windows  at 
"  White's,"  or  you  see  him  grinning  out  of  a  cab  by  the  Serpentine 
— a  lovely  and  costly  picture,  surrounded  by  a  costly  frame. 

Whereas,  you  and  I,  my  good  Bob,  if  we  want  to  see  a  play,  do 
not  disdain  an  order  from  our  friend  the  newspaper  editor,  or  to 
take  a  seat  in  the  pit.  Your  watch  is  your  father's  old  hunting- 
watch.  When  we  go  in  the  Park  we  go  on  foot,  or  at  best  get  a 
horse  up  after  Easter,  and  just  show  in  Rotten  Row.  We  shall 
never  look  out  of  "  White's  "  bow-window.  The  amount  of  Lord 
Hugo's  tailor's  bill  would  support  you  and  your  younger  brother. 
His  valet  has  as  good  an  allowance  as  you,  besides  his  perquisites 
of  old  clothes.  You  cannot  aftbrd  to  wear  a  dandy  lord's  cast-off 
old  clothes,  neither  to  imitate  those  which  he  wears. 

There  is  nothing  disagreeable  to  me  in  the  notion  of  a  dandy 
any  more  than  there  is  in  the  idea  of  a  peacock,  or  a  camelopard,  or 
a  prodigious  gaudy  tulip,  or  an  astonishingly  bright  brocade.  There 
are  all  sorts  of  animals,  plants,  and  stuffs  in  Nature,  from  peacocks 
to  tomtits,  and  from  cloth-of-gold  to  corduroy,  whereof  the  variety 
is  assuredly  intended  by  Nature,  and  certainly  adds  to  the  zest  of 
life.  Therefore,  I  do  not  say  that  Lord  Hugo  is  a  useless  being, 
or  bestow  the  least  contempt  upon  him.  Nay,  it  is  right  gratifying 
and  natural  that  he  should  be,  and  be  as  he  is — handsome  and 
graceful,  splendid  and  perfumed  beautiful — whiskered  and  empty- 
headed,  a  sumptuous  dandy  and  man  of  fashion — and  what  you 
young  men  have  denominated  "  A  Swell." 

But  a  cheap  Swell,  my  dear  Robert  (and  that  little  chin  orna- 
ment, as  well  as  certain  other  indications  which  I  have  remarked 
in  your  simple  nature,  lead  me  to  insist  upon  this  matter  rather 
strongly  with  you),  is  by  no  means  a  pleasing  object  for  our  observa- 
tion, although  he  is  presented  to  us  so  frequently.  Try,  my  boy, 
and  curb  any  little  propensity  which  you  may  have  to  dresses  that 
are  too  splendid  for  your  station.  You  do  not  want  light  kid-gloves 
and  wristbands  up  to  your  elbows,  copying  out  Mr.  Tapeworm's 
Pleas  and  Declarations ;  you  will  only  blot  them  with  lawyer's  ink 
over  your  desk,  and  they  will  impede  your  writing :  whereas  Lord 
Hugo  may  decorate  his  hands  in  any  way  he  likes,  because  he  has 
little  else  to  do  with  them  but  to  drive  cabs,  or  applaud  dancing- 
girls'  pirouettes,  or  to  handle  a  knife  and  fork  or  a  toothpick  as 
becomes  the  position  in  life  which  he  fills  in  so  distinguished  a 


ON    TAILORING  607 

manner.  To  be  sure,  since  the  days  of  friend  ^sop,  Jackdaws  have 
been  held  up  to  ridicule  for  wearing  the  plumes  of  birds  to  whom 
Nature  has  alRxed  more  gaudy  tails ;  but  as  Folly  is  constantly 
reproducing  itself,  so  must  Satire,  and  our  honest  JJr.  Punch  has 
but  to  repeat  to  the  men  of  our  generation  the  lessons  taught  by 
the  good-natured  Hunchback  his  predecessor. 

Shave  off  your  tuft,  then,  my  boy,  and  send  it  to  the  girl  of 
your  heart  as  a  token,  if  you  like :  and  I  pray  you  abolish  the 
jewellery,  towards  which  I  clearly  see  you  have  a  propensity.  As 
you  have  a  plain  dinner  at  home,  served  comfortably  on  a  clean 
tablecloth,  and  not  a  grand  service  of  half-a-dozen  entrees,  such  as 
we  get  at  our  county  Member's  (and  an  uncommonly  good  dinner 
it  is  too),  so  let  your  dress  be  perfectly  neat,  polite,  and  cleanly, 
without  any  attempts  at  splendour.  Magnificence  is  the  decency 
of  the  rich — but  it  cannot  be  purchased  with  half-a-guinea  a  day, 
which,  when  the  rent  of  your  chambers  is  paid,  I  take  to  he  pretty 
nearly  the  amount  of  your  worship's  income.  This  point,  I  thought, 
was  rather  well  illustrated  the  other  day,  in  an  otherwise  silly  and 
sentimental  book  which  I  looked  over  at  the  Club,  called  the 
"  Foggarty  Diamond  "  (or  some  such  vulgar  name).  Somebody  gives 
the  hero,  who  is  a  poor  fellow,  a  diamond-jjin :  he  is  obliged  to  buy  a 
new  stock  to  set  off"  the  diamond,  then  a  new  waistcoat,  to  correspond 
with  the  stock,  then  a  new  coat,  because  the  old  one  is  too  shabby 
for  the  rest  of  his  attire ; — finally,  the  poor  devil  is  ruined  by  the 
diamond  ornament,  which  he  is  forced  to  sell,  as  I  would  recom- 
mend you  to  sell  your  waistcoat  studs,  were  they  Avorth  anything. 

But  as  you  have  a  good  figure  and  a  gentlemanlike  deportment,  and 
as  every  young  man  likes  to  be  well  attired,  and  ought,  for  the  sake  of 
his  own  advantage  and  progi-ess  in  life,  to  show  himself  to  the  best  ad- 
vantage, I  shall  take  an  early  opportunity  of  addressing  you  on  the  sub- 
ject of  tailors  and  clothes,  which  at  least  merit  a  letter  to  themselves. 


ON  TAILORING— AND  TOILETTES  IN 
GENERAL 

OUR  ancestors,  my  dear  Bob,  have  transmitted  to  you  (as 
well  as  every  member  of  our  family)  considerable  ciiarms 
of  person  and  figure,  of  which  fact,  although  you  are  of 
course  perfectly  aware,  yet,  and  cijually  of  course,  you  have  no 
objection   to  be  reniindeil ;    and  with    these  facial   and  corporeal 


f)08  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

ciidowinents,  a  few  words  respecting  dress  and  tailoring  may  not 
be  out  of  place ;  for  nothing  is  trivial  in  life,  and  everything  to 
the  philosopher  has  a  meaning.  As  in  tlic  old  joke  about  a  pudding 
whii'li  has  two  sides,  namely,  an  inside  and  an  outside,  so  a  coat 
or  a  hat  has  its  inside  as  well  as  its  outside ;  I  mean,  that  there 
is  in  a  man's  exterior  appearance  ••the  consequence  of  his  inward 
ways  of  thought,  and  a  gentleman  who  dresses  too  grandly,  or  too 
absurdly,  or  too  shabbily,  has  some  oddity,  or  insanity,  or  meanness 
in  his  mind,  which  develops  itself  somehow  outwardly  in  the  fashion 
of  his  garments. 

No  man  has  a  right  to  despise  his  dress  in  this  world.  There 
is  no  use  in  flinging  any  honest  chance  whatever  away.  For 
instance,  although  a  woman  cannot  be  expected  to  know  the  par- 
ticulars of  a  gentleman's  dress,  any  more  than  we  to  be  acquainted 
with  the  precise  nomenclature  or  proper  cut  of  the  various  articles 
which  those  dear  creatures  wear,  yet  to  what  lady  in  a  society  of 
strangers  do  we  feel  ourselves  most  naturally  inclined  to  address 
ourselves  1 — to  her  or  those  whose  appearance  pleases  us ;  not  to 
the  gaudy,  over-dressed  Dowager  or  Miss — nor  to  her  whose  clothes, 
though  handsome,  are  put  on  in  a  slatternly  manner,  but  to  the 
person  who  looks  neat,  and  trim,  and  elegant,  and  in  whose  person 
we  fancy  we  see  exhibited  indications  of  a  natural  taste,  order,  and 
propriety.  If  Miss  Smith  in  a  rumpled  gown  offends  our  eyesight, 
though  we  hear  she  is  a  young  lady  of  great  genius  and  considerable 
fortune,  while  Miss  Jones  in  her  trim  and  simple  attire  attracts  our 
admiration ;  so  must  women,  on  their  side,  be  attracted  or  repelled 
by  the  appearance  of  gentlemen  into  whose  company  they  fall.  If 
you  are  a  tiger  in  appearance,  you  may  naturally  expect  to  frighten 
a  delicate  and  timid  female ;  if  you  are  a  sloven,  to  offend  her  :  and 
as  to  be  well  with  women  constitutes  one  of  the  chiefest  happi- 
nesses of  life,  the  object  of  my  worthy  Bob's  special  attention  will 
naturally  be,  to  neglect  no  precautions  to  win  their  favour. 

Yes :  a  good  face,  a  good  address,  a  good  dress,  are  each  so 
many  points  in  the  game  of  life,  of  which  every  man  of  sense  will 
avail  himself.  They  help  many  a  man  more  in  his  commerce  with 
society  than  learning  or  genius.  It  is  hard  often  to  bring  the  former 
into  a  drawing-room  :  it  is  often  too  lumbering  and  unwieldy  for 
any  den  but  lis  own.  And  as  a  King  Charles's  spaniel  can  snooze 
before  the  fire  or  frisk  over  the  ottoman-cushions  and  on  to  the 
ladies'  laps,  when  a  Royal  elephant  would  find  a  considerable  diffi- 
culty in  walking  up  the  stairs,  and  subsequently  in  finding  a  seat ; 
so  a  good  manner  and  appearance  will  introduce  you  into  many  a 
house  where  you  might  knock  in  vain  for  admission  with  all  the 
learning  of  Porson  in  your  trunk. 


ON    TAILORING  609 

It  is  not  learning,  it  is  not  virtue,  about  wliich  people  inquire 
in  society.  It  is  manners.  It  no  more  profits  me  that  my  neigh- 
bour at  table  can  construe  Sanscrit  and  say  the  "  Encyclopfedia " 
by  heart,  than  that  he  should  possess  half  a  million  in  the  Bank 
(unless,  indeed,  he  gives  dinners;  when,  for  reasons  obvious,  one's 
estimation  of  him,  or  one's  desire  to  please  him,  takes  its  rise  in 
different  sources),  or  that  the  lady  whom  I  hand  down  to  dinner 
should  be  as  virtuous  as  Cornelia  or  the  late  Mrs.  Hannah  More. 
What  is  wanted  for  the  nonce  is,  that  folks  should  be  as  agreeable 
as  i)ossible  in  conversation  and  demeanour;  so  that  good-humour 
may  be  said  to  be  one  of  the  very  best  articles  of  dress  one  can 
wear  in  society ;  the  which  to  see  exhibit(>d  in  Lady  X.'s  honest 
face,  let  us  say,  is  more  pleasant  to  behold  in  a  room  than  the 
glitter  of  Lady  Z.'s  best  diamonds.  And  yet,  in  point  of  virtue,  tlie 
latter  is,  no  doubt,  a  perfect  dragon.  But  virtue  is  a  home  quality  : 
manners  are  the  coat  it  wears  when  it  goes  abroad. 

Thus,  then,  my  beloved  Bob,  I  would  have  your  dining-out  suit 
handsome,  neat,  well  made,  fitting  you  'naturally  and  easily,  and  yet 
with  a  certain  air  of  holiday  about  it,  which  shoidd  mark  its  desti- 
nation. It  is  not  because  they  thought  their  appearance  was  much 
improved  by  the  ornament,  that  the  ancient  philosophers  and  topers 
decorated  their  old  pates  with  flowers  (no  Avreath,  I  know,  would 
make  some  peo])le's  mugs  beautiful ;  and  I  confess,  for  my  part,  I 
would  as  lief  wear  a  horse-collar  or  a  cotton  nightcap  in  society  as  a 
coronet  of  polyanthuses  or  a  garland  of  hyacinths)  : — it  is  not  because 
a  philosopher  cares  about  dress  that  he  wears  it ;  but  he  wears  his 
best  as  a  sign  of  a  feast,  as  a  bush  is  the  sign  of  an  inn.  You  ought 
to  mark  a  festival  as  a  red-letter  day,  and  you  put  on  your  broad 
and  spotless  white  waistcoat,  your  finest  linen,  your  shiniest  boots, 
as  nuich  as  to  say,  "It  is  a  feast ;  here  I  am,  clean,  smart,  ready 
with  a  good  appetite,  determined  to  enjoy." 

You  would  not  enjoy  a  feast  if  you  came  to  it  unshorn,  in  a 
draggle-tailed  dressing-gown.  You  ought  to  be  well  dressed,  and 
suitable  to  it.  A  very  odd  and  wise  man  whom  I  once  knew,  and 
who  liad  not  (as  far  as  one  could  outwardly  judge)  the  least  vanity 
about  his  personal  appearance,  used,  I  remember,  to  make  a  point 
of  wearing  in  large  Assemblies  a  most  splendid  gold  or  crimson 
waistcoat.  He  seemed  to  consider  himself  in  the  light  of  a  walking 
bouquet  of  flowers,  or  a  movable  chandelier.  His  waistcoat  was 
a  ])icce  of  furniture  to  decorate  the  rooms ;  as  for  any  personal 
pride  he  took  in  the  adornment,  he  had  none :  for  the  matter  of 
that,  he  would  have  taken  the  garment  off",  and  lent  it  to  a  waiter 
—but  tliis  Philosopher's  maxim  was,  that  dress  shoidd  be  handsome 
upon  handsome  occasions— and  I  hope  you  will  exhibit  your  own 


f)10  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

taste  ui)on  siicli.  You  don't  suppose  that  peojilc  who  entertain  you 
so  hosjiitably  liave  four-and-twenty  liglits  in  the  dining-room,  and 
still  and  dry  champagne  every  day  1  or  that  my  friend,  Mrs.  Perkins, 
puts  her  drawing-room  door  under  her  bed  every  night,  when  there 
is  no  bain  A  young  fellow  must  dress  himself,  as  the  host  and 
hostess  dress  themselves,  in  an  extra  manner  for  extra  nights. 
Enjoy,  my  boy,  in  honesty  and  manliness,  the  goods  of  this  life. 
I  would  no  more  have  you  refuse  to  take  your  glass  of  wine,  or  to 
admire  (always  in  honesty)  a  pretty  girl,  than  dislike  the  smell  of  a 
rose,  or  turn  away  your  eyes  from  a  landscape.  "  Neque  tu  choreas 
sperne,  puer,"  as  the  dear  old  Heathen  says  :  and  'in  order  to  dance, 
you  must  have  proper  pumps  willing  to  spring  and  whirl  lightly, 
and  a  clean  pair  of  gloves,  with  which  you  can  take  your  partner's 
pretty  little  hand. 

As  for  particularising  your  dress,  that  were  a  task  quite  absurd 
and  impertinent,  considering  that  you  are  to  wear  it,  and  not  I,  and 
remembering  the  variations  of  fashion.  When  I  was  presented  to 
H.R.H.  the  Prince  Regent,"  in  the  uniform  of  the  Hammersmith 
Hussars,  viz.,  a  yellow  jacket,  pink  pantaloons,  and  silver  lace,  green 
morocco  boots,  and  a  light-blue  pelisse  lined  with  ermine,  the  august 
Prince  himself,  the  naodel  of  grace  and  elegance  in  his  time,  wore 
a  coat  of  wliich  the  waist-buttons  were  placed  between  his  Royal 
shoulder-blades,  and  which,  if  worn  by  a  man  now,  would  cause  the 
boys  to  hoot  him  in  Pall  Mall,  and  be  a  uniform  for  Bedlam.  If 
buttons  continue  their  present  downward  progress,  a  man's  waist 
may  fall  down  to  his  heels  next  year,  or  work  upwards  to  the  nape 
of  his  neck  after  another  revolution :  who  knows  1  Be  it  yours 
decently  to  conform  to  the  custom,  and  leave  your  buttons  in  the 
hands  of  a  good  tailor,  who  will  place  them  wherever  fashion  ordains. 
A  few  general  rules,  however,  may  be  gently  hinted  to  a  young 
fellow  who  has  perhaps  a  propensity  to  fall  into  certain  errors. 

Eschew  violent  sporting-dresses,  such  as  one  sees  but  too  often 
in  the  parks  and  public  places  on  the  backs  of  misguided  young 
men.  There  is  no  objection  to  an  ostler  wearing  a  particular 
costume,  but  it  is  a  pity  that  a  gentleman  should  imitate  it.  I 
have  seen  in  like  manner  young  fellows  at  Cowes  attired  like  the 
pictures  we  have  of  smugglers,  buccaneers,  and  mariners  in  Adelphi 
melodramas.  I  would  like  my  Bob  to  remember,  that  his  business 
in  life  is  neither  to  handle  a  curry-comb  nor  a  marlin-spike,  and  to 
fashion  his  habit  a(?cordingly. 

If  yoiu"  hair  or  clothes  do  not  smell  of  tobacco,  as  they  some- 
times, it  must  be  confessed,  do,  you  will  not  be  less  popular  among 
ladies.  And  as  no  man  is  worth  a  fig,  or  can  have  real  benevolence 
of  character,  or  observe  mankind  properly,  who  does  not  like  the 


THE    INFLUENCE    OF    LOVELY    WOMAN     fill 

society  of  modest  and  well-bred  women,  respect  their  prejudices  in 
this  matter,  and,  if  you  must  smoke,  smoke  in  an  old  coat,  and 
away  from  the  ladies. 

Avoid  dressing-gowns  ;  which  argue  dawdling,  and  unshorn  chin, 
a  lax  toilet,  and  a  general  lazy  and  indolent  habit  at  home.  Begin 
your  day  with  a  clean  conscience  in  every  way.  Cleanliness  is 
honesty.*  A  man  who  shows  but  a  clean  face  and  hands  is  a  rogue 
and  hypocrite  in  society,  and  takes  credit  for  a  virtue  which  he  does 
not  possess.  And  of  all  the  advances  towards  civilisation  which 
our  nation  has  made,  and  of  most  of  which  Mr.  Macaulay  treats  so 
eloquently  in  his  lately  publislied  History,  as  in  his  lecture  to  the 
Glasgow  Students  the  other  day,  there  is  none  which  ought  to  give 
a  philanthropist  7iiore  pleasure  than  to  remark  the  great  and  increas- 
ing demand  for  bath-tubs  at  the  ironmongers' :  Zinc- Institutions, 
of  which  our  ancestors  had  a  lamentable  ignorance. 

And  I  hope  that  these  institutions  will  be  universal  in  our  country 
before  long,  and  that  every  decent  man  in  England  will  be  a 
Companion  of  the  Most  Honourable  Order  of  the  Bath. 


THE   INFLUENCE   OF   LOVELY  WOMAN 
UPON  SOCIETY 

CONSTANTLY,  my  dear  Bob,  I  have  told  you  how  refining  is 
the  influence  of  women  upon  society,  and  how  profound  our 
respect  ought  to  be  for  them.  Living  in  chamljers  as  you 
do,  my  dear  nephew,  and  not  of  course  liable  to  be  amused  by  the 
constant  society  of  an  old  uncle,  who  moreover  might  be  deucedly 
bored  with  your  own  conversation — I  beseech  and  implore  you  to 
make  a  point  of  being  intimate  Avith  one  or  two  families  where  you 
can  see  kind  and  well-bred  English  ladies.  I  have  seen  women  of 
all  nations  in  the  world,  but  I  never  saw  the  equals  of  English- 
women (meaning  of  course  to  include  our  cousins  the  MacWhirters 
of  Glasgow,  and  the  O'Tooles  of  Cork)  :  and  I  pray  sincerely,  my 
boy,  that  you  may  always  have  a  woman  for  a  friend. 

Try,  then,  and  make  yourself  the  bienvenu  in  some  house  where 

*  Note  to  the  beloved  Reader.— Thh  hint,  dear  sir,  is  of  course  not  intemled 
to  apply  personally  to  pou,  who  are  scrupulously  neat  in  your  person  ;  but 
when  you  look  around  you,  and  see  how  many  people  neglect  the  use  of  that 
admirable  cosmetic,  cold  water,  you  will  see  that  a  few  words  ia  its  praise  may 
be  spoken  with  advantage. 


6\'2     SKETCHES    AND    TRAVELS    IN    LONDON 

accoiuplisliod  and  amiable  ladies  arc.  Pass  as  niucli  of  your  time 
as  you  ean  Avitli  them.  Lose  no  opportunity  of  making  yourself 
agreeable  to  them  :  run  their  errands  ;  send  them  Howers  and  elegant 
little  tnl;ens  ;  show  a  willingness  to  be  pleased  by  their  attentions, 
and  to  aid  their  little  charming  schemes  of  shopjiing  or  dancing,  or 
this,  or  that.  I  say  to  you,  make  yourself  a  lady's  man  as  much 
as  ever  you  can. 

It  is  better  for  you  to  pass  an  evening  once  or  twice  a  week  in 
a  lady's  drawing-room,  even  though  the  conversation  is  rather  slow 
and  you  know  the  girls'  songs  by  heart,  than  in  a  club,  tavern,  or 
smoking-room,  or  a  pit  of  a  theatre.  All  amusements  of  youth,  to 
which  virtuous  women  are  not  admitted,  are,  rely  on  it,  deleterious 
in  tiieir  nature.  All  men  who  avoid  female  society  have  dull  i)er- 
ceptions  and  are  stupid,  or  have  gross  tastes  and  revolt  against  what 
is  pure.  Your  did)  swaggerers  who  are  sucking  the  butts  of  billiard- 
cues  all  night  call  female  society  insipid.  Sir,  poetry  is  insipid  to 
a  yokel ;  beauty  has  no  charms  for  a  blind  man  ;  music  does  not 
please  an  imfortunate  brute  who  does  not  know  one  tune  from 
another ; — and,  as  a  true  epicure  is  hardly  ever  tired  of  wator- 
souchy  and  brown  bread-and-butter,  I  protest  I  can  sit  for  a  whole 
night  talking  to  a  well-regulated  kindly  woman  about  her  girl  coming 
out,  or  her  boy  at  Eton,  and  like  the  evening's  entertainment. 

One  of  the  great  benefits  a  young  man  may  derive  from  women's 
society  is,  that  he  is  bound  to  be  respectful  to  them.  The  habit  is 
of  great  good  to  your  moral  man,  depend  on  it.  Our  education 
makes  of  us  the  most  eminently  selfish  men  in  the  world.  We  fight 
for  ourselves  ;  we  push  for  ourselves ;  we  cut  the  best  slices  out  of 
the  joint  at  club-dinners  for  ourselves ;  we  yawn  for  ourselves  and 
light  our  pipes,  and  say  we  won't  go  out ;  we  prefer  ourselves  and 
our  ease— and  the  greatest  good  that  comes  to  a  man  from  women's 
society  is,  that  he  has  to  think  of  somebody  besides  himself— some- 
body to  whom  he  is  bound  to  be  constantly  attentive  and  respectful. 
Certainly  I  don't  want  my  dear  Bob  to  associate  with  those  of  the 
other  sex  whom  he  doesn't  and  can't  respect :  that  is  worse  than 
l)illiards  :  worse  than  tavern  brandy-and- water  :  worse  than  smoking 
selfishness  at  home.  But  I  vow  I  would  rather  see  you  turning 
over  the  leaves  of  Miss  Fiddlecombe's  music-book  all  night,  than 
at  billiards,  or  smoking,  or  brandy-and-water,  or  all  three. 

Remember,  if  a  liouse  is  pleasant,  and  you  like  to  remain  in  it, 
that  to  be  well  with  the  women  of  the  house  is  the  great,  the  vital 
point.  If  it  is  a  good  house,  don't  turn  up  your  nose  because  you 
are  only  asked  to  come  in  the  evening  while  others  are  invited  to 
dine.  Recollect  the  debts  of  dinners  which  an  hospitable  family  has 
to  pay  :  who  are  you  that  you  should  always  be  expecting  to  nestle 


THE    INFLUENCE    OF    LOVELY    WOMAN     6l3 

under  the  mahogany?  Agreeable  acquaintances  are  made  just  as 
well  in  the  drawing-room  as  in  the  dining-room.  Go  to  tea  brisk 
and  good-humoured.  Be  determined  to  be  pleased.  Talk  to  a 
dowager.  Take  a  hand  at  whist.  If  you  ai-e  musical,  and  knt)w 
a  song,  sing  it  like  a  man.  Never  sulk  about  dancing,  but  off  with 
you.  You  will  find  your  acqu'aintance  enlarge.  Mothers,  pleased 
with  your  good-humour,  will  proliably  ask  you  to  Pocklingti)U 
Square,  to  a  little  party.  You  will  get  on — you  will  form  yourself 
a  circle.  You  may  marry  a  rich  girl,  or,  at  any  rate,  get  the  chance 
of  seeing  a  number  of  the  kind  and  the  pretty. 

Many  young  men,  who  are  more  remarkable  for  their  inij)udence 
and  selfishness  than  their  good  sense,  are  fond  of  boastfully  an- 
nouncing tiiat  they  decline  going  to  evening-parties  at  all,  unless, 
indeed,  such  entertainments  commence  with  a  good  dinner,  and  a 
quantity  of  claret. 

I  never  saw  my  beautiful-minded  friend,  Mrs.  Y.  Z.,  many 
times  out  of  temper,  but  can  quite  ])ardon  her  indignation  when 
young  Fred  Noodle,  to  whom  the  Y.  Z.'s  have  been  very  kind,  and 
who  has  appeared  scores  of  times  at  their  elegant  table  in  Ui) — r 
B-k-r  Street,  announced,  in  an  imlucky  moment  of  flippancy,  that 
he  did  not  intend  to  go  to  evening-parties  any  more. 

What  induced  Fred  Noodle  to  utter  this  bravado  I  know  not ; 
whether  it  was  that  he  has  been  puffed  u])  by  attentions  from 
several  Aldermen's  families,  with  whom  he  has  of  late  become 
acquainted,  and  among  whom  he  gives  himself  the  airs  of  a  pro- 
digious "swell";  but  having  made  this  speech  one  Sunday  after 
church,  when  he  condescended  to  call  in  B-k-r  Street,  and  show 
off  his  new  gloves  and  waistcoat,  and  talked  in  a  sufficiently  dandi- 
fied air  about  the  Opera  (the  wretched  creature  fancies  that  an 
eight-and-sixpenny  pit  ticket  gives  him  the  privileges  of  a  man  of 
fashion) — Noodle  made  his  bow  to  the  ladies,  and  strutted  off  to 
show  his  new  yellow  kids  elsewhere. 

"  Matilda,  my  love,  bring  the  Address  Book,"  Mrs.  Y.  Z.  said 
to  her  lovely  eldest  daughter,  as  soon  as  Noodle  was  gone,  and  the 
banging  hall-door  had  closed  upon  the  absurd  youth.  That  graceful 
and  obedient  girl  rose,  went  to  tlie  back  drawing-room,  on  a  table 
in  whicli  apartment  the  volume  lay,  and  brought  the  book  to  her 
mamma. 

Mrs.  Y.  Z.  turned  to  the  letter  N  ;  and  under  that  initial  dis- 
covered the  name  of  the  young  fellow  who  had  just  gone  out. 
Noodle,  F.,  250  Jermyn  Street,  St.  James's.  She  took  a  pen  from 
the  table  l)efore  her,  and  with  it  deliberately  crossed  the  name  of 
Mr.  Noodle  out  of  her  book.  Matilda  looked  at  Eliza,  who  stood 
by  in  silent  awe.      The  sweet  eldest  girl,  who  has  a  kind  feeling 

/ 


614     SKETCHES    AND    TRAVELS    IN    LONDON 

towards  every  soul  alive,  tlien  looked  towards  her  mother  witli 
expostidatiiig  eyes,  and  said,  "  0  mamma !  "  Dear,  dear  Eliza ! 
I  love  all  pitiful  hearts  like  tliine. 

But  Mrs.  Y.  Z.  was  in  no  mood  to  be  merciful,  and  gave  way  to 
a  natural  indignation  and  feeling  of  outraged  justice. 

"  \Miat  business  has  that  young  man  to  tell  me,"  she  exclaimed, 
"that  he  declines  going  to  evening-parties,  when  he  knows  that  after 
Easter  we  have  one  or  two  1  Has  he  not  met  witli  constant  hospi- 
tality here  since  Mr.  Y.  Z.  brought  him  home  from  the  Club  1  Has 
he  sucli  beaux  yeux  ?  or,  has  he  so  mucli  wit  ?  or,  is  he  a  man  of  so 
much  note,  that  his  coiniiany  at  a  dinner-table  becomes  indispens- 
able "?  He  is  nobody ;  he  is  not  handsome ;  he  is  not  clever ;  he 
never  opens  his  mouth  except  to  drink  your  papa's  claret ;  and  he 
declines  evening-parties,  forsooth  ! — Mind,  children,  he  is  never 
invited  into  this  house  again." 

When  Y.  Z.  now^  meets  young  Noodle  at  the  Club,  that  kind 
but  feeble-minded  old  gentleman  covers  up  his  face  with  the  news- 
paper, so  as  not  to  be  seen  by  Noodle ;  or  sidles  away  with  his 
face  to  the  bookcases,  and  lurks  off  by  the  door.  The  other  day 
they  met  on  the  steps,  when  tlie  wretched  Noodle,  driven  aux  ahois, 
actually  had  the  meanness  to  ask  how  Mrs.  Y.  Z.  was  1  The  Colonel 
(for  such  he  is,  and  of  the  Bombay  service,  too)  said, — "My  wife? 
Oh  ! — hum  ! — I'm  sorry  to  say  Mrs.  Y.  Z.  has  been  very  poorly 
indeed,  lately,  very  poorly ;  and  confined  to  her  room.  God  bless 
my  soul !  I've  an  appointment  at  the  India  House,  and  it's  past 
two  o'clock  " — and  he  tied. 

I  had  tlie  malicious  satisfaction  of  describing  to  Noodle  the 
most"  sumptuous  dinner  which  Y.  Z.  had  given  the  day  before,  at 
which  there  was  a  Lord  present,  a  Foreign  Minister  with  his  Orders, 
two  Generals  with  Stars,  and  every  luxury  of  the  season ;  but'  at 
the  end  of  our  conversation,  seeing  the  effect  it  had  upon  the  poor 
youth,  and  how  miserably  he  was  cast  down,  I  told  him  tlie  truth, 
viz.,  that  the  above  story  was  a  hoax,  and  that  if  he  wanted  to 
get  into  Mrs.  Y.  Z.'s  good  graces  again,  his  best  plan  w^ts  to  go 
to  Lady  Flack's  party,  where  I  knew  the  Miss  Y.  Z.'s  would  be, 
and  dance  with  them  all  night. 

Yes,  my  dear  Bob,  you  boys  must  pay  with  your  ])ersons,  however 
lazy  you  may  be — however  much  inclined  to  smoke  at  the  Club, 
or  to  lie  there  and  read  the  last  delicious  new  novel ;  or  averse  to 
going  home  to  a  dreadful  black  set  of  chambers,  where  there  is  no 
fire ;  and  at  ten  o'clock  at  night  creeping  shuddering  into  your  ball 
suit,  in  order  to  go  forth  to  an  evening-party. 

Tlie  dressing,  the  (;lean  gloves,  and  cab-hire  are  nuisances,  I  grant 
you.     The  idea  of  a  party  itself  is  a  bore  ;  but  you  must  go.    When 


SOME    MORE    WORDS    ABOUT    THE    LADIES     6l5 

you  are  at  the  party,  it  is  not  so  stupid ;  there  is  always  something 
pleasant  for  the  eye  and  attention  of  an  observant  man.  There 
is  a  bustling  Dowager  wheedling  and  manoeuvring  to  get  proper 
partners  for  her  girls ;  there  is  a  pretty  girl  enjoying  herself  with 
all  her  heart,  and  in  all  the  pride  of  her  beauty,  than  which  I  know 
no  more  charming  object ; — thei'e  is  poor  Miss  Meggot,  lonely  up 
against  the  wall,  wliom  nobody  asks  to  dance,  and  with  whom  it 
is  your  bounden  duty  to  waltz.  There  is  always  something  to  see 
or  do,  wlien  you  are  there ;  and  to  evening-parties,  I  say,  you 
must  go. 

Perhaps  I  speak  witli  tlie  ease  of  an  old  fellow  who  is  out  of 
the  business,  and  beliolds  you  from  afar  off.  My  dear  boy,  they 
don't  want  ^(s  at  evening-]jarties.  A  stout  bald-headed  man  dancing 
is  a  melancholy  object  to  liimself  in  the  looking-glass  opposite,  and 
there  are  duties  and  pleasures  of  all  ages.  Once,  Heaven  lielp  us, 
and  only  once,  upon  my  honour,  and  I  say  so  as  a  gentleman, 
some  boys  seized  upon  me  and  carried  me  to  the  Casino,  where, 
forthwith,  they  found  accpiaintances  and  partners,  and  went  whirl- 
ing away  in  the  double-timed  waltz  (it  is  an  abominable  dance  to 
me — I  am  an  old  fogey)  along  with  hundreds  more.  I  caught  sight 
of  a  face  in  the  crowd — the  most  blank,  melancholy,  and  dreary 
old  visage  it  was — my  own  face  in  the  glass — there  was  no  use  in  my 
being  there — Canities  adest  morosa — no,  not  morosa — but,  in  fine, 
I  had  no  business  in  the  place,  and  so  came  away. 

I  saw  enough  of  that  Casino,  liowever,  to  show  me  that 

But  my  paper  is  full,  and  on  the  subject  of  women  I  have  more 
things  to  say,  which  might  fill  many  hundred  more  pages. 


SOME   MORE  WORDS   ABOUT   THE  LADIES 

SUFFER  me  to  continue,  ray  dear  Bob,  my  remarks  about 
women,  and  their  influence  over  you  young  fellows  —  an 
influence  so  vast,  for  good  or  for  evil. 
I  have,  as  you  pretty  well  know,  an  immense  sum  of  money  in 
the  Three  per  Cents.,  the  possession  of  which  does  not,  I  think, 
decrease  your  respect  for  my  character,  and  of  which,  at  my  demise, 
you  will  possibly  have  your  shai'e.  But  if  I  ever  hear  of  you  as 
a  Casino  haunter,  as  a  fre(iuentcr  of  Races  and  Greenwich  Fairs, 
and  su(!h  amusements,  in  questionable  company,  I  give  you  my 
honour  yf)U  sliall  benefit  by  no  legacy  of  mine,  and  I  will  divide  tiie 
portion  that  was,  and  is,  I  liope,  to  be  yours,  amongst  your  sisters. 


6\G     SKETCHES    AND    TRAVELS    IN    LONDON 

Tliink,  sir,  of  what  they  are,  and  of  your  mother  at  home, 
spotless  and  pious,  h)ving  and  pure,  and  sliape  your  own  course 
so  as  to  be  wortliy  of  them.  Would  you  do  anything  to  give 
them  pain  i  Would  you  say  anything  that  should  bring  a  blush 
to  their  fair  cheeks,  or  shock  their  gentle  natures  ?  At  the  Royal 
Academy  Exhibition  last  year,  wlien  that  great  stupid  dandified 
donkey,  Captain  Grigg,  in  company  with  the  other  vulgar  oaf,  Mr. 
Gowker,  ventured  to  stare,  in  rather  an  insolent  manner,  at  your 
jjrctty  little  sister  Fanny,  who  had  come  blushing  from  Miss 
Pinkerton's  Academy,  I  saw  how  your  honest  face  flushed  up  with 
indignation,  as  you  caught  a  sight  of  the  hideous  grins  and  ogles 
of  those  two  ruffians  in  varnished  boots  ;  and  your  eyes  flashed 
out  at  them  glances  of  defiance  and  warning  so  savage  and  terrible, 
that  the  discomfited  wretches  turned  wisely  upon  their  heels,  and 
did  not  care  to  face  such  a  resolute  young  champion  as  Bob  Brown. 
What  is  it  that  makes  all  your  blood  tingle,  and  fills  all  your  heart 
with  a  vague  and  fierce  desire  to  thrash  somebody,  when  the  idea 
of  the  possibility  of  an  insult  to  that  fair  creature  enters  your 
m.ind  1  You  can't  bear  to  think  that  injury  should  be  done  to  a 
being  so  sacred,  so  imiocent,  and  so  defenceless.  You  would  do 
battle  with  a  Goliath  in  her  cause.  Your  sword  would  leajj  from 
its  scabbard  (that  is,  if  you  gentlemen  from  Pump  Court  wore 
swords  and  scabbards  at  the  ji resent  period  of  time)  to  avenge  or 
defend  her. 

Respect  all  beauty,  all  innocence,  my  dear  Bob ;  defend  all 
defencelessness  in  your  sister,  as  in  the  sisters  of  other  men.  We 
have  all  heard  the  story  of  the  gentleman  of  the  last  century,  who, 
when  a  crowd  of  young  bucks  and  bloods  in  the  Crush-room  of  the 
Opera  were  laughing  and  elbowing  an  old  lady  there — an  old  lady, 
lonely,  ugly,  and  unprotected — went  up  to  her  respectfully  and 
offered  her  his  arm,  took  her  down  to  his  own  carriage  which  was 
in  waiting,  and  walked  home  himself  in  the  rain, — and  twenty 
years  afterwards  had  ten  thousand  a  year  left  him  by  this  very  old 
lady,  as  a  reward  for  that  one  act  of  politeness.  We  have  all  heard 
that  story ;  nor  do  I  think  it  is  probable  that  you  will  have  ten 
thousand  a  year  left  to  you  for  being  polite  to  a  woman  :  but  I 
say,  be  polite,  at  any  rate.  Be  respectful  to  every  woman.  A 
manly  and  generous  heart  can  be  no  otherwise ;  as  a  man  would 
be  gentle  with  a  child,  or  take  off"  his  hat  in  a  church. 

I  w^ould  have  you  apply  this  principle  universally  towards 
women — from  the  finest  lady  of  your  acquaintance  down  to  the 
laundress  who  sets  your  chambers  in  order.  It  may  safely  be 
asserted  that  the  persons  who  joke  with  servants  or  barmaids  at 
lodgings  are  not  men  of  a  high  intellectual  or  moral  capacity.     To 


SOME    MORE    WORDS    ABOUT    THE    LADIES     617 

chuck  a  still-room  maid  under  the  chin,  or  to  send  off  Molly  the 
cook  grinning,  are  not,  to  say  the  least  of  them,  dignified  acts  in 
any  gentleman.  The  butcher-boy  who  brings  the  leg  of  mutton 
to  Molly,  may  converse  Avith  her  over  the  area-railings ;  or  the 
youthful  grocer  may  exchange  (t  few  jocular  remarks  with  Betty 
at  the  door  as  lie  hands  in  to  her  the  tea  and  sugar :  but  not  you. 
We  must  live  according  to  our  degree.  I  hint  this  to  you,  sir, 
by  the  way,  and  because  the  other  night,  as  I  was  standing  on 
the  drawing-room  landing-place,  taking  leave  of  our  friends  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Fairfax,  after  a  very  agreeable  dinner,  I  heard  a  giggling 
in  the  hall,  where  you  were  putting  on  your  coat,  and  where  that 
uncommonly  good-looking  parlour-maid  was  opening  the  door.  And 
here,  whilst  on  this  subject,  and  whilst  Mrs.  Betty  is  helping  you 
on  with  your  coat,  I  would  say,  respecting  your  commerce  with 
friends'  servants  and  your  own,  be  thankful  to  them,  and  they 
will  be  grateful  to  you  in  return,  depend  upon  it.  Let  the  young 
fellow  who  lives  in  lodgings  respect  the  poor  little  maid  who  does 
the  wondrous  work  of  the  house,  and  not  send  her  on  too  many 
errands,  or  ply  his  bell  needlessly  :  if  you  visit  any  of  your  comrades 
in  such  circumstances,  be  you,  too,  respectful  and  kind  in  your 
tone  to  the  poor  little  Abigail.  If  you  frequent  houses,  as  I  liope 
you  will,  where  are  many  good  fellows  and  amiable  ladies  who 
cannot  afibrd  to  have  their  doors  opened  or  their  tables  attended 
by  men,  pray  be  particularly  courteous  (though  by  no  means  so 
marked  in  your  attentions  as  on  the  occasion  of  the  dinner  at  Mr. 
Fairfox's  to  whicli  I  have  just  alluded)  to  the  women-servants. 
Thank  them  when  they  serve  you.  Give  them  a  half-crown  now 
and  then — nay,  as  often  as  your  means  will  permit.  Those  small 
gratuities  make  but  a  small  sum  in  your  year's  expenses,  and  it 
may  be  said  that  the  practice  of  giving  them  never  impoverished 
a  man  yet ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  they  give  a  deal  of  innocent 
happiness  to  a  very  worthy,  active,  kind  set  of  folks. 

But  let  us  hasten  from  the  hall-door  to  the  drawing-room,  where 
Fortune  has  cast  your  lot  in  life  :  I  want  to  explain  to  you  why  I 
am  so  anxious  tliat  you  should  devote  yourself  to  that  amiable 
lady  who  sits  in  it.  Sir,  I  do  not  mean  to  tell  you  that  there 
are  no  women  in  the  world  vulgar  and  ill-humoured,  rancorous  and 
narrow-minded,  mean  schemers,  son  in-law  hunters,  slaves  of  fashion, 
hypocrites ;  but  I  do  respect,  admire,  and  almost  Avorship  good 
women  ;  and  I  think  there  is  a  very  fair  nund)er  of  such  to  be 
found  in  this  world,  and,  I  have  no  doubt,  in  every  educated 
Englishman's  circle  of  society,  whether  he  finds  that  circle  in 
palaces  in  Belgravia  and  Mayfair,  in  snug  little  suburban  villas, 
in  ancient  comfortable  old  Bloomsbury,  or  in  back  parlours  behind 
18 


618     SKETCHES    AND    TRAVELS    IN    LONDON 

the  shop.  It  has  been  my  fortune  to  meet  with  excellent  Entjlish 
ladies  in  every  one  of  the.se  places — wives  graceful  and  attectionate, 
matrons  tender  and  good,  (laughters  happy  and  pure  minded,  and  I 
urge  the  society  of  such  on  you,  because  I  defy  you  to  think  evil 
in  their  company.  Walk  into  the  drawing-room  of  Lady  Z.,  that 
great  lady  :  look  at  her  charming  lace,  and  hear  her  voice.  You 
know  that  she  can't  but  be  good,  with  such  a  face  and  such  a 
voice.  She  is  one  of  those  fortunate  beings  on  whom  it  has  pleased 
Heaven  to  bestow  all  sorts  of  its  most  precious  gifts  and  richest 
worldly  favours.  With  what  grace  she  receives  you ;  with  what 
a  fra,nk  kindness  and  natural  sweetness  and  dignity  !  Her  looks, 
her  motions,  her  words,  her  thoughts,  all  seem  to  be  beautiful 
and  harmonious  quite.  See  her  with  her  children,  what  woman 
can  be  more  simple  and  loving  ?  After  you  have  talked  to  her  for 
a  while,  you  very  likely  find  that  she  is  ten  times  as  well  read  as 
you  are :  she  has  a  hundred  accomplishments  which  she  is  not  in 
the  least  anxious  to  show  off,  and  makes  no  more  account  of  them 
than  of  her  diamonds,  or  of  the  splendour  round  about  her — to 
all  of  which  she  is  born,  and  lias  a  happy  admirable  claim  of  nature 
and  possession  — admirable  and  hajjpy  for  her  and  for  us  too ;  for 
is  it  not  a  happiness  for  us  to  admire  her?  Does  anybody  grudge 
her  excellence  to  that  paragon  1  Sir,  we  may  be  thankful  to  be 
admitted  to  contemplate  sucii  consummate  goodness  and  beauty : 
and  as  in  looking  at  a  fine  landscape  or  a  fine  work  of  art,  every 
generous  heart  nuist  be  delighted  and  improved,  and  ought  to 
feel  grateful  afterwards,  so  one  may  feel  charmed  and  thankful  for 
having  the  opportunity  of  knowing  an  almost  perfect  woman. 
Madam,  if  the  gout  and  the  custom  of  the  world  permitted,  I  would 
kneel  down  and  kiss  the  hem  of  your  Ladyship's  robe.  To  see 
your  gracious  face  is  a  comfort — to  see  you  walk  to  your  carriage 
is  a  holiday.  Drive  her  faithfully,  0  thou  silver-wigged  coachman  ! 
drive  to  all  sorts  of  splendours  and  honours  and  Royal  festivals. 
And  for  us,  let  us  be  glad  that  we  should  have  the  privilege  to 
admire  her. 

Now  transport  yourself  in  spirit,  my  good  Bob,  into  another 
drawing-room.  There  sits  an  old  lady  of  more  than  fourscore  years, 
serene  and  kind,  and  as  beautiful  in  her  age  now  as  in  her  youth, 
when  History  toasted  her.  What  has  she  not  seen,  and  what  is 
she  not  ready  to  tell  1  All  the  fame  and  wit,  all  the  rank  and 
beauty  of  more  than  half  a  century,  have  passed  through  those 
rooms  where  you  have  the  honour  of  making  your  best  bow.  She 
is  as  simple  now  as  if  she  had  never  had  any  fiattery  to  dazzle  her : 
she  is  never  tired  of  being  pleased  and  being  kind.  Can  that  have 
been  anything  but  a  good  life  which,  after  more  than  eighty  years 


ON    FRIENDSHIP  619 

of  it  are  spent,  is  so  calm'?  Could  she  look  to  the  end  of  it  so 
cheerfully,  if  its  long  course  had  not  been  pure?  Respect  her,  I 
say,  for  being  so  happy,  now  that  she  is  old.  We  do  not  know 
what  goodness  and  charity,  what  affections,  what  trials,  may  have 
gone  to  make  that  charming  sweetness  of  temper,  and  complete  that 
perfect  manner.  But  if  we  do  not  admire  and  reverence  such  an 
old  age  as  that,  and  get  good  from  contemplating  it,  what  are  we 
to  respect  and  admire  ? 

Or  shall  we  walk  througli  the  shop  (while  N.  is  recommending 
a  tall  copy  to  an  amateur,  or  folding  up  a  twopennyworth  of  letter- 
paper,  and  bowing  to  a  poor  customer  in  a  jacket  and  apron  with 
just  as  much  respectful  gravity  as  he  would  show  while  waiting 
upon  a  Duke),  and  see  Mrs.  N.  playing  with  the  child  in  the  back 
parlour  until  N.  shall  come  in  to  tea?  They  drink  tea  at  five 
o'clock  ;  and  are  actually  as  well  bred  as  those  gentlefolk  who  dine 
three  Iiours  later.  Or  will  you  please  to  step  into  Mrs.  J.'s  lodgings, 
who  is  waiting,  and  at  work,  until  her  husband  comes  home  from 
chambers  ?  She  blushes  and  puts  the  work  away  on  hearing  the 
knock,  but  when  she  sees  who  the  visitor  is,  she  takes  it  with  a 
smile  from  behind  the  sofa  cushion,  and  behold,  it  is  one  of  J.'s 
waistcoats,  on  which  she  is  sewing  buttons.  She  might  have  been 
a  Countess  blazing  in  diamonds  had  Fate  so  willed  it,  and  the 
higher  her  station  the  more  she  would  liave  adorned  it.  But  she 
looks  as  charming  while  plying  her  needle  as  the  gTeat  lady  in  the 
palace  whose  equal  she  is,  in  beauty,  in  goodness,  in  high-bred  grace 
and  simplicity  :  at  least,  I  can't  fancy  her  better,  or  any  Peeress 
being  more  than  her  peer. 

And  it  is  with  this  sort  of  people,  my  dear  Bob,  that  I 
recommend  you  to  consort,  if  you  can  be  so  lucky  as  to  meet 
with  their  society— nor  do  I  think  you  are  very  likely  to  find 
many  such  at  the  Casino ;  or  in  the  dancing-booths  of  Greenwich 
Fair  ou  this  present  Easter  Monday. 


ON   FRIENDSHIP 

CHOICE  of  friends,  my  dear  Puibert,  is  a  point  upon  which 
every  man  about  town  sliould  be  instructed,  as  he  should  be 
careful.  And  as  example,  they  say,  is  sometimes  better  than 
precept,  and  at  the  risk  even  of  appearing  somewhat  ludicrous  in 
your  eyes,  I  will  narrate  to  you  an  ailventure  which  happened  to 
myself,  which  is  at  once  ridiculous  and  melancholy  (at  least  to  me), 


620     SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

and  \vliiili  will  show  you  how  a  man,  not  inipnidcnt  or  incautious 
of  his  own  nature,  may  he  made  to  sutler  by  the  imi)rudent  selec- 
tion of  a  friend.  Attend  then,  my  dear  Bob,  to  "  the  History  of 
Rasselas,  Prince  of  Abyssinia." 

Sir,  in  the  year  1810  I  was  a  jolly  yoiuiu;  Bachelor,  as  you  are 
now  (indeed,  it  was  three  years  Ijefore  1  married  your  })oor  dear 
aunt)  ;  I  had  a  place  in  the  Ta])e  and  Sealing- Wax  Ottice ;  I  had 
chambers  in  Pump  Court,  att  troisieme,  and  led  a  not  uncomfortable 
life  tliere.  I  was  a  free  and  gay  young  fellow  in  those  days  (how- 
ever much,  sir,  you  may  doubt  the  assertion,  and  think  that  I  am 
changed),  and  not  so  particular  in  my  choice  of  friends  as  subsequent 
experience  has  led  me  to  be. 

There  lived  in  the  set  of  chambers  opposite  to  mine  a  Suffolk 
gentleman,  of  good  family,  whom  I  shall  call  Mr.  Bludyer.  Our 
boys  or  clerks  first  made  acipiaintance,  and  did  each  other  mutual 
kind  offices :  borrowing  for  their  respective  masters'  benefit,  neither 
of  whom  was  too  richly  provided  with  the  world's  goods,  coals, 
blacking-brushes,  crockery-ware,  and  the  like ;  and  our  forks  and 
sjioons,  if  either  of  us  liad  an  entertainment  in  chambers.  As  I 
learned  presently  that  Mr.  Bludyer  had  been  educated  at  Oxford, 
and  heard  that  his  elder  brother  was  a  gentleman  of  good  estate  and 
rej)utation  in  his  county,  I  could  have  no  objection  to  make  his 
acquaintance,  and  accepted  finally  his  invitation  to  meet  a  large 
game-pie  which  he  had  brought  with  liim  from  the  country,  and  I 
recollect  I  lent  my  own  silver  teapot,  which  figured  handsomely  on 
the  occasion.  It  is  the  same  one  which  I  presented  to  you,  M'hen 
you  took  possession  of  your  jjresent  apartments. 

Mr.  Bludyer  was  a  sporting  man  :  it  was  the  custom  in  those 
days  with  many  gentlemen  to  dress  as  much  like  coachmen  as 
possible  :  in  top-boots,  huge  white  coats  with  capes,  Belcher  necker- 
chiefs, and  the  like  adornments ;  and  at  the  tables  of  bachelors  of 
the  very  first  fashion,  you  would  meet  with  prize-fighters  and  jockeys, 
and  hear  a  great  deal  about  the  prize-ring,  the  cock-pit,  and  the 
odds.  I  remember  my  Lord  Tilbury  was  present  at  this  breakfast 
(who  afterwards  lamentably  broke  his  neck  in  a  steeple-chase,  by 
which  the  noble  family  became  extinct),  and  for  some  time  I  con- 
founded his  Lordship  with  Dutch  Sam,  wiio  was  also  of  the  party, 
and,  indeed,  not  unlike  the  noble  Viscount  in  dress  and  manner. 

My  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Bludyer  ripened  into  a  sort  of  friend- 
shij).  He  was  perfectly  good-natured,  and  not  ill-bred ;  and  his 
jovial  spirits  and  roaring  stories  amused  a  man  who,  though  always 
of  a  peaceful  turn,  had  no  dislike  to  cheerful  companions.  We  used 
to  dine  together  at  coffee-houses,  for  Clubs  were  scarcely  invented  in 
those  days,  except  for  the  aristocracy;  and,  in  fine,  were  very  intimate. 


ON    FRIENDSHIP  621 

Bludyer,  a  brave  aud  athletic  man,  would  often  give  a  loose  to  his 
spirits  of  an  evening,  and  mill  a  Charley  or  two,  as  the  phrase  then 
was.  The  young  bloods  of  those  days  thought  it  was  no  harm  to 
spend  a  night  in  the  watch-house,  and  I  assure  you  it  has  accom- 
modated a  deal  of  good  company.  Autres  temjjs,  mitres  moeurs. 
In  our  own  days,  my  good  Bob,  a  station-house  bench  is  not  the 
bed  for  a  gentleman. 

I  was  at  this  time  (and  deservedly  so,  for  I  had  been  very  kind 
to  her,  and  my  elder  brother,  your  father,  neglected  her  considerably) 
the  favourite  nephew  of  your  grand-aunt,  my  aunt,  Mrs.  General 
MacWhirter,  who  was  left  a  very  handsome  fortune  by  the  General, 
and  to  whom  I  do  not  scruple  to  confess  I  paid  every  attention  to 
which  her  age,  her  sex,  and  her  large  income  entitled  her.  I  used 
to  take  sweetmeats  to  her  poodle.  I  went  and  drank  tea  with  her 
night  after  night.  I  accompanied  her  Sunday  after  Sunday  to  hear 
the  Reverend  Rowland  Hill,  at  the  Rotunda  Chapel,  over  Black- 
friars  Bridge,  and  I  used  to  read  many  of  the  tracts  with  which  she 
liberally  supplied  me — in  fact,  do  everything  to  comfort  and  console 
a  lady  of  peculiar  opinions  and  habits  wdio  had  a  large  jointure. 
Your  father  used  to  say  I  was  a  sneak,  but  he  was  then  a  boisterous 
young  squire ;  and,  perhaps,  we  were  not  particularly  good  friends. 

Well,  sir,  my  dear  aunt,  Mrs.  General  MacWhirter,  made  me  her 
chief  confidant.  I  regulated  her  money  matters  for  her,  and  acted 
with  her  bankers  and  lawyers  :  and  as  she  always  spoke  of  your 
father  as  a  reprobate,  I  had  every  reason  to  suppose  I  should  inherit 
the  property,  the  main  part  of  which  passed  to  anotiicr  branch  of 
the  BrownsI  I  do  not  grudge  it.  Bob  :  I  do  not  grudge  it.  Your 
family  is  large;  and  I  have  enough  from  my  poor  dear  departed 
wife. 

Now  it  so  happened  than  in  June  1811 — I  recollect  the  Comet 
was  blazing  furiously  at  the  time,  and  Mrs.  Mac^Miirter  was  of 
opinion  that  the  world  was  at  an  end— Mr.  Bludyer,  who  was 
having  his  chambers  in  Pump  Court  painted,  asked  permission  to 
occupy  mine,  where  he  wished  to  give  a  lunch  to  some  people  whom 
he  was  desirous  to  entertain.  Thinking  no  harm,  of  course  I  said 
yes ;  and  I  went  to  my  desk  at  the  Tape  and  Sealing-Wax  Ottice 
at  my  usual  hour,  giving  instructions  to  my  boy  to  make  Mr. 
Bludyer's  friends  comfortable. 

As  ill-luck  would  have  it,  on  that  accursed  Friday,  Mrs.  Mac- 
Whirter, who  had  never  been  up  my  staircase  before  in  her  life 
(for  your  dear  grand-aunt  was  large  in  person,  and  the  aiJOjjlexy 
which  carried  her  off  soon  after  menaced  her  always),  having  some 
very  i)articular  business  with  her  solicitors  in  Middle  Temple  Lane, 
and  being  anxious  to  consult  me  about  a  mortgage,  actually  mounted 


f)22  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

my  stairs,  and  opened  the  door  on  wliicli  she  saw  written  the  name 
of  Mr.  Thomas  Brown.  She  was  a  peculiar  woman,  I  have  said, 
attached  to  ,i,daring  coloiu's  in  her  dress,  and  from  her  long  residenec 
ill  India,  seldom  witliout  a  set  of  costly  birds  of  paradise  in  her 
bonnet,  and  a  splendid  Cashmere  shawl. 

Fancy  her  astonishment  then,  on  entering  my  ajjartments  at 
tiiree  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  to  be  assailed  in  the  first  place  by  a 
strong  smell  of  tobacco-smoke  which  pervaded  the  i)assage,  and  liy 
a  wild  and  ferocious  bulldog  which  Hew  at  her  on  entering  my 
sitting-room. 

This  bulldog,  sir,  doubtless  attracted  by  the  brilliant  colours 
of  her  costume,  seized  upon  her,  and  i)inned  her  down,  screaming 
so  that  her  voice  drowned  that  of  Bludyer  himself,  who  was  sitting 
on  the  table  bellowing,  "  A  Southerly  Wind  and  a  Cloudy  Sky  pro- 
claim it  a  Hunting  Morning  " — or  some  such  ribald  trash  :  and  the 
brutal  owner  of  the  dog  (who  w\as  no  other  than  the  fiimous  Mulatto 
boxer,  Norroy,  called  the  "  Black  Prince "  in  tlie  odious  language 
of  the  Fancy,  and  who  was  inebriated  doubtless  at  the  moment), 
encouraged  his  dog  in  the  assault  upon  this  defenceless  lady,  and 
laughed  at  the  agonies  which  she  endured. 

Mr.  Bludyer,  the  black  man.  and  one  or  two  more,  were  arrang- 
ing a  fight  on  Moulsey  Hurst,  when  my  poor  aunt  made  her  appear- 
ance among  these  vulgar  wretches.  Although  it  was  but  three 
o'clock,  they  had  sent  to  a  neighbouring  tavern  for  gin-and-water, 
and  the  glasses  sparkled  on  the  board, — to  use  a  verse  from  a 
Bacchanalian  song  which  I  well  remendier  Mr.  Bludyer  used  to  yell 
forth — when  I  myself  arrived  from  my  ofiice  at  my  usual  hour,  half- 
past  three.  The  black  fellow  and  young  Captain  Cavendish  of  the 
Guards  were  the  smokers;  and  it  appears  that  at  first  all  the 
gentlemen  screamed  with  laughter ;  some  of  them  called  my  aunt 
an  "  old  girl " ;  and  it  was  not  until  she  had  nearly  fainted  that  the 
filthy  Mulatto  called  the  dog  off"  from  the  flounce  of  her  yellow  gown 
of  which  he  had  hold. 

Wlien  this  poor  victim  of  vulgarity  asked  with  a  scream — 
Where  was  her  nephew  1  new  roars  of  laughter  broke  out  from  the 
coarse  gin-drinkers.  "  It's  the  old  woman  whom  he  goes  to  meet- 
ing with,"  cried  out  Bludyer.  "  Come  away,  boys  !  "  And  he  led 
his  brutalised  crew  out  of  my  chandoers  into  his  own,  wdiere  they 
finished,  no  doubt,  their  arrangements  about  the  fight. 

Sir,  wlien  I  came  home  at  my  usual  hour  of  half-past  three,  I 
found  Mrs.  MacWhirter  in  hysterics  upon  my  sofa — the  pipes  were 
lying  al»out— the  tin  dish-covers— the  cold  kidneys— the  tavern 
cruet-stands,  and  wretched  remnants  of  the  orgy  were  in  disorder 
on  the  table-cloth,  stained  with  beer.     Seeing  her  fainting,  I  wildly 


ON    FRIENDSHIP  623 

bade  ray  boy  to  open  the  window,  and  seizing  a  glass  of  water  which 
was  on  the  table,  I  presented  it  to  her  lips. — It  was  gjn-and-water, 
which  I  proffered  to  that  poor  lady. 

She  started  up  with  a  scream,  which  terrified  me  so  I  upset  the 
glass :  and  with  empurpled  features,  and  a  voice  quivering  and 
choking  with  anger,  she  vowed 'she  would  never  forgive  me.  In 
vain  I  pleaded  that  I  was  ignorant  of  the  whole  of  these  disgraceful 
transactions.  I  went  down  on  my  knees  to  her,  and  begged  her  to 
be  pacified ;  I  called  my  boy,  and  bade  him  bear  witness  to  my 
innocence  :  the  impudent  young  fiend  burst  out  laughing  in  my  face, 
and  I  kicked  him  downstairs  as  soon  as  she  was  gone  :  for  go  she 
did  directly  to  her  carriage,  which  was  in  waiting  in  Middle  Temple 
Lane,  and  to  which  I  followed  lier  with  tears  in  my  eyes,  amidst  a 
crowd  of  jeering  barristers'  boys  and  Temple  porters.  But  she  pulled 
up  the  window  in  my  face,  and  would  no  more  come  back  to  me 
than  Eurydice  would  to  Orpheus. 

If  I  gi'ow  pathetic  over  this  story,  my  dear  Bob,  have  I  not 
reason?  Your  great-aunt  left  thirty  thousand  pounds  to  your 
family,  and  the  remainder  to  the  missionaries,  and  it  is  a  curious 
proof  of  the  inconsistency  of  women,  that  she,  a  serious  person,  said 
on  her  death-bed  that  she  would  have  left  her  money  to  me,  if  I 
had  called  out  Mr.  Bludyer,  who  insulted  her,  and  with  whom  I 
certainly  would  have  exchanged  shots,  had  I  thought  that  Mrs. 
MacWhirter  would  have  encouraged  any  such  murder. 

My  wishes,  dear  Bob,  are  moderate.  Your  aunt  left  me  a 
handsome  competency — and,  I  repeat,  I  do  not  grudge  my  brother 
George  the  money.  Nor  is  it  probable  that  such  a  calamity  can 
happen  again  to  any  one  of  our  family — that  would  be  too  great  a 
misfortune.  But  I  tell  you  the  tale,  because  at  least  it  shows  you 
how  important  good  company  is,  and  that  a  young  man  about  town 
should  beware  of  his  friends  as  well  as  of  his  enemies. 

The  other  day  I  saw  you  walking  by  the  Serpentine  with  young 
Lord  Foozle,  of  the  Windsor  Heavies,  who  nodded  to  all  sorts  of 
suspicious  broughams  on  the  ride,  while  you  looked  about  (you  know 
you  did,  you  young  rascal)  for  acquaintances — as  much  as  to  say — 
"See!  here  am  I,  Bob  Brown,  of  Pump  Court,  walking  with  a  lord." 

My  dear  Bob,  I  own  that  to  walk  with  a  lord,  and  to  be  seen 
with  him,  is  a  pleasant  thing.  Every  man  of  the  middle  class  likes 
to  know  persons  of  rank.  If  he  says  he  don't— don't  believe  him. 
And  I  would  certainly  wish  that  you  should  associate  with  your 
superiors  rather  than  your  inferiors.  There  is  no  more  dangerous 
or  stupefying  position  for  a  man  in  life  than  to  be  a  cock  of  small 
society.    It  prevents  his  ideas  from  growing ;  it  renders  him  iutoler- 


(y21<     sketches    and    travels    in    LONDON 

alily  roiic-fited.  A  twopenuy-luilfpeiniy  (Ja'sar,  a  Brummagem  daiidy, 
a  coterie  philosoplier  or  wit,  is  pretty  sure  to  be  au  ass  ;  and,  in  fine, 
I  set  it  down  as  a  maxim  that  it  is  good  for  a  man  to  live  where  he 
can  meet  his  betters,  intellectual  and  social. 

But  if  you  fancy  that  getting  into  Lord  Foozle's  set  will  do  you 
good  or  advance  your  prospects  in  life,  my  dear  Bob,  you  are  woefully 
mistaken.  Tlie  Windsor  Heavies  are  a  most  gentleman-like,  well- 
made,  and  useful  set  of  men.  The  (conversation  of  such  of  them  as 
I  have  had  the  good  fortune  to  meet,  has  not  certainly  insjjired  me 
with  a  respect  for  their  intellectual  qualities,  nor  is  their  life  com- 
monly of  tliat  kind  which  rigid  ascetics  would  pronounce  blameless. 
Some  of  the  young  men  amongst  them  talk  to  the  broughams, 
frequent  the  private  boxes,  dance  at  the  Casinos ;  few  read — many 
talk  about  horseflesh  and  the  odds  after  dinner,  or  relax  with  a  little 
lansquenet  or  a  little  billiards  at  Pratt's. 

My  boy,  it  is  not  with  the  eye  of  a  moralist  that  your  venerable 
old  uncle  examines  these  youths,  but  rather  of  a  natural  philosopher, 
who  inspects  them  as  he  would  any  other  phenomenon,  or  queer 
bird,  or  odd  fish,  or  fine  flower.  These  fellows  are  like  the  flowers, 
and  neither  toil  nor  spin,  but  are  decked  out  in  magnificent  apparel : 
and  for  some  wise  and  useful  purpose,  no  doubt.  It  is  good  that 
there  should  be  honest,  handsome,  hard-living,  hard-riding,  stupid 
young  Windsor  Heavies — as  that  there  should  be  polite  young 
gentlemen  in  the  Temple,  or  any  other  variety  of  our  genus. 

And  it  is  good  that  you  should  go  from  time  to  time  to  the 
Heavies'  mess,  if  they  ask  you  ;  and  know  that  worthy  set  of  gentle- 
men. But  beware,  0  Bob,  how  you  live  with  them.  Remember 
that  your  lot  in  life  is  to  toil,  and  spin  too — and  calculate  how 
much  time  it  takes  a  Heavy  or  a  man  of  that  condition  to  do 
nothing.  Say,  he  dines  at  eight  o'clock,  and  spends  seven  hours 
after  dinner  in  pleasure.  Well,  if  he  goes  to  bed  at  three  in  the 
morning — that  precious  youth  must  have  nine  hours'  sleep,  which 
bring  him  to  twelve  o'clock  next  day,  when  he  will  have  a  headache 
probably,  so  that  he  can  hardly  be  expected  to  dress,  rally,  have 
devilled  chicken  and  pale-ale,  and  get  out  before  three.  Friendship 
— the  Club — the  visits  which  he  is  compelled  to  pay,  occupy  him 
till  five  or  six,  and  what  time  is  there  left  for  exercise  and  a  ride 
in  the  Park,  and  for  a  second  toilette  preparatory  to  dinner,  &c.  1 — 
He  goes  on  Ids  routine  of  pleasure,  this  young  Heavy,  as  you  on 
yours  of  duty — one  man  in  London  is  pretty  nearly  as  busy  as 
another.  The  company  of  young  "  Swells,"  then,  if  you  will 
permit  me  the  word,  is  not  for  you.  You  must  consider  that  you 
should  not  spend  more  than  a  certain  sum  for  your  dinner — they 
need  not.     You  wear  a  black  coat,  and  they  a  shining  cuirass  and 


ON    FRIENDSHIP  625 

monstrous  epaulets.  Yours  is  the  useful  part  in  life  and  theirs 
the  splendiil — though  why  speak  further  on  this  subject?  Since 
the  days  of  the  Frog  and  the  Bull,  a  desire  to  cope  witli  Bulls  has 
been  known  to  be  fatal  to  Frogs. 

And  to  know  young  noblemen,  and  brilliant  and  notorious  town 
bucks  and  leaders  of  fashion,  has  this  great  disadvantage — tliat  if 
you  talk  about  tliem  or  are  seen  with  them  nuich,  you  offend  all 
your  friends  of  middle  life.  It  makes  men  angry  to  see  their 
acquaintances  better  off  than  they  themselves  are.  If  you  live 
much  with  great  people,  others  will  be  sure  to  say  that  you  are  a 
sneak.  I  have  known  Jack  JollifF,  whose  fun  and  spirits  made  him 
adored  by  the  dandies  (for  they  are  just  such  folks  as  you  and  I, 
only  with  not  quite  such  good  brains,  and  perhaps  better  manners 
— simple  folks  who  want  to  be  amused)— I  have  known  Jack 
Jolliff,  I  say,  offend  a  whole  roomful  of  men  by  telling  us  that  he 
had  been  dining  with  a  Duke.  We  hadn't  been  to  dine  with  a 
Duke.  We  were  not  courted  by  givandees — and  we  disliked  the 
man  who  was,  and  said  he  was  a  parasite,  because  men  of  fashion 
courted  him.  I  don't  know  any  means  by  which  men  hint  them- 
selves more  in  the  estimation  of  their  equals  than  this  of  talking  of 
great  folks.  A  man  may  mean  no  harm  by  it — he  speaks  of  the 
grandees  with  whom  he  lives,  as  you  and  I  do  of  Jack  and  Tom 
who  give  us  dinners.  But  his  old  acquaintances  do  not  forgive  him 
his  superiority,  and  set  the  Tufthunted  down  as  the  Tufthunter. 

I  remember  laughing  at  the  jocular  complaint  made  by  one  of 
this  sort,  a  friend,  whom  I  shall  call  INIain.  After  Main  pul)lished 
his  "  Travels  in  the  Libyan  Desert "  four  years  ago,  he  became  a 
literary  lion,  and  roared  in  many  of  the  metropolitan  salons.  He 
is  a  good-natured  fellow,  never  in  the  least  puffed  up  by  his  literary 
success ;  and  always  said  that  it  would  not  last.  His  greatest 
leonine  quality,  however,  is  his  appetite  ;  and  to  behold  him  engaged 
on  a  Club  joint,  or  to  see  him  make  away  with  pounds  of  turbot, 
and  plate  after  plate  of  entrees,  roasts,  and  sweets,  Is  indeed  a 
remarkable  sight,  and  refreshing  to  those  who  like  to  watch  animals 
feeding.  But  since  Main  has  gone  out  of,  and  other  authors  have 
come  into,  fashion — tiie  poor  fellow  comically  grumbles.  "That 
year  of  lionisation  has  ruined  me.  The  people  who  used  to  ask  me 
before,  don't  ask  me  any  more.  They  are  afraid  to  invite  me  to 
Bloomsbury  because  they  fancy  I  am  accustomed  to  Mayfair,  and 
Mayfair  has  long  since  taken  up  with  a  new  roarer — so  that  I  am 
quite  alone  ! "  And  thus  he  dines  at  the  Club  almost  every  day  at 
his  own  charges  now,  and  attacks  the  joint.  I  do  not  envy  the 
man  who  comes  after  him  to  the  liaunch  of  mutton. 

If  Fate,  then,  my  dear  Bob,  should  bring  you  in  contact  witli  a 
2  u 


62()  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

lord  or  two,  eat  their  (liinicrs,  enjoy  their  oonipaiiy,  but  be  mum 
about  them  when  you  go  away. 

And,  tli()ugh  it  is  a  luird  and  cruel  tiling  to  say,  I  would  urge 
you,  my  dear  Bob,  s])ecially  to  beware  of  taking  pleasant  fellows  for 
your  friends.  Choose  a  good  disagreeable  friend,  if  you  be  wise — a 
surly,  steady,  economical,  rigid  fellow.  All  jolly  fellows,  all  delights 
of  Club  smoking-rooms  and  billiard-rooms,  all  fellows  who  sing  a 
ca})ital  song,  and  the  like,  are  sure  to  be  poor.  As  they  are  free 
with  their  own  money,  so  will  they  be  with  yours ;  and  their  very 
generosity  and  goodness  of  disposition  will  prevent  them  from  having 
the  means  of  paying  you  back.  They  lend  their  money  to  some 
other  jolly  fellows.  They  accommodate  each  other  by  putting  their 
jolly  names  to  the  backs  of  jolly  bills.  Gentlemen  in  Cursitor 
Street  are  on  the  look-out  for  them.  Their  tradesmen  ask  for  them, 
and  find  them  not.  Ah,  Bob,  it's  hard  times  with  a  gentleman,  when 
he  has  to  walk  round  a  street  for  fear  of  meeting  a  creditor  there, 
and  for  a  man  of  courage,  when  he  can't  look  a  tailor  in  the  face. 

Eschew  jolly  fellows  then,  my  boy,  as  the  most  dangerous  and 
costly  of  company ;  and  a  2»'02)os  of  bills — if  I  ever  hear  of  your 
putting  your  name  to  stamped  paper — I  will  disown  you,  and  cut 
you  off  with  a  protested  shilling. 

I  know  many  men  who  say  (whereby  I  have  my  private  opinion 
of  their  own  probity)  that  all  poor  people  are  dishonest :  this  is  a 
hard  word,  thougli  more  generally  true  than  some  folks  suppose — 
but  I  fear  that  all  people  nuich  in  debt  are  not  honest.  A  man  who 
has  to  wheedle  a  tradesman  is  not  going  through  a  very  honourable 
business  in  life — a  man  with  a  bill  becoming  due  to-morrow  morn- 
ing, and  ijutting  a  good  face  on  it  in  the  Club,  is  perforce  a 
hypocrite  whilst  he  is  talking  to  you — a  man  who  has  to  do  any 
meanness  about  money  I  fear  me  is  so  nearly  like  a  rogue,  that 
it's  not  much  use  calculating  where  the  difference  lies.  Let  us  be 
very  gentle  with  our  neighbours'  failings,  and  forgive  our  friends 
their  debts,  as  we  hope  ourselves  to  be  forgiven.  But  the  best 
thing  of  all  to  do  with  your  debts  is  to  pay  them.  Make  none ; 
and  don't  live  with  people  who  do.  Why,  if  I  dine  with  a  man  wha 
is  notoriously  living  beyond  his  means,  I  am  a  hypocrite  certainly 
myself,  and  I  fear  a  bit  of  a  rogue  too.  I  try  to  make  my  host 
believe  that  I  believe  him  an  honest  fellow.  I  look  his  sham 
splendour  in  the  face  without  saying,  "You  are  an  impostor." — 
Alas,  Robert,  I  have  partaken  of  feasts  where  it  seemed  to  me  that 
the  plate,  the  viands,  the  wine,  the  servants,  and  butlers  w^ere  all 
sham,  like  Cinderella's  coach  and  footmen,  and  would  turn  into  rats 
and  mice,  and  an  old  shoe  or  a  cabbage-stalk,  as  soon  as  we  were 
out  of  the  house  and  the  clock  struck  twelve. 


MR.  BROWN  THE  ELDER  TAKES  MR.  BROWN 
THE  YOUNGER  TO  A  CLUB 

I 

PRESUMING  that  my  dear  Bobby  would  scarcely  consider 
himself  to  be  an  accomplished  man  about  town,  until  he  liad 
obtained  an  entrance  into  a  respectable  Club,  I  am  happy  to 
inform  you  that  you  are  this  day  elected  a  Member  of  the  "  Polyan- 
thus," having  been  proposed  by  my  friend.  Lord  Viscount  Colchicum, 
and  seconded  by  your  aifectionate  uncle.  I  have  settled  with  Mr. 
Stiff,  the  worthy  Secretary,  the  preliminary  pecuniary  arrangements 
regarding  the  entrance  fee  and  the  first  annual  subscription — the 
ensuing  payments  I  shall  leave  to  my  worthy  nephew. 

You  were  elected,  sir,  with  but  two  black  balls ;  and  every 
other  man  who  was  put  up  for  ballot  had  four,  with  the  exception 
of  Tom  Harico,  who  had  more  black  beans  than  white.  Do  not, 
however,  be  puffed  np  by  this  victory,  and  fancy  yourself  more 
popular  than  other  men.  Indeed  I  don't  mind  telling  yon  (but,  of 
course,  I  do  not  wish  it  to  go  any  further),  that  Captain  Slyboots 
and  I,  having  suspicions  of  the  meeting,  popped  a  couple  of  adverse 
balls  into  the  other  candidates'  boxes  ;  so  that,  at  least,  you  should, 
in  case  of  mishap,  not  be  unaccompanied  in  ill  fortune. 

Now,  then,  that  you  are  a  member  of  the  "  Polyanthus,"  I 
trust  you  will  comport  yourself  with  propriety  in  the  place ;  and 
permit  me  to  offer  you  a  few  hints  with  regard  to  your  bearing. 

We  are  not  so  stiff  at  the  "  Polyanthus  "  as  at  some  Clubs  I 
could  name — and  a  good  deal  of  decent  intimacy  takes  place 
amongst  us. — Do  not  therefore  enter  the  Club,  as  I  have  seen 
men  do  at  the  "  Chokers  "  (of  which  I  am  also  a  member),  with 
your  eyes  scowling  under  your  hat  at  your  neighbour,  and  with 
an  expression  of  countenance  which  seems  to  say,  "  Hang  your 
impudence,  sir.  How  dare  you  stare  at  me  ?  "  Banish  that  absurd 
dignity  and  swagger,  wliich  do  not  at  all  become  your  youthful 
countenance,  my  dear  Bob,  and  let  us  walk  up  the  steps  and  into 
tlie  place.  See,  old  Noseworthy  is  in  the  bow-window  reading 
the  paper — he  is  always  in  the  bow-window  reading  the  paper. 

We  pass  by  the  worthy  porter,  and  alert  pages — a  fifteen- 
hundi'edth  part  of  each  of  whom  is  henceforth  your  paid-for  property 
— and  you  see  he  takes  down  your  name  as  Mr.  R.  Brown,  Junior, 
and  will  know  you  and  be  civil  to  you  until  death. — Ha,  there  is 


628     SKETCHES    AND    TRAVELS    IN    LONDON 

Jawkins,  as  usual :  he  has  nailed  poor  Styles  up  against  a  ])illar, 
and  is  telling  him  what  the  opinion  of  the  City  is  about  George 
Hudson,  Esquire,  and  when  Sir  Roliert  will  take"  the  govern- 
ment. How  d'you  do,  Jawkins? — Satisfactory  news  from  Lidia? 
Gilbert  to  be  made  Baron  Gilbert  of  Goojeraf?  Indeed,  I  don't 
introduce  you  to  Jawkins,  my  poor  Bob  ;  he  will  do  that  for 
liimself,  and  you  will  have  (juite  enough  of  him  before  many  days 
are  over. 

Those  three  gentlemen  sitting  on  the  sofa  are  from  our  be- 
loved sister  island ;  tliey  come  here  every  day,  and  wait  for  the 
Honourable  Member  for  Ballinafad,  who  is  at  present  in  the  writing- 
room. 

I  have  remarked,  in  London,  however,  that  every  Irish  gentle- 
man is  accompanied  by  other  Irish  gentlemen,  who  wait  for  him 
as  here,  or  at  the  corner  of  the  street.  These  are  waiting  until 
the  Honourable  Member  for  Ballinafad  can  get  tliem  three  places 
— in  the  Excise,  in  the  Customs,  and  a  little  thing  in  the  Post 
Office,  no  doubt.  One  of  them  sends  home  a  tremendous  account 
of  parties  and  politics  here,  which  appears  in  the  Ballinafad 
Banner.  He  kiiows  everything.  He  has  just  been  closeted  with 
Peel,  and  can  vouch  for  it  tliat  Clarendon  lias  been  sent  for.  He 
knows  who  wrote  the  famous  pamphlet,  "  Ways  and  Means  for 
Ireland," — all  the  secrets  of  the  jiresent  Cabinet,  the  designs  of 
Sir  James  Graham.  How  Lord  John  can  live  under  those  articles 
which  he  writes  in  the  Banner  is  a  miracle  to  me !  I  hope  he  Avill 
get  that  little  thing  in  the  Post  Office  soon. 

This  is  the  newspaper-room — enter  the  Porter  witli  tlie  evening 
papers — what  a  rush  the  men  make  for  them  !  Do  you  want  to 
see  one  1  Here  is  the  Standard — nice  article  about  the  "  Starling 
Club  " — very  pleasant,  candid,  gentleman-like  notice — Club  com- 
posed of  clergymen,  atheists,  authors,  and  artists.  Their  chief  con- 
versation is  blasphemy  :  they  have  statues  of  Socrates  and  Mahomet 
on  the  centrepiece  of  the  dinner-table,  take  every  opportunity  of 
being  disrespectful  to  Moses,  and  a  dignified  clergyman  al'ways  pro- 
poses the  Glorious,  Pious,  and  Inunortal  Memory  of  Confucius. 
Grace  is  said  backwards,  and  the  Catechism  treated  with  the  most 
irreverent  ribaldry  by  the  comic  authors  and  the  general  company. 
— Are  these  men  to  be  allowed  to  meet,  and  their  horrid  orgies 
to  continue  1  Have  you  had  enough  ? — let  us  go  into  the  other 
rooms. 

What  a  calm  and  pleasant  seclusion  the  library  presents  after 
the  bawl  and  bustle  of  the  newspaper-room  !  There  is  never  any- 
body here.  English  gentlemen  get  uj)  such  a  prodigious  quantity 
of  knowledge  in  their  early  life,  that  they  leave  off  reading  soon 


BROWN  THE  YOUNGER  AT  A  CLUB   629 

after  they  begin  to  shave,  or  never  look  at  anything  but  a  news- 
paper. How  pleasant  this  room  is, — isn't  if?  with  its  sober 
draperies,  and  long  calm  lines  of  peacefid  volumes — nothing  to 
interrupt  the  quiet — only  the  melody  of  Horner's  nose  as  he  lies 
asleep  upon  one  of  the  sofas.  'What  is  he  reading"?  Hah  !  "Pen- 
dennis,"  No.  VII.  Hum,  let  us  pass  on.  Have  you  read  "  David 
Copperfield,"  by  the  way  1  How  beautiful  it  is — how  charmingly 
fresh  and  simple  !  In  those  admirable  touches  of  tender  humour — 
and  I  should  call  humour.  Bob,  a  mixture  of  love  and  wit — who 
can  equal  this  great  genius  1  There  are  little  words  and  phrases 
in  his  books  which  are  like  personal  benefits  to  the  reader.  What 
a  place  it  is  to  hold  in  the  affections  of  men  !  What  an  awful 
responsibUity  hanging  over  a  writer !  What  man  holding  such  a 
place,  and  knowing  that  his  words  go  forth  to  vast  congregations 
of  mankind, — to  gro^mi  folks — to  their  children,  and  perhaps  to 
their  children's  children, — but  must  think  of  his  calling  with  a 
solemn  and  humble  heart !  May  love  and  truth  guide  such  a  man 
always  !  It  is  an  awful  prayer  :  may  Heaven  further  its  fulfilment ! 
And  then.  Bob,  let  the  Record  revile  him. — See,  here's  Homer 
waking  \\\) — "How  do  you  do.  Homer'?" 

This  neighbouring  room,  which  is  almost  as  quiet  as  the  library, 
is  the  card-room,  you  see.  There  are  always  three  or  four  devotees 
assembled  in  it ;  and  the  lamps  are  scarcely  ever  out  in  this  Temple 
of  Trumps. 

I  admire,  as  I  see  them,  my  dear  Bobby,  grave  and  silent  at 
these  little  green  tables,  not  moved  outwardly  by  gi-ief  or  pleasure 
at  losing  or  wnning,  but  calmly  pui-suing  their  game  (as  that  pursuit 
is  called,  which  is  in  fact  the  most  elaborate  science  and  study)  at 
noon-<lay,  entirely  absorbed,  and  philosophically  indifferent  to  the 
bustle  and  tnnnoil  of  the  enormous  working  world  without.  Disraeli 
may  make  his  best  speech;  the  Hungarians  may  march  into  Vienna ; 
the  protectionists  come  in ;  Louis  Philippe  be  restored ;  or  the 
Thames  set  on  fire ;  and  Colonel  Pam  and  Mr.  Tmmpington  Mill 
never  leave  their  table,  so  engaging  is  their  occupation  at  it.  Tlae 
turning  up  of  an  ace  is  of  more  interest  to  them  than  all  the  affairs 
of  all  the  world  besides— and  so  they  will  go  on  until  Death  sum- 
mons them,  and  their  last  trump  is  played. 

It  is  curious  to  think  that  a  century  ago  almost  all  gentlemen, 
soldici-s,  statesmen,  men  of  science,  and  divines,  passed  hours  at 
j)lay  every  day ;  as  our  grandmothers  did  likewise.  The  poor  old 
kings  and  queens  nuxst  feci  the  desertion  now,  and  deplore  the 
present  small  number  of  tlieir  worshippers,  as  compared  to  the 
myriads  of  faithful  subjects  who  seiTed  them  in  past  times. 

I  do  not  say  that  other  folks'  pursuits  are  much  more  or  less 


630  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

futile  ;  but  fancy  a  life  such  as  that  of  the  Colonel — eight  or  nine 
liours  of  sleep,  eight  of  trumps,  and  the  rest  for  business,  reading, 
exercise,  and  domestic  duty  or  attection  (to  be  sure  he's  most  likely 
a  bachelor,  so  that  the  latter  offices  do  not  occupy  him  much) — 
fancy  such  a  life,  and  at  its  conclusion  at  the  age  of  seventy -five, 
the  worthy  gentleman  being  able  to  say,  I  have  si)ent  twenty-five 
years  of  my  existence  turning  up  trumps. 

With  Trumpington  mattei-s  are  different.  Whist  is  a  profession 
with  him,  just  as  much  as  Law  is  yours.  He  makes  the  deepest 
study  of  it — he  makes  every  sacrifice  to  his  pursuit :  he  may  be 
fond  of  wine  and  company,  but  he  eschews  both,  to  keep  his  head 
cool  and  play  his  rubber.  He  is  a  man  of  good  parts,  and  was  once 
well  read,  as  you  see  by  his  conversation  when  he  is  away  from  the 
table,  but  he  gives  up  reading  for  play — and  knows  that  to  jday 
well  a  man  must  play  every  day.  He  makes  three  or  four  hundred 
a  year  by  his  Whist,  and  well  he  may — with  his  brains,  and 
half  his  industry,  he  could  make  a  larger  income  at  any  other 
profession. 

In  a  game  with  these  two  gentlemen,  the  one  who  has  been 
actually  seated  at  that  card-table  for  a  term  as  long  as  your  whole 
Hfe,  the  other  who  is  known  as  a  consummate  practitioner,  do  you 
think  it  is  likely  you  will  come  oft'  a  winner?  The  state  of  your 
fortune  is  your  look-out,  not  theirs.  They  are  there  at  their  posts 
— like  knights  ready  to  meet  all  comers.  If  you  choose  to  engage 
them,  sit  down.  They  will  with  the  most  perfect  probity,  calmness, 
and  elegance  of  manner,  win  and  win  of  you  until  they  have  won 
every  shilling  of  a  fortune,  when  they  will  make  you  a  bow,  and 
wish  you  good-morning.  You  may  go  and  drown  yourself  afterwards 
— it  is  not  their  business.  Their  business  is  to  be  present  in  that 
room,  and  to  play  cards  with  you  or  anybody.  When  you  are 
done  with — Bon  jour.  My  dear  Colonel,  let  me  introduce  you  to 
a  new  member,  my  nephew,  Mr.  Robert  Brown. 

The  other  two  men  at  the  table  are  the  Honourable  G.  Windgall 
and  Mr.  Chanter :  perhaps  you  have  not  heard  that  the  one  made 
rather  a  queer  settlement  at  the  last  Derby;  and  the  other  has 
just  issued  from  one  of  her  Majesty's  establishments  in  St.  George's 
Fields. 

Either  of  these  gentlemen  is  perfectly  affable,  good-natured,  and 
easy  of  access— and  will  cut  you  for  half-crowns  if  you  like,  or  play 
you  at  any  game  on  the  cards.  They  descend  from  their  broughams 
or  from  horseback  at  the  Club  door  with  the  most  splendid  air,  and 
they  feast  upon  the  best  dishes  and  wines  in  the  place. 

But  do  you  think  it  advisable  to  jilay  cards  with  them  ?  Which 
know  the  games  best — you  or  they  1     Which  are  most  likely — we 


BROWN    THE    YOUNGER    AT    A    CLUB       631 

will  not  say  to  play  foul — but  to  take  certain  little  advantages  in 
the  game  which  their  consummate  experience  teaches  them — you  or 
they  1  Finally,  is  it  a  matter  of  perfect  certainty,  if  you  won,  that 
they  would  pay  you  1 

Let  us  leave  these  gentlemen,  my  dear  Bob,  and  go  througli  the 
rest  of  the  house. 


II 

FROM  the  library  we  proceed  to  the  carved  and  gilded  drawing- 
room  of  the  Club,  the  damask  hangings  of  which  are  em- 
broidered with  our  lovely  emblem,  the  Polyanthus,  and  wliich 
is  fitted  witli  a  perfectly  unintelligible  splendour.  Sardanapalus, 
if  he  had  pawned  one  of  his  kingdoms,  could  not  have  had  such 
mirrors  as  one  of  those  in  which  I  see  my  dear  Bob  admiring  the 
tie  of  his  cravat  witli  such  complacency,  and  I  am  sure  I  cannot 
comprehend  why  Smith  and  Brown  should  have  their  persons  re- 
flected in  such  vast  sheets  of  quicksilver ;  or  why,  if  we  have  a 
mind  to  a  sixpenny  cup  of  tea  and  mutfins,  when  we  come  in  with 
muddy  boots  from  a  dirty  walk,  those  refreshments  should  be  served 
to  us  as  we  occupy  a  sofa  much  more  splendid,  and  far  better 
stuffed,  than  any  Louis  Quatorze  ever  sat  upon.  I  want  a  sofa, 
as  I  want  a  friend,  upon  wliich  I  can  rei)ose  familiarly.  If  you 
can't  have  intimate  terms  and  freedom  with  one  and  the  other, 
they  are  of  no  good.  A  full-dress  Club  is  an  absurdity— and 
no  man  ought  to  come  into  this  room  except  in  a  uniform  or 
Court  suit.  I  daren't  put  my  feet  on  yonder  sofa  for  fear  of 
.sullying  the  damask,  or,  worse  still,  for  fear  that  Hicks  the 
Committee-man  should  pass,  and  spy  out  my  sacrilegious  boots 
on  the  cushion. 

We  pass  through  these  double  doors,  and  enter  rooms  of  a  very 
different  character. 

By  the  faint  anil  sickly  odour  pervading  this  apartment,  Ijy  the 
openeil  windows,  by  the  circular  stains  upon  the  marble  tables, 
wliich  indicate  the  presence  of  brandies-and-waters  long  passed  into 
the  world  of  spirits,  my  dear  Bob  will  have  no  difficulty  in  recognis- 
ing the  smoking-room,  where  I  dare  say  he  will  pass  a  good  deal  of 
his  valuable  time  henceforth. 

If  I  could  recommend  a  sure  way  of  advancement  and  profit  to 
a  young  man  about  town,  it  would  be,  after  he  has  come  away  from 
a  friend's  house  and  dinner,  where  he  has  to  a  surety  had  more  than 
enough  of  claret  and  good  things,  when  he  ought  to  be  going  to  bed 
at  midniglit,  so  that  lie  might  rise  fresli  and  early  for  his  morning's 


632     SKETCHES    AND    TRAVELS    IN    LONDON 

work,  to  stop,  nevertheless,  for  a  couple  of  hours  at  the  Clul),  and 
Binoke  in  tliis  room  and  tipi:)le  weak  brandy-and-water. 

By  a  perseverance  in  this  system,  you  Tnay  get  a  number  of 
advantages.  By  sitting  up  till  three  of  a  summer  morning,  you 
have  the  advantage  of  seeing  the  sun  rise,  and  as  you  walk  home  to 
Pump  Court,  can  mark  the  quiet  of  the  streets  in  the  rosy  glimmer 
of  the  dawn.  You  can  easily  spend  in  that  smoking-room  (as  for 
the  billiard-room  adjacent,  how  much  more  can't  you  get  rid  of 
there),  and  without  any  inconvenience  or  extravagance  whatever, 
enough  money  to  keep  you  a  horse.  Three  or  four  cigars  when  you 
are  in  the  Club,  your  case  filled  when  you  are  going  away,  a  couple 
of  glasses  of  very  weak  cognac  and  cold  water,  will  cost  you  sixty 
pounds  a  year,  as  sure  an  your  name  is  Bob  Brown.  And  as  for 
the  smoking  and  tippling,  plus  billiards,  they  may  be  made  to  cost 
anything. 

And  then  you  have  the  advantage  of  hearing  such  delightful 
and  instructive  conversation  in  a  Club  smoking-room,  between  the 
hours  of  twelve  and  three  !  Men  who  frequent  that  place  at  that 
hour  are  commonly  men  of  studious  habits  and  pliil(jsophical  and 
reflective  minds,  to  whose  opinions  it  is  pleasant  and  profitable  t(^ 
listen.  They  are  full  of  anecdotes,  which  are  always  moral  and 
well  chosen ;  their  talk  is  never  free,  or  on  light  subjects.  I  have 
one  or  two  old  smoking-room  pillars  in  my  eye  now,  who  would  be 
perfect  models  for  any  young  gentleman  entering  life,  and  to  whom 
a  father  could  not  do  better  than  entrust  the  education  of  his  son. 

To  drop  the  satirical  vein,  my  dear  Bob,  1  am  compelled  as  a 
man  to  say  my  opinion,  that  the  best  tiling  you  can  do  with  regard 
to  that  smoking-room  is  to  keep  out  of  it ;  or  at  any  rate  never  to 
be  seen  in  the  place  after  midnight.  They  are  very  pleasant  and 
frank,  those  jolly  fellows,  those  loose  fishes,  those  fast  young  men^ 
but  the  race  in  life  is  not  to  such  fast  men  as  these — and  you  who 
want  to  win  must  get  up  early  of  a  morning,  my  boy.  You  and  an 
old  college-chum  or  two  may  sit  together  over  your  cigar-boxes  in 
one  another's  chambers,  and  talk  till  all  hours,  and  do  yourselves 
good  probably.  Talking  among  you  is  a  wholesome  exercitation ; 
humour  comes  in  an  easy  flow ;  it  doesn't  preclude  grave  argument 
and  manly  interchange  of  thought — I  own  myself,  when  I  was 
younger,  to  have  smoked  many  a  pipe  with  advantage  in  the  company 
of  Doctor  Parr.  Honest  men,  with  pipes  or  cigars  in  their  mouths, 
have  great  physical  advantages  in  conversation.  You  may  stop 
talking  if  you  like — -but  the  breaks  of  silence  never  seem  disagree- 
able, being  filled  up  by  the  puffing  of  the  smoke — hence  there  is  no 
awkwardness  in  resuming  the  conversation — no  straining  for  effect 
— sentiments   are  delivered   in   a  grave   easy  manner — the   cigar 


BROWN  THE  YOUNGER  AT  A  CLUB   633 

harmonises  the  society,  aud  soothes  at  once  the  speaker  and  the 
subject  whereon  he  converses.  I  have  no  doubt  that  it  is  from 
the  habit  of  smoking  that  Turks  and  American-Indians  are  such 
monstrous  well-bred  men.  The  pipe  draws  wisdom  from  the  lips  of 
the  philosopher,  and  shuts  up  the  mouth  of  the  foolish  :  it  generates 
a  style  of  conversation,  contcmpktive,  thoughtful,  benevolent,  and 
unaffected :  in  fact,  dear  Bob,  I  must  out  with  it — I  am  an  old 
smoker.  At  home  I  have  done  it  up  the  chimney  rather  than  not 
do  it  (the  which  I  own  is  a  crime).  I  vow  and  believe  that  the 
cigar  has  been  one  of  the  greatest  creature-comforts  of  my  life — a 
kind  companion,  a  gentle  stimulant,  an  amiable  anodyne,  a  cementer 
of  friendship.  May  I  die  if  I  abuse  that  kindly  weed  which  has 
given  me  so  much  pleasiu'e  ! 

Since  I  have  been  a  member  of  that  Club,  what  numbers  of 
men  have  occupied  this  room  and  departed  from  it,  like  so  many 
smoked-out  cigars,  leaving  nothing  behind  but  a  little  disregarded 
ashes !  Bob,  my  boy,  they  drop  off  in  the  course  of  twenty  years, 
our  boon  companions,  and  jolly  fellow  bottle-crackers. — I  mind  me 
of  many  a  good  fellow  who  has  talked  and  laughed  here,  and  whose 
pipe  is  put  out  for  eVer.  Men,  I  remember  as  dashing  youngsters 
but  the  other  day,  have  passed  into  the  state  of  old  fogeys  :  they 
have  sons,  sir,  of  almost  our  age,  when  first  we  joined  the  "  Polyan- 
thus." Grass  gi-ows  over  others  in  all  parts  of  the  world.  Where 
is  poor  Ned  ?  Where  is  poor  Fred  ?  Dead  rhymes  with  Ned  and 
Fred  too — their  place  knows  them  not — their  names  one  year 
appeared  at  the  end  of  the  Club  list,  under  the  dismal  category  of 
"Members  Deceased,"  in  which  you  and  I  shall  rank  some  day. 
Do  you  keep  that  subject  steadily  in  your  mind?  I  do  not  see 
why  one  shouldn't  meditate  ui^on  Death  in  Pall  Mall  as  well  as  in 
a  howling  wilderness.  There  is  enough  to  remind  one  of  it  at  every 
comer.  The-re  is  a  strange  face  looking  out  of  Jack's  old  lodgings 
in  Jermyn  Street, — somebody  else  has  got  the  Club  chair  waich 
Tom  used  to  occupy.  He  doesn't  dine  here  anrl  grumble  as  he  used 
formerly.  He  lias  been  sent  for,  and  has  not  come  back  again — 
one  day  Fate  will  send  for  us,  and  we  shall  not  return — and  the 
people  will  come  down  to  the  Club  as  usual,  saying,  "  Well,  and 
so  poor  old  Brown  is  gone." — Indeed,  a  smoking-room  on  a  morning 
is  not  a  cheerful  spot. 

Our  room  has  a  series  of  tenants  of  quite  distinct  characters. 
After  an  early  and  sober  dinner  below,  certain  habitue's  of  the 
"  Polyanthus  "  mount  up  to  this  apartment  for  their  coffee  and  cigar, 
and  talk  as  gravely  as  Sachems  at  a  Palaver.  Trade  and  travel, 
politics  and  geography,  are  their  discourse — they  are  in  bed  long 
before  their  successors  the  jolly  fellows  begin  their  nigl.-I:  life,  and 
19 


634,     SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

the  talk  of  the  one  set  is  as  different  to  the  conversation  of  tlio 
other  as  any  talk  can  be. 

After  the  grave  old  Sachems,  come  other  frequenters  of  the 
room ;  a  squad  of  sporting  men  verj'  likely — very  solenui  and  silent 
personages  these — who  give  the  odds,  and  talk  about  the  Cu])  in  a 
darkling  undertone.  Then  you  shall  have  three  or  four  barristers 
with  high  voices,  seldom  able  to  sit  long  without  talkmg  of  their 
profession,  or  mentioning  something  about  Westminster  Hall.  About 
eleven,  men  in  white  neckcloths  drop  in  from  dinner-parties,  and 
show  their  lacquered  boots  and  shii-t-studs  with  a  little  complacency 
— and  at  midnight,  after  the  theatres,  the  young  rakes  and  viveurs 
come  swaggering  in,  and  call  loudly  for  gin-twist. 

But  as  for  a  Club  smoking-room  after  midnight,  I  vow  again  that 
you  are  better  out  of  it :  that  you  will  waste  money  and  your  precious 
hours  and  health  there ;  and  you  may  frequent  this  "  Polyanthus  " 
room  for  a  year,  and  not  carry  away  from  the  place  one  single  idea 
or  story  that  can  do  you  the  least  good  in  life.  How  much  you 
shall  take  away  of  another  sort,  I  do  not  here  set  down ;  but  I  have 
before  my  mind's  eye  the  image  of  old  Silenus,  with  purple  face  and 
chalk-stone  fingers,  telling  his  foul  old  garrison  legends  over  his  gin- 
and- water.  He  is  in  the  smoking-room  every  night ;  and  I  feel  that 
no  one  can  get  benefit  from  the  society  of  that  old  man. 

What  society  he  has  he  gets  from  this  place.  He  sits  for  hours 
in  a  corner  of  the  sofa,  and  makes  up  his  parties  here.  He  will  ask 
you  after  a  little  time,  seeing  that  you  are  a  gentleman  and  have  a 
good  address,  and  will  give  you  an  exceedingly  good  dinner.  I  went 
once,  years  ago,  to  a  banquet  of  his — and  found  all  the  men  at  his 

table  were  Polyanthuses :  so  that  it  was  a  house  dinner  in 

Square,  with  Mrs.  Silenus  at  the  head  of  the  table. 

After  dinner  she  retired  and  was  no  more  seen,  and  Silenus 
amused  himself  by  making  poor  Mr.  Tippleton  drunk.  He  came  to 
the  Club  the  next  day  ;  he  amused  himself  by  describing  the  arts  by 
which  he  had  practised  upon  the  easy  brains  of  poor  Mr.  Tippleton — 
(as  if  that  poor  fellow  wanted  any  arts  or  persuasion  to  induce  him 
to  intoxicate  himself),  and  told  all  the  smoking-room  hoAv  he  had 
given  a  dinner,  how  many  bottles  of  wine  had  been  emptied,  and 
how  many  Tippleton  had  drunk  for  his  share.  "  I  kept  my  eye  on 
Tip,  sir,"  the  horrid  old  fellow  said — "I  took  care  to  make  him  mix 
his  liquors  well,  and  before  eleven  o'clock  I  finished  him,  and  had 
him  as  drunk  as  a  lord,  sir  !  "  Will  you  like  to  have  that  gentleman 
for  a  friend  ?  He  has  elected  himself  our  smoking-room  king  at  the 
"  Polyanthus,"  and  midnight  monarch. 

As  he  talks,  in  comes  poor  Tippleton — a  kind  soul — a  gentleman 
— a  man  of  reading  and  parts — who  has  friends  at  home  very  likely, 


BEOWN  THE  YOUNGER  AT  A  CLUB  635 

and  had  ouce  a  career  before  him — and  what  is  he  now  ?  His  eyes 
are  vacant ;  he  reels  into  a  sofa  comer,  and  sits  in  maudlin  silence, 
and  hiccups  every  now  and  then.  Old  Silenus  winks  knowingly 
round  at  the  whole  smoking-room  :  most  of  the  men  sneer — some 
pity— some  very  young  cubs  laugh  and  jeer  at  liim.  Tippleton's 
drunk. 


Ill 

FROM  the  Library  and  Smoking-room  regions  let  us  descend  to 
the  lower  floor.  Here  you  behold  the  Coffiee-room,  where 
the  neat  little  tables  are  already  laid  out,  awaiting  the 
influx  of  diners. 

A  great  advance  in  civilisation  was  made,  and  the  honesty  as 
well  as  economy  of  young  men  of  the  middle  classes  immensely  pro- 
moted, when  the  ancient  tavern  system  was  overthrown,  and  tho.se 
houses  of  meeting  instituted  where  a  man,  without  sacrificing  his 
dignity,  could  dine  for  a  couple  of  shillings.  I  remember  in  the 
days  of  my  youth  when  a  very  moderate  dinner  at  a  rejjutable 
coffee-house  cost  a  man  half-a-guinea  :  when  you  were  obliged  to 
order  a  pint  of  wine  for  the  good  of  the  house ;  when  the  waiter 
got  a  shilling  for  his  attendance ;  and  when  young  gentlemen  were 
no  richer  than  they  are  now,  and  had  to  pay  thrice  as  much  as  they 
at  present  need  to  disburse  for  the  maintenance  of  their  station. 

Then  men  (who  had  not  the  half-guinea  at  command)  used  to 
dive  into  dark  streets  in  the  vicinage  of  Soho  or  Covent  Garden,  and 
get  a  meagre  meal  at  shilling  taverns — or  Tom,  the  clerk,  issued  out 
from  your  chambers  in  Pump  Court  and  brought  back  your  (linner 
between  two  plates  from  a  neighbouring  ham-and-beef  shop.  Either 
repast  was  strictly  honourable,  and  one  can  find  no  earthly  faidt 
with  a  poor  gentleman  for  eating  a  poor  meal.  But  that  solitary 
meal  in  chambers  was  indeed  a  dismal  refection.  I  think  with  any- 
thing but  regret  of  tliose  lonely  feasts  of  beef  and  cabbage ;  and 
how  there  was  no  resource  for  the  long  evenings  but  those  books, 
over  which  you  had  been  poring  all  day,  or  the  ta^-em  vrith  its 
deuced  expen.ses,  or  the  theatre  with  its  vicious  attractions.  A 
young  bachelor's  life  was  a  clumsy  piece  of  wretchedness  then — 
mismanaged  and  ill  economised — ^just  as  your  Temple  Chambers  or 
College  rooms  now  are,  which  are  quite  behind  the  age  in  the  decent 
conveniences  which  every  modern  tenement  possesses. 

An<l  that  dining  for  a  shilling  and  stnitting  about  Pall  Mall 
afterwards  was,  after  all,  an  hypocrisy.  At  the  time  when  the 
"Trois  Fjtres  Proven^aux"  at  Paris  had  two  entrances,  one  into 


636     SKETCHES    AND    TRAVELS    IN    LONDON 

tlie  i»lace  of  the  Palais  Royal,  and  one  into  the  street  hehind,  wlicro 
tlie  sixtirn-sous  dinner-liousL's  are,  I  have  seen  bucks  with  profuse 
tooth{)icks  walk  out  of  these  latter  houses  of  entertainment,  jiass  up 
the  "Trois  Fr^res"  stairs,  and  descend  from  the  other  door  into  the 
Palais  Royal,  so  that  the  people  walking  there  might  fancy  these 
poor  fellows  had  been  dining  regardless  of  expense.  No  ;  what  you 
call  putting  a  good  face  upon  poverty,  that  is,  hiding  it  under  a 
grin,  or  concealing  its  rags  under  a  makeshift,  is  always  rather  a 
base  stratagem.  Your  Beaux  Tibbs  and  twopenny  dandies  can 
never  be  respectable  altogether;  and  if  a  man  is  poor,  I  say  he 
ought  to  seem  poor ;«  and  that  both  he  and  Society  are  in  the  wrong, 
if  either  sees  any  cause  of  shanae  in  poverty. 

That  is  why  we  ought  to  be  thankful  for  Clubs.  Here  is  no 
skulking  to  get  a  cheap  dinner;  no  ordering  of  expensive  liquors 
and  dishes  for  the  good  of  the  house,  or  cowering  sensitiveness  as  to 
the  opinion  of  the  waiter.  We  advance  in  simplicity  and  honesty 
as  Ave  advance  in  civilisation,  and  it  is  my  belief  that  we  become 
better  bred  and  less  artificial,  and  tell  more  truth  every  day. 

Tliis,  you  see,  is  the  Club  Coffee-room — it  is  three  o'clock  ;  young 
Wideawake  is  just  finishing  his  breakfast  (with  whom  I  have 
nothing  to  do  at  present,  but  to  say  parenthetically,  that  if  you 
unll  sit  up  till  five  o'clock  in  the  morning,  Bob  my  boy,  you  may 
look  out  to  have  a  headache  and  a  breakfast  at  three  in  the  after- 
noon). Wideawake  is  at  breakfast — Goldsworthy  is  ordering  his 
dinner — while  Mr.  Nudgit,  whom  you  see  yonder,  is  making  his 
lunch.  In  those  two  gentlemen  is  the  moral  and  exemplification  of 
the  previous  little  remarks  which  I  have  been  making. 

You  must  know,  sir,  that  at  the  "  Polyanthus,"  in  common  with 
most  .Clubs,  gentlemen  are  allowed  to  enjoy,  gratis,  in  the  Coff"ee- 
room,  bread,  beer,  sauces,  and  pickles. 

After  four  o'clock,  if  you  order  your  dinner,  you  have  to  pay 
sixpence  for  what  is  called  the  table — tlie  clean  cloth,  the  vegetables, 
cheese,  and  so  fortli :  before  that  hour  you  may  have  lunch,  when 
there  is  no  table  charge. 

Now,  Goldsworthy  is  a  gentleman  and  a  man  of  genius,  who 
has  courage  and  simplicity  enough  to  be  poor — not  like  some  fellows 
whom  one  meets,  and  who  make  n,  fan/aronnade  of  poverty,  and 
draping  themselves  in  their  rags,  seem  to  cry,  "  See  how  virtuous  I  am, 
— how  honest  Diogenes  is  !  "  but  he  is  a  very  poor  man,  whase  educa- 
tion and  talents  are  of  the  best,  and  who  in  so  far  claims  to  rank 
with  the  very  best  people  in  the  world.  In  his  place  in  Parliament, 
when  he  takes  off  his  hat  (which  is  both  old  and  well  brushed),  tlie 
Speaker's  eye  is  pretty  sure  to  meet  his,  and  the  House  listens 
to  him  with  the  respect  which  is  due  to  so  much  honesty  and  talent. 


BROWN  THE  YOUNGER  AT  A  CLUB   637 

He  is  tlie  c(iiial  of  any  man,  however  lofty  or  wealthy.  His  social 
position  is  rather  improved  by  his  poverty,  and  the  world,  Avhich 
is  a  manly  and  generous  world  in  its  impulses,  however  it  may  be 
in  its  practice,  contemplates  with  a  sincere  regard  and  admiration 
Mr.  Goldsworthy's  manner  of  bearing  his  lack  of  fortune.  He  is 
going  to  dine  for  a  shilling :  he  will  have  two  mutton-cliops  (and 
the  mutton-chop  is  a  thing  unknown  in  domestic  life  and  in  the 
palaces  of  epicures,  where  you  may  get  cutlets  dressed  with  all 
sorts  of  French  sauces,  but  not  the  admirable  mutton-chop),  and 
with  a  due  allowance  of  the  Club  bread  and  beer,  he  will  make 
a  perfectly  wholesome,  and  sufficient,  and  excellent  meal ;  and  go 
down  to  the  House  and  tire  into  Ministers  this  very  night. 

Now,  I  say,  this  man  dining  for  a  shilling  is  a  pleasant  spectacle 
to  behold.  I  respect  Mr.  Goldsworthy  with  all  my  heart,  without 
sharing  those  ultra-Conservative  jiolitical  opinions  wliich  we  all 
know  he  entertains,  and  from  which  no  interest,  temptation,  or 
hope  of  place  will  cause  him  to  swerve :  and  you  see  lie  is  waited 
upon  with  as  much  respect  here  as  old  Silenus,  though  he  order 
the  most  sumptuous  banquet  the  cook  can  devise,  or  bully  the 
waiters  ever  so. 

But  ah.  Bob,  what  can  we  say  of  the  conduct  of  that  poor  little 
Mr.  Nudgif?  He  has  a  bedchamber  in  some  court  unknown  in 
the  neighbourhood  of  the  "  Polyanthus."  He  makes  a  breakfast 
with  the  Club  bread  and  beer ;  he  lunches  off  the  same  supplies — 
and  being  of  an  Epicurean  taste,  look  what  he  does — he  is  actually 
pouring  a  cruet  of  anchovy  sauce  over  his  bread  to  give  it  a  flavour  ; 
and  I  have  seen  the  unconscionable  little  gourmand  sidle  off  to 
the  pickle-jars  wlien  he  thought  nobody  was  observing,  and  poj) 
a  walnut  or  half-a-dozen  of  pickled  onions  into  his  mouth,  and 
swallow  them  with  a  hideous  furtive  relish. 

He  disappears  at  dinner-time,  and  returns  at  half-past  seven 
or  eight  o'clock,  and  wanders  round  the  tables  when  the  men  are 
at  their  dessert  and  generous  over  their  wine.  He  has  a  number 
of  little  stories  about  the  fashionable  world  to  tell,  and  is  not  un- 
entertaining.  When  you  dine  here,  sometimes  give  Nudgit  a 
glass  or  two  out  of  your  decanter,  Bob  my  boy,  and  comfort  his 
poor  old  soul.  He  was  a  gentleman  once  and  had  money,  as  he 
will  be  sure  to  tell  you.  He  is  mean  and  feeble,  but  not  unkind — 
a  poor  little  parasite  not  to  be  unpitied.  Mr.  Nudgit,  allow  me  to 
introduce  you  to  a  new  member,  my  nephew,  Mr.  Robert  Brown. 

At  this  moment,  old  Silenus  swaggers  in,  bearing  his  great  waist- 
coat before  him,  and  walking  up  to  the  desk  where  the  coffee-room 
clerk  sits  and  where  the  bills  of  fare  are  displayed.  As  he  passes, 
he  has  to  undergo  the  fire  of  Mr.   Goldsworthy's  eyes,  which  dart 


638     SKETCHES    AND    TRAVELS    IN    LONDON 

out  at  him  two  tiashes  of  the  most  killin,<j;  scorn.  He  lias  passed  by 
the  battery  without  sinking,  and  lays  liimself  alongside  the  desk. 
Nudgit  watches  him,  and  will  iirescuitly  go  up  smirking  humbly 
to  join  him. 

"Hunt,"  he  says,  "I  want  a  table,  my  table,  you  know,  at 
seven — dinner  for  eight — Lord  Hobanob  dines  with  me — send  the 
butler— What's  in  the  bill  of  fare  1  Let's  liave  clear  soup  and  turtle 
— I've  sent  it  in  from  the  City— dressed  fish  and  turbot,"  and  with 
a  swollen  trembling  hand  he  writes  down  a  pompous  bill  of  fare. 

As  I  said,  Nudgit  comes  up  simpering,  with  a  newspaper  in 
his  hand. 

"Hullo,  Nudg!"  says  Mr.  Sileiuis,  "how's  the  beer?  Pickles 
good  to-day  1 " 

Nudgit  smiles  in  a  gentle  deprecatory  manner. 
"Smell  out  a  good  dinner,  hey,  Nudg?"  says  Dives. 
"  If  any  man  knows  how  to  give  one,  you  do,  answers  the  poor 
beggar.     "  I  wasn't  a  bad   hand  at  ordering  a  dinner  myself,  once. 
What's  the  fish  in  the  list  to-day  ? "  and  with  a  weak  smile  he  casts 
his  eye  over  the  bill  of  fare. 

"Lord  Hobanob  dines  with  me,  and  he  knows  what  a  good 
dinner  is,  I  can  tell  you,"  says  Mr.  Silenus ;  "so  does  Cramley." 
"  Both  well-known  epicures,"  says  Nudgit. 
"  I'm  going  to  give  Hobanob  a  return  dinner  to  his  at  the 
'  Rhododendrum.'  He  bet  me  that  Batifol,  the  chef  at  the  '  Rhodo- 
dendiimi,'  did  better  than  our  man  can.  Hob's  dinner  was  last 
Wednesday,  and  I  don't  say  it  wasn't  a  good  one ;  or  that  taking 
G-rosbois  by  surprise,  is  giving  him  quite  fair  play — but  we'll  see, 
Nudgit.     /  know  what  Grosbois  can  do." 

"  I  should  think  you  did,  indeed,  Silenus,"  says  the  other. 
"I  see  your  mouth's  watering.     I'd  ask  you,  only  I  know  you're 
engaged.      You're    always    engaged,    Nudgit — not    to-day?      Well 
then,  you  may  come  ;  and  I   say,  Mr.    Nudgit,  we'll  have  a  wet 
evening,  sir,  mind  you  that." 

Mr.  Bowls,  the  butler,  here  coming  in,  Mr.  Silenus  falls  into 
conversation  with  him  about  wines  and  icing.  I  am  glad  poor 
Nudgit  has  got  his  dinner.  He  will  go  and  walk  in  the  Park  to 
get  up  an  appetite.  And  now,  Mr.  Bob,  having  showai  you  over 
your  new  house,  I  too  will  bid  you  for  the  present  farewell. 


A  WORD   ABOUT   BALLS   IN   SEASON 

WHEN  my  good  friend,  Mr.  Punch,  some  time  since,  asked 
me  to  comi^ile  a  series  of  conversations  for  young  men  in 
the  dancing  world,  so  that  tliey  might  be  agreeable  to 
their  partners,  and  advance  their  own  success  in  life,  I  consented 
with  a  willing  heart  to  my  venerable  friend's  request,  for  I  desire 
nothing  better  than  to  promote  the  amusement  and  happiness  of 
all  young  people ;  and  nothing,  I  thought,  would  be  easier  than 
to  touch  off  a  few  light,  airy,  graceful  little  sets  of  phrases,  which 
young  fellows  might  adopt  or  expand,  according  to  tlieir  own 
ingenuity  and  leisure. 

Well,  sir,  I  imagined  myself,  just  for  an  instant,  to  be  young 
again,  and  that  I  had  a  neat  waist  instead  of  that  bow-window 
with  wliich  Time  and  Nature  have  ornamented  the  castle  of  my 
body,  and  brown  locks  instead  of  a  bald  pate  (there  was  a  time, 
sir,  when  my  hair  was  not  considered  the  worst  part  of  me,  and 
I  recollect  when  I  was  a  young  man  in  the  Militia,  and  when  pig- 
tails finally  went  out  in  our  corps,  who  it  was  that  longed  to  have 
my  queue — it  was  found  in  her  desk  at  her  death,  and  my  poor 
dear  wife  was  always  jealous  of  lier) — I  just  chose,  I  say,  to  fancy 
myself  a  young  man,  and  that  I  would  go  up  in  imagination  and 
ask  a  girl  to  dance  with  me.  So  I  chose  Maria — a  man  might  go 
farther  and  fare  worse  than  choose  Maria,  Mr.  Bob. 

"My  dear  Miss  E.,"  says  I,  "may  I  have  the  honour  of 
dancing  the  next  set  with  you  ? " 

"The  next  ivhat?"  says  Miss  E.,  smiling,  and  turning  to  Mrs. 
E.,  as  if  to  ask  what  a  set  meant. 

"I  forgot,"  says  I;   "the  next  quadrille,  I  would  say.'' 
"It   is   rather  slow  dancing  quadrilles,"  saj's  Miss  E.  ;    "but 
if  I  must,  I  must." 

"  Well,  then,  a  waltz,  will  that  do  ?  I  know  nothing  prettier 
than  a  waltz  played  not  too  quick." 

"  What ! "  says  she,  "  do  you  want  a  horrid  old  three-timed 
waltz  like  that  which  the  little  figures  dance  upon  the  barrel- 
organs  ?  You  silly  old  creature  !  you  are  good-natured,  but  you 
are  in  your  dotage.  All  these  dances  are  passed  away.  You 
might  as  well  ask  me  to  wear  a  gown  with  a  waist  up  to  my 
shoulders,  like  that  in  which  Mamma  was  married ;  or  a  hoop  and 
high  heels,  like  Grandmamma  in  the  i)icture ;  or  to  dance  a  gavotte 
or  a  minuet.     Things  are  changed,  old  gentleman — the  fashions  of 


6-1.0     SKETCHES    AND    TRAVELS    IN    LONDON 

your  time  are  gone,  and — and  the  bucks  of  your  time  will  go  too, 
Mr.  BroA\ii.  If  I  want  to  dance,  here  is  Captain  Whiskerfield, 
who  is  ready ;  or  young  Studdington,  who  is  a  delightful  i>artner. 
He  brings  a  little  animation  into  (lur  l>alls ;  and  when  he  is  not 
in  society,  dances  every  night  at  Yauxhall  and  the  Casino." 

I  ])ictured  to  myself  Maria  giving  some  such  rei)ly  to  my  equally 
imaginative  demand — for  of  course  I  never  made  tlie  request,  any 
more  than  she  did  the  answer — and  in  fact,  dear  Bob,  after  turning 
over  the  matter  of  ballroom  conversations  jn  my  mind,  and  sitting 
with  pen  and  ink  before  me  for  a  couple  of  hours,  I  found  that  I 
had  nothing  at  all  to  say  on  the  subject,  and  have  no  more  right 
to  teach  a  youth  what  he  is  to  say  in  the  present  day  to  his 
partner,  than  I  should  have  had  in  my  own  boyhood  to  instruct 
my  own  grandmother  in  the  art  of  sucking  eggs.  We  should  pay 
as  much  reverence  to  youth  as  we  should  to  age ;  there  are  points 
in  which  you  young  folks  are  altogether  our  superiors  :  and  I  can't 
help  constantly  crying  out  to  persons  of  my  own  years,  when  busied 
about  their  young  people — leave  them  alone ;  don't  be  always 
meddling  'vnth  their  affiiirs,  which  they  can  manage  for  themselves ; 
don't  l:>e  always  insisting  upon  managing  their  boats,  and  putting 
your  oars  in  the  water  with  theirs. 

So  I  have  the  modesty  to  think  that  Mi:  Punch  and  I  were  a 
couple  of  conceited  old  fogeys,  in  devising  the  above  ])lan  of  com- 
posing conversation  for  tlie  benefit  of  youth,  and  that  young  folks 
can  manage  to  talk  of  what  interests  them,  without  any  prompting 
on  our  part.     To  say  the  truth,  I  have  hardly  been  to  a  ball  tliese 

three  years.     I   saw  the  head   of  the  stair  at  H.E.'s  the  T 

Ambassador  in  Br ne  Square,  the  other  night,  but  retired  with- 
out even  getting  a  sight  of,  or  making  my  bow  to,  her  Excellency ; 
thinking  wisely  that  7non  lait  de  fjoide  et  mon  bonnet  de  miit  much 
better  became  me  at  that  hour  of  midnight  than  the  draught  in  a 
crowded  yjassage,  and  the  sight  of  ever  so  many  beauties. 

But  though  I  don't  go  myself  to  these  assemblies,  I  have  intelli- 
gence amongst  people  who  go  :  and  hear  from  the  girls  and  their 
mammas  what  they  do,  and  how  they  enjoy  themselves.  I  must 
own  that  some  of  the  new  arrangements  please  me  very  much,  as 
being  natural  and  simple,  and,  in  so  far,  su]»erior  to  the  old  mode. 

In  my  time,  for  instance,  a  ball-room  used  to  be  more  than  half- 
filled  with  old  male  and  female  fogeys,  whose  person  stook  up  a 
great  deal  of  valuable  room,  who  did  not  in  the  least  ornament  the 
walls  against  which  they  stood,  and  who  would  have  been  much 
better  at  home  in  bed.  In  a  great  country-house,  where  you  have 
a  hall  fireplace  in  which  an  ox  might  be  roasted  conveniently,  the 
presence  of  a  few  score  more  or  less  of  stout  old  folks  can  make  no 


A  WORD  ABOUT  BALLS  IN  SEASON   641 

difference  :  there  is  room  for  thera  at  the  card-tables,  aud  round  the 
supper-board,  and  the  sight  of  their  honest  red  faces  and  white 
waistcoats  lining  the  walls  cheers  and  illuminates  the  Assembly 
Room. 

But  it  is  a  very  different  ca'se  when  you  have  a  small  hou&e  in 
Mayfair,  or  in  the  pleasant  district  of  Pimlico  and  Tyburn  :  and 
accordingly  I  am  hapi)y  to  hear  that  the  custom  is  rapidly  spreading 
of  asking  none  but  dancing  people  to  balls.  It  was  only  this  morn- 
ing that  I  was  arguing  the  point  with  our  cousin  Mrs.  Crowder,  who 
was  greatly  irate  because  her  daughter  Fanny  had  received  an  in- 
vitation to  go  with  her  aunt,  Mrs.  Timmins,  to  Lady  Tutbury's 
ball,  whereas  poor  Mrs.  Crowder  had  been  told  that  she  could  on 
no  account  get  a  card. 

Now  Blanche  Crowder  is  a  very  large  woman  naturally,  and 
with  the  present  fashion  of  flounces  in  dress,  this  balloon  of  a 
creature  would  occupy  the  best  part  of  a  little  back  drawing  room ; 
whereas  Rosa  Timmins  is  a  little  bit  of  a  thing,  who  takes  up  no 
space  at  all,  aud  furnishes  the  side  of  a  room  as  prettily  as  a  bank 
of  flowers  could.  I  tried  to  convince  our  cousin  upon  this  point, 
this  emhonpoint,  I  may  say,  and  of  course  being  too  polite  to  make 
remarks  personal  to  Mrs.  Crowder,  I  playfully  directed  them  else- 
where. 

"Dear  Blanche,"  said  I,  "don't  you  see  how  greatly  Lady 
Tutbury  wovdd  have  to  extend  her  premises  if  all  the  relatives  of 
all  her  dancers  were  to  be  invited?  She  has  already  fluug  out  a 
marquee  over  the  leads,  and  actually  included  the  cistern — what 
can  she  do  more?  If  all  the  girls  were  to  have  chaperons,  where 
could  the  elders  sit  ?  Tutbury  himself  will  not  be  present.  He  is 
a  large  and  roomy  man  like  your  humble  seiTant,  and  Lady  Tut 
has  sent  him  off  to  Greenwich,  or  the  'Star  and  Garter'  for  the 
night,  where,  I  have  no  doubt,  he  and  some  other  stout  fellows 
will  make  themselves  comfortable.  At  a  ball  amongst  persons  of 
moderate  means  and  large  acquaintance  in  London,  room  is  much 
more  precious  than  almost  anybody's  company,  except  that  of  the 
beauties  and  the  dancers.  Look  at  Lord  Trampleton,  that  enormous 
hulking  monster  (who  nevertheless  dances  beautifully,  as  all  big 
men  do),  when  he  takes  out  his  favourite  partner,  Miss  Wirledge, 
to  i)olk,  his  arm,  as  he  whisks  her  round  and  round,  forms  radii  of 
a  circle  of  very  considerable  diameter.  He  almost  wants  a  room 
to  himself.  Young  men  and  women  now,  when  they  dance,  dance 
really  ;  it  is  no  lazy  sauntering,  as  of  old,  but  downright  hard  work 
— after  which  they  want  air  and  refreshment.  How  can  they  get 
the  one,  when  the  rooms  are  filled  with  elderly  folks ;  or  the  other, 
when  we  are  squeezing  round  the  supper-tables,  and  drinking  up  all 


(U2     SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

the  available  rhampagne  and  seltzer-water?  No,  no;  the  present 
plan,  which  I  hear  is  becoming  general,  is  admirable  for  London. 
Let  there  be  half-a-dozen  of  good,  active,  bright-eyed  chaperons 
and  duennas — little  women,  who  are  more  active,  and  keep  a  better 
look-out  than  your  languishing  voluptuous  beauties"  (I  said  this, 
casting  at  the  same  time  a  look  of  peculiar  tenderness  towards 
Blanche  Crowder) ;  "let  them  keep  watch  and  see  that  all  is  right 
■ — that  the  young  men  don't  dance  too  often  with  the  same  girl,  or 
disappear  on  to  the  balcony,  and  that  sort  of  thing ;  let  them  have 
good  large  roomy  ftimily  coaches  to  carry  the  young  women  home 
to  their  mammas.  In  a  word,  at  a  ball,  let  there  be  for  the  future 
no  admittance  except  upon  business.  In  all  the  affairs  of  London 
life,  that  is  the  rule,  depend  upon  it." 

"And  pray  who  told  you,  Mr.  Brown,  that  I  didn't  wish  to 
dance  myself?"  says  Blanche,  surveying  her  great  person  in  the 
looking-glass  (which  could  scarcely  contain  it)  and  flouncing  out  of 
the  room ;  and  I  actually  believe  that  the  unconscionable  creature, 
at  her  age  and  size,  is  still  thinking  that  she  is  a  fairy,  and  that 
the  young  fellows  would  like  to  dance  round  the  room  with  her. 
Ah,  Bob,  I  remember  that  grotesque  woman  a  slim  and  graceful 
girl.  I  remember  others  tender  and  beautiful,  whose  bright  eyes 
ghtter,  and  whose  sweet  voices  whisper  no  more.  So  they  pass 
away — youth  and  beauty,  love  and  innocence,  pass  away  and  perish. 
I  think  of  one  now,  whom  I  remember  the  fairest  and  the  gayest, 
the  kindest  and  the  purest ;  her  laughter  was  music — I  can  hear  it 
still,  though  it  will  never  echo  any  more.  Far  away,  the  silent 
tomb  closes  over  her.  Other  roses  than  those  of  our  prime  grow 
up  and  bloom,  and  have  their  day.  Honest  youth,  generous  youth, 
may  yours  be  as  pure  and  as  fair ! 

'  I  did  not  think  when  I  began  to  write  it,  that  the  last  sentence 
would  have  finished  so ;  but  life  is  not  altogether  jocular,  Mr.  Bob, 
and  one  comes  upon  serious  thoughts  suddenly,  as  upon  a  funeral  in 
the  street.  Let  us  go  back  to  the  business  we  are  upon,  namely, 
balls,  whereof  it,  perhaps,  has  struck  you  that  your  uncle  has  very 
little  to  say. 

I  saw  one  announced  in  the  morning  fashionable  print  to-day, 
with  a  fine  list  of  some  of  the  greatest  folks  in  London,  and  had 
previously  heard  from  various  quarters  how  eager  many  persons 
were  to  attend  it,  and  how  splendid  an  entertainment  it  was  to  be. 
And  so  the  morning  paper  announced  that  Mrs.  Hornby  Madox 
threw  open  her  house  in  So-and-so  Street,  and  was  assisted  in 
receiving  her  guests  by  Lady  Fugleman. 

Now  this  is  a  sort  of  entertainment  and  arrangement  than  which 
I  confess  I  can  conceive  nothing  more  queer,  though  I  believe  it  is 


A  WORD  ABOUT  BALLS  IN  SEASON   643 

by  no  means  uncommon  in  English  society.  Mrs.  Hornby  Madox 
comes  into  lier  fortune  of  ten  thousand  a  year^ — -wishes  to  be  pre- 
sented in  the  London  world,  having  lived  in  the  country  previously 
— spares  no  expense  to  make  her  house  and  festival  as  handsome 
as  may  be,  and  gets  Lady  Fugleman  to  ask  the  company  for  her 
— not  the  honest  Hornbys,  not  the  family  Madoxes,  not  the 
jolly  old  squires  and  friends  and  relatives  of  her  family,  i^nd  from 
her  county;  but  the  London  dandies  and  the  London  society : 
whose  names  you  see  chronicled  at  every  party,  and  who,  being 
Lady  Fugleman's  friends,  are  invited  by  her  Ladyship  to  Mrs. 
Hornby's  house. 

What  a  strange  notion  of  society  does  this  give — of  friend- 
ship, of  fashion,  of  what  people  will  do  to  be  in  the  fashion  ! 
Poor  Mrs.  Hornby  comes  into  her  fortune,  and  says  to  her  old 
friends  and  family,  "  My  good  people,  I  am  goirig  to  cut 
every  one  of  you.  You  were  very  well  as  long  as  we  were  in 
the  country,  where  I  nught  have  my  natural  likings  and  affec- 
tions. But,  hencefortli,  I  am  going  to  let  Lady  Fugleman  choose 
my  friends  for  me.  I  know  nothing  about  you  any  more.  I 
have  no  objection  to  you,  but  if  you  want  to  know  me  you  must 
ask  Lady  Fugleman :  if  she  says  yes,  I  shall  be  delighted :  if 
no,  Bon  jour." 

This  strange  business  goes  on  daily  in  London.  Honest  people 
do  it,  and  think  not  the  least  harm.  The  proudest  and  noblest  do 
not  think  they  demean  themselves  by  crowding  to  Mrs.  Goldcalf  s 
parties,  and  strike  quite  openly  a  union  between  her  wealth  and 
their  titles,  to  determine  as  soon  as  the  former  ceases.  There  is  not 
the  least  hypocrisy  about  this  at  any  rate — the  terms  of  the  bargain 
are  quite  understood  on  every  hand. 

But  oh,  Bob,  see  what  an  awful  thing  it  is  to  confess,  and  would 
not  even  hypocrisy  be  better  than  this  daring  cynicism,  this  open 
heartlessness — Godlessness  I  had  almost  called  it  ?  Do  you  mean 
to  say,  you  great  folks,  that  your  object  in  society  is  not  love,  is 
not  friendship,  is  not  family  union  and  affection — is  not  truth  and 
kindness — is  not  generous  sympathy  and  union  of  Christian  (pardon 
me  the  word,  but  I  can  indicate  my  meaning  by  no  otlier) — of 
Christian  men  and  women,  parents  and  children, — but  that  you 
assemble  and  meet  together,  not  caring  or  trying  to  care  for  one 
another, — without  a  pretext  of  good-will — with  a  daring  selfisliness 
openly  avowed  ?  I  am  sure  I  wish  Mrs.  Goldcalf  or  the  other  lady 
no  harm,  and  have  never  spoken  to,  or  set  eyes  on  either  of  them, 
and  I  do  not  mean  to  say,  Mr.  Piobert,  that  you  and  I  are  a  whit 
better  than  they  are,  and  doubt  whether  they  have  made  the  calcu- 
lation for  themselves  of  the  consequences  of  what  they  are  doing. 


644     SKETCHES    AND    TRAVELS    IN    LONDON 

But  as  sure  as  two  and  two  make  four,  a  person  giving  up  of 
his  own  accord  his  naturul  friends  and  relatives,  for  the  sake  of 
the  fashion,  seems  to  inc  to  say,  I  acknowledge  myself  to  be 
heartless :  I  turn  my  hack  on  my  friends,  I  disown  my  relatives, 
and  I  dishonour  my  father  and  mother. 


A  WORD   ABOUT   DINNERS 

ENGLISH  Society,  my  beloved  Bob,  has  this  eminent  advantage 
over  all  other — that  is,  if  there  be  any  society  left  in  the 
wretched  distracted  old  European  continent — that  it  is  above 
all  others  a  dinner-giving  society.  A  people  like  the  Germans,  that 
dines  habitually,  and  with  wdiat  vast  appetite  I  need  not  say,  at 
one  o'clock  in  the  afternoon— like  the  Italians,  that  spends  its 
evenings  in  opera-boxes — like  the  French,  that  amuses  itself  of 
nights  with  eati  sucre'e  and  intrigue — cannot,  believe  me,  under- 
stand Society  rightly.  I  love  and  admire  my  nation  for  its  good 
sense,  its  manliness,  its  friendliness,  its  morality  in  the  main — 
and  these,  I  take  it,  are  all  expressed  in  that  noble  institution, 
the  dinner. 

The  dinner  is  the  happy  end  of  the  Briton's  day.  We  work 
harder  than  the  other  nations  of  the  earth.  We  do  more,  we  live 
more  in  our  time,  than  Frenchmen  or  Germans.  Every  great  man 
amongst  us  likes  his  dinner,  and  takes  to  it  kindly.  I  could  mention 
the  most  august  name?  of  poets,  statesmen,  philosophers,  historians, 
judges,  and  divines,  who  are  great  at  the  dinner-table  as  in  the  field, 
the  closet,  the  senate  or  the  bench.  Gibbon  mentions  that  he  wrote 
the  first  two  volumes  of  his  history  whilst  a  placeman  in  London, 
lodging  in  St.  James's,  going  to  the  House  of  Commons,  to  the  Club, 
and  to  dinner  every  day.  The  man  fioiu-ishes  under  that  generous 
and  robust  regimen ;  the  healthy  energies  of  society  are  kept  up  by 
it ;  our  friendly  intercoiu'se  is  maintained  ;  our  intellect  ripens  with 
the  good  cheer,  and  throws  otf  surprising  crops,  like  the  fields  about 
Edinburgh,  under  the  influence  of  tliat  admirable  liquid,  claret. 
The  best  wines  are  sent  to  this  country  therefore ;  for  no  other 
deserves  them  as  ours  does. 

I  am  a  diner-out,  and  live  in  London.  I  protest,  as  I  look  back 
at  the  men  and  diners  I  have  seen  in  the  last  week,  my  mind  is 
filled  with  manly  respect  and  ])leasure.  How  good  they  have  been  ! 
how  admirable  the  entertainments  !  liow  worthy  the  men  ! 

Let  me,  without  divulging  names,  and  with  a  cordial  gratitude, 


A    WORD    ABOUT    DINNERS  6*5 

mention  a  few  of  those  whom  I  have  met  and  who  have  all  done 
their  duty. 

Sir,  I  have  sat  at  table  with  a  great,  a  world-renowned  states- 
man. I  watched  him  during  the  progress  of  the  banquet — I  am  at 
liberty  to  say  tliat  he  enjoyed  it  like  a  man. 

On  another  day,  it  was  a  celebrated  literary  character.  It  was 
beautiful  to  see  him  at  his  dinner :  cordial  and  generous,  jovial  and 
kindly,  the  great  author  enjoyed  liimself  as  the  great  statesman — • 
may  he  long  give  us  good  books  and  good  dinners  ! 

Yet  another  day,  and  I  sat  opposite  to  a  Right  Reverend  Bishop. 
My  Lord,  I  was  pleased  to  see  good  thing  after  good  thing  disappear 
before  you;  and  think  no  man  ever  better  became  that  rounded 
episcopal  apron.  How  amiable  he  was  ;  how  kind  !  He  put  water 
into  his  wine.     Let  us  respect  the  moderation  of  the  Church. 

And  then  the  men  learned  in  the  law :  how  they  dine  !  what 
hospitality,  what  splendour,  what  comfort,  what  wine !  As  we 
walked  away  very  gently  in  the  moonlight,  only  three  days  since, 

from  the s',  a  friend  of  my  youth  and  myself,  we  could  hardly 

speak  for  gi-atitude :  "Dear  sir,"  we  breathed  feiwently,  "ask  us 
soon  again."  One  never  has  too  much  at  those  perfect  banquets — 
no  hideous  headaches  ensue,  or  horrid  resolutions  about  adopting 
Revalenta  Arabica  for  the  future — but  contentment  vnth  all  the 
world,  light  slumbering,  joyful  waking  to  grapple  with  the  morrow's 
work.  Ah,  dear  Bob,  those  lawyers  have  great  merits.  There  is 
a  dear  old  judge  at  whose  family  table  if  I  could  see  you  seated, 
my  desire  in  life  would  be  pretty  nearly  fulfilled.  If  you  make 
yourself  agTeeable  there,  you  will  be  in  a  fair  way  to  get  on  in 
the  world.  But  you  are  a  youth  still.  Youths  go  to  balls :  men 
go  to  dinners. 

Doctors,  again,  notoriously  eat  well ;  when  my  excellent  friend 
Sangrado  takes  a  bumper,  and  saying,  with  a  shrug  and  a  twinkle 
of  his  eye,  "  Video  meliora  proboque,  deteriora  sequor,"  tosses  off 
the  wine,  I  always  ask  the  butler  for  a  glass  of  that  bottle. 

The  inferior  clergy,  likewise,  dine  very  much  and  well.  I  don't 
know  when  I  have  been  better  entertained,  as  for  as  creature  comforts 
go,  than  by  men  of  very  Low  Church  principles ;  and  one  of  the 
very  best  repasts  that  ever  I  saw  in  my  life  was  at  Darlington, 
given  by  a  Quaker. 

Some  of  the  best  wine  in  London  is  gdven  to  his  friends  by  a 
poet  of  my  acquaintance.  All  artists  are  notoriously  fond  of  dinners, 
and  invite  you,  but  not  so  profusely.  Newspaper  editors  delight  in 
dinners  on  Saturdays,  and  give  them,  tlianks  to  the  present  position 
of  Literature,  very  often  and  good.  Dear  Bob,  I  have  seen  the 
mahoganies  of  many  men. 


6-t6  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

Every  evening  between  seven  and  eight  o'cluck,  I  like  to  look  at 
the  men  dressed  for  dinner,  i^eranibulating  the  western  districts  of 
our  city.  I  like  to  see  the  smile  on  their  countenances  lighted  up 
with  an  indescribable  self-imi>ortance  and  good-humour  ;  the  askance 
glances  which  they  cast  at  the  little  street-boys  and  foot-passengers 
who  eye  their  shiny  boots ;  the  dainty  manner  in  which  they  trip 
over  the  pavement  on  those  boots,  eschewing  the  mud-pools  and 
dirty  crossings  ;  the  refreshing  whiteness  of  their  linen  ;  the  coaxing 
twiddle  which  they  give  to  the  ties  of  their  white  chokers — the 
caress  of  a  fond  parent  to  an  innocent  child. 

I  like  walking  myself;  those  who  go  in  cabs  or  broughams,  I 
have  remarked,  have  not  the  same  radiant  expression  which  the 
pedestrian  exliibits.  A  man  in  his  own  brougham  has  anxieties 
about  the  stepping  of  his  horse,  or  the  squaring  of  the  groom's 
elbows,  or  a  doubt  whether  Jones's  turn-out  is  not  better;  or 
whether  something  is  not  wrong  in  the  springs ;  or  whether  he  shall 
have  the  brougham  out  if  the  night  is  rainy.  They  always  look 
tragical  behind  the  glasses.  A  cab  diner-out  has  commonly  some 
cares,  lest  his  sense  of  justice  should  be  injurid  by  the  overcharge 
of  the  driver  (these  fellows  are  not  uncommonly  exorbitant  in  their 
demands  upon  gentlemen  whom  they  set  down  at  good  houses) ;  lest 
the  smell  of  tobacco  left  by  the  last  occupants  of  the  vehicle  (five 
medical  students,  let  us  say,  who  have  chartered  the  vehicle,  and 
smoked  cherocts  from  the  London  University  to  the  playhouse  in 
the  Haymarket)  should  infest  the  clothes  of  Tom  Lavender  who  is 
going  to  Lady  Rosemary's ;  lest  straws  should  stick  unobserved  to 
the  glutinous  lustre  of  his  boots — his  shiny  ones,  and  he  should 
appear  in  Dives's  drawing-room  like  a  poet  with  a  tenui  avend,  or 
like  Mad  Tom  in  the  play.  I  hope,  my  dear  Bob,  if  a  straw  should 
ever  enter  a  drawing-room  in  the  wake  of  your  boot,  you  will  not 
be  much    disturbed   in  mind.      Hark  ye,  in  confidence :    I  have 

seen  *  in  a  hack-cab.     There  is  no  harm  in  employing  one. 

There  is  no  harm  in  anything  natural,  any  more. 

I  cannot  help  here  parenthetically  relating  a  story  which  occurred 
in  my  own  youth,  in  the  year  1815,  at  the  time  when  I  first  made 
my  own  entree  into  society  (for  everything  must  have  a  beginning. 
Bob  ;  and  though  we  have  been  gentlemen  long  before«the  Conqueror, 
and  have  always  consorted  with  gentlemen,  yet  we  had  not  always 
attained  that  haute  vole'e  of  fashion  which  has  distinguished  some  of 
us  subsequently);  I  recollect,  I  say,  in  1815,  when  the  Marquis  of 
Sweetbread  was  good  enough  to  ask  me  and  the  late  Mr.  Ruffles  to 
dinner,   to  meet  Prince  Schwartzenberg  and  the   Hetman   Platoff. 

*  Mr.  Brown's  MS.  here  contains  a  name  of  such  prodigious  dignity  out  of 
tho  •■  P — r-ge,"  that  we  really  do  not  dare  to  print  it. 


A    WORD    ABOUT    DINNERS  647 

Ruffles  was  a  man  a  good  deal  about  town  in  those  days,  and 
certainly  in  very  good  society. 

I  was  myself  a  young  one,  and  thought  Ruffles  was  rather  in- 
clined to  patronise  me  ;  which  I  did  not  like.  "  I  would  have  you 
to  know,  Mr.  Ruffles,"  thought  I,  "that,  after  all,  a  gentleman  can 
but  be  a  gentleman ;  that  thoHgh  we  Browns  have  no  handles  to 
our'  names,  we  are  quite  as  wel  bred  as  some  folks  who  possess 
those  ornaments  " — and  in  fine  I  determined  to  give  him  a  lesson. 
So  when  he  called  for  me  in  the  hackney-coach  at  my  lodgings  in 
Swallow  Street,  and  we  had  thiven  under  the  2^orte-cochere  of 
Sweetbread  House,  where  two  tall  and  powdered  domestics  in  the 
uniform  of  the  Sweetbreads,  viz.,  a  spinach-coloured  coat,  with 
waistcoat  and  the  rest  of  delicate  yellow  or  melted-butter  colour, 
opened  the  doors  of  the  hall — what  do  you  think,  sir,  I  did  1  In 
the  presence  of  these  gentlemen,  who  were  holding  on  at  the  door, 
I  offered  to  toss  up  with  Ruffles,  heads  or  tails,  who  should  pay  for 
the  coach ;  and  then  purposely  had  a  dispute  with  the  poor  Jarvey 
about  the  fare.  Ruffles's  face  of  agony  during  this  transaction  I 
shall  never  forget.  Sir,  it  was  like  the  Laocoon.  Drops  of  per- 
spiration trembled  on  his  pallid  brow,  and  he  flung  towards  me 
looks  of  imploring  terror  that  would  have  melted  an  ogre.  A  better 
fellow  than  Ruffles  never  lived — he  is  dead  long  since,  and  I  don't 
mind  owning  to  this  harmless  little  deceit. 

A  person  of  some  note — a  favourite  Snob  of  mine — I  am  told, 
when  he  goes  to  dinner,  adopts  what  he  considers  a  happy  artifice, 
and  sends  his  cab  away  at  the  corner  of  the  street ;  so  that  the 
gentleman  in  livery  may  not  behold  its  number,  or  that  the  lord 
^ith  whom  he  dines,  and  about  whom  he  is  alw^ays  talking,  may 
not  be  supposed  to  know  that  ]\Ir.  Smith  came  in  a  hack-cab. 

A  man  who  is  troubled  with  a  shame  like  this.  Bob,  is  unworthy 
of  any  dinner  at  all.  Such  a  man  must  needs  be  a  sneak  and  a 
humbug,  anxious  about  the  efffect  which  he  is  to  produce  :  uneasy 
in  his  mind  :  a  donkey  in  a  lion's  skin :  a  small  pretender — dis- 
tracted by  doubts  and  frantic  terrors  of  what  is  to  come  next.  Such 
a  man  can  be  no  more  at  ease  in  his  chair  at  dinner  than  a  man  is 
in  the  fauteuil  at  the  dentist's  (unless  indeed  he  go  to  the  admirable 
Mr.  Gilljcrt  in  Suff"olk  Street,  who  is  dragged  into  this  essay  for  the 
benefit  of  mankind  alone,  and  who,  I  vow,  removes  a  gi-inder  with 
so  little  pain,  that  all  the  world  should  be  made  aware  of  him)— a 
fellow,  I  say,  ashamed  of  the  original  from  which  he  sjirung,  of  the 
cab  in  which  he  drives,  awkward,  therefore  aff"ected  and  unnatural, 
can  never  hope  or  deserve  to  succeed  in  society. 

The  great  comfort  of  the  society  of  great  folks  is,  that  they 
do  not  trouble   themselves  about   your  twopenny  little  person,  as 


()4.S  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

smaller  persons  do,  but  take  you  for  what  you  are  — a  man  kiiull)- 
ami  gooil-natured,  or  witty  and  sarcastic,  or  learned  and  eloquent, 
or  a  good  raconteur,  or  a  very  handsome  man  (and  in  '15  some  of 
the  Browns  were — but  I  am  speaking  of  five-and-thirty-years  ago), 
or  an  excellent  gourmand  and  judge  of  wines — or  what  not.  No- 
body sets  you  so  quickly  at  your  ease  as  a  fine  gentleman.  I  have 
seen  more  noise  made  about  a  knight's  lady  than  about  the  Duchess 
of  Fitzlxittleaxe  herself :  and  Lady  Mountararat,  whose  fiimily  dates 
from  the  Deluge,  entei's  and  leaves  a  room,  with  her  daughters,  the 
lovely  Ladies  Eve  and  Lilith  d'Arc,  with  much  less  pretension  and 
in  much  simpler  capotes  and  what-do-you-call-'ems,  tlian  Lady  de 
Mogyns  or  Mrs.  Shindy,  who  quit  an  assembly  in  a  whirlwind  as  it 
were,  with  trumpets  and  alarums  like  a  stage  king  and  queen. 

But  my  pen  can  run  no  further,   for  my   paper  is  out,   and 
it  is  time  to  dress  for  dinner. 


ON  SOME  OLD  CUSTOMS  OF  THE 
DINNER-TABLE 

OF  all  the  sciences  which  have  made  a  progress  in  late  years, 
I  think,  dear  Bob  (to  return  to  the  subject  from  which  I 
parted  with  so  much  pleasure  last  week),  that  the  art  of 
dinner-giving  has  made  the  most  delightful  and  rapid  advances. 
Sir,  I  maintain,  even  now,  with  a  matured  age  and  appetite,  that 
the  (Unners  of  this  present  day  are  better  than  those  we  had  in  our 
youth,  and  I  can't  but  be  thankful  at  least  once  in  every  day  for 
this  decided  improvement  in  our  civilisation.  Those  who  remember 
the  usages  of  five-and-twenty  years  back  will  be  ready,  I  am  sure, 
to  acknowledge  this  progress.  I  was  turning  over  at  the  Club 
yesterday  a  queer  little  book  written  at  that  jieriod,  which,  I 
believe,  had  some  authority  at  the  time,  and  which  records  some  of 
those  customs  which  obtained,  if  not  in  good  London  society,  at 
least  in  some  companies,  and  parts  of  our  islands.  Sir,  many  of 
these  practices  seem  as  antiquated  now  as  the  usages  deseril^ed  in 
the  accounts  of  Homeric  feasts,  or  Queen  Elizabeth's  banquets  and 
breakftists.     Let  us  be  happy  to  think  they  are  gone. 

The  book  in  question  is  called  "  The  Maxims  of  Sir  Morgan 
O'Doherty,"  a  queer  baronet,  who  api^ears  to  have  lived  in  the  first 
quarter  of  the  century,  and  whose  opinions  the  antiquary  may 
examine,  not  without  profit — a  strange  barbarian  indeed  it  is,  and 


OLD    CUSTOMS    OF    THE    DIXXER-TABLE     649 

one  wonders  that  such  customs  should  ever  have  been  prevalent  in 
our  country. 

Fancy  such  opinions  as  these  having  ever  been  holden  by  any 
set  of  men  among  us.  Maxim  2^— "  It  is  laid  down  in  fashionable 
life  that  you  must  drink  champagne  after  white  cheeses,  water 
after  red.  \  .  .  Ale  is  to  avoided,  in  case  a  wet  night  is  to  be 
expected,  as  should  cheese  also."  Maxim  4.—"  A  fine  singer,  after 
dinner,  is  to  be  avoided,  for  he  is  a  great  bore,  and  stops  the 
■n-ine.  .  .  .  One  of  the  best  rules  (to  put  him  do-mi)  is  to  applaud 
him  most  vociferously  as  soon  as  he  has  sung  the  first  verse,  as  if 
all  was  over,  and  say  to  the  gentleman  farthest  from  you  at  table 
that  you  admire  the  conclusion  of  this  song  very  much."  Maxim 
25. — "You  meet  people  occa.sionally  who  tell  you  it  is  bad  taste  to 
give  champagne  at  dinner— port  and  Teneriffe  being  such  superior 
drinking,"  &c.  &c.  I  am  copying  out  of  a  book  printed  three 
months  since,  describing  ways  prevalent  when  you  were  born.  Can 
it  be  possible,  I  say,  that  England  was  ever  in  such  a  state  1 

Was  it  ever  a  maxim  in  "fashionable  life"  that  you  were  to 
drink  champagne  after  white  cheeses  1  What  was  that  maxim  in 
fashionable  life  about  drinking  and  about  cheese  1  The  maxim  in 
fashionable  life  is  to  drink  what  you  will.  It  is  too  simple  now  to 
trouble  itself  about  wine  or  about  cheese.  Ale  again  is  to  be  avoided, 
this  strange  Doherty  says,  if  you  expect  a  wet  night— and  in  another 
place  he  says,  "The  English  drink  a  pint  of  porter  at  a  draught." — 
What  English  ]  gracious  powers  !  Are  we  a  nation  of  coalheavers  1 
Do  we  ever  have  a  -net  night !  Do  we  ever  meet  people  occasionally 
who  say  that  to  give  champagne  at  dinner  is  bad  taste,  and  that  port 
and  Teneritfe  are  such  superior  drinking?  Fancy  Teneritfe,  my 
dear  boy — I  say  fancy  a  man  asking  you  to  drink  Teneriff"e  at 
dinner ;  the  mind  shudders  at  it — he  might  as  well  invite  you  to 
swallow  the  Peak. 

And  then  consider  the  maxim  about  the  fine  singer  who  is  to  be 
avoided.  What !  was  there  a  time  in  most  people's  memory,  when 
folks  at  dessert  began  to  sing  1  I  have  heard  such  a  thing  at  a 
tenants'  dinner  in  the  comitry ;  but  the  idea  of  a  fellow  beginning 
to  perform  a  song  at  a  dinner-party  in  London  fills  my  mind  with 
terror  and  amazement ;  and  I  picture  to  myself  any  table  which  I 
frequent,  in  Mayfair,  in  Bloomsbury,  in  Belgravia,  _  or  where  you 
will,  and  the  pain  which  would  seize  upon  the  host  and  the  company 
if  some  wretch  were  to  commence  a  song. 

We  have  pa.ssed  that  .savage  period  of  life.  We  do  not  want  to 
hear  songs  from  guests,  we  have  the  songs  done  for  us ;  as  we  don't 
want  our  ladies  to  go  down  into  the  kitchen  and  cook  the  dinner 
any  more.     The  cook  can  do  it  better  and  cheaper.     We  do  not 


6.50  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

desire  feats  of  musical  or  culinary  skill — but  simple,  (]uiot,  easy, 
uniin'teiKliut;  conversation. 

Li  like  manner,  there  was  a  i)ractice  once  usual,  and  which  still 
lingers  here  and  there,  of  making  complimentary  speeches  after 
dinner  :  that  custom  is  happily  almost  entirely  discontinued.  Gentle- 
men do  not  meet  to  compliment  each  other  profusely,  or  to  make 
fine  phrases.  Simplicity  gains  upon  us  daily.  Let  us  be  thankful 
that  the  tiorid  style  is  disappearing. 

I  once  shared  a  bottle  of  sherry  with  a  commercial  traveller  at 
Margate,  who  gave  a  toast  or  a  sentiment  as  he  filled  every  glass. 
He  would  not  take  his  wine  without  this  queer  ceremony  before  it. 
I  recollect  one  of  his  sentiments,  which  was  as  follows :  "  Year  is 
to  'er  that  doubles  our  joys,  and  divides  our  sorrows — I  give  you 
woman,  sir," — and  we  both  emptied  our  glasses.  These  lumbering 
ceremonials  are  passing  out  of  our  manners,  and  were  found  only  to 
obstruct  our  free  intercourse.  People  can  like  each  other  just  as 
much  without  orations,  and  be  just  as  merry  without  lieing  forced 
to  drink  against  their  will. 

And  yet  there  are  certain  customs  to  which  one  clings  still ;  for 
instance,  the  practice  of  drinking  wine  with  your  neighbour,  though 
wisely  not  so  frequently  indulged  in  as  of  old,  yet  still  obtains,  and 
I  trust  will  never  be  abolished.  For  though,  in  the  old  time,  when 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Fogey  had  sixteen  friends  to  dinner,  it  became  an 
unsupportable  corvee  for  Mr.  F.  to  ask  sixteen  persons  to  drink  wine, 
and  a  painful  task  for  Mrs.  Fogey  to  be  called  upon  to  bow  to  ten 
gentlemen,  who  desired  to  have  the  honour  to  drink  her  health, 
yet,  employed  in  moderation,  that  ancient  custom  of  challenging 
your  friends  to  drink  is  a  kindly  and  hearty  old  usage,  and  produc- 
tive of  many  most  beneficial  results. 

I  have  known  a  man  of  a  modest  and  reserved  turn  (just  like 
your  old  uncle,  dear  Bol),  as  no  doubt  you  were  going  to  remark), 
when  asked  to  drink  by  the  host,  suddenly  lighten  up,  toss  off"  his 
glass,  get  confidence,  and  begin  to  talk  right  and  left.  He  wanted 
but  the  spur  to  set  liim  going.  It  is  supplied  by  the  butler  at  the 
back  of  his  chair. 

It  sometimes  happens,  again,  that  a  host's  conversational  powers 
are  not  brilliant.  I  own  that  I  could  point  out  a  few  such  whom 
I  have  the  honour  to  name  among  my  friends — gentlemen,  in  fact, 
who  wisely  hold  their  tongues  because  they  have  nothing  to  say 
which  is  worth  the  hearing  or  the  telling,  and  properly  confine 
themselves  to  the  carving  of  the  mutton  and  the  ordering  of  the 
wines.  Such  men,  manifestly,  should  always  be  allowed,  nay,  en- 
couraged, to  ask  their  guests  to  take  wine.  In  putting  that  question, 
they  show  their  good-will,  and  cannot  possibly  betray  their  mental 


OLD    CUSTOMS    OF    THE    DINNER-TABLE     651 

deficiency.  For  example,  let  us  suppose  Jones,  who  has  been  per- 
fectly silent  all  dinner-time,  oppressed,  doubtless,  by  that  awful 
Lady  Tiara,  who  sits  swelling  on  his  right  hand,  suddenly  rallies, 
singles  me  out,  and  with  a  loud  cheering  voice  cries,  "  Brown,  my 
boy,  a  glass  of  wine."  I  reply,  "  With  pleasure,  my  dear  Jones." 
He  responds  as  quick  as  thought,  "  Shall  it  be  hock  or  champagne, 
Brown  1"  I  mention  the  wine  which  I  prefer.  He  calls  to  the 
butler,  and  says,  "  Some  champagne  or  hock  "  (as  the  case  may  be, 
for  I  don't  choose  to  commit  myself), — "  some  champagne  or  hock 
to  Mr.  Brown  ;  "  and  finally  he  says,  "  Good  health  !  "  in  a  pleasant 
tone.  Thus  you  see,  Jones,  though  not  a  conversationist,  l»is  had 
the  opportunity  of  making  no  less  than  four  observations,  which,  if 
not  brilliant  or  witty,  are  yet  manly,  sensible,  and  agTeeable.  And 
I  defy  any  man  in  the  metropolis,  be  he  the  most  accomplished,  the 
most  learned,  the  wisest,  or  the  most  eloquent,  to  say  more  than 
Jones  upon  a  similar  occasion. 

If  you  have  had  a  difference  with  a  man,  and  are  desirous  to 
make  it  up,  how  pleasant  it  is  to  take  wine  with  him.  Nothing  is 
said  but  that  simple  phrase  which  has  just  been  uttered  hy  my 
friend  Jones ;  and  yet  it  means  a  gi-eat  deal.  The  cvip  is  a  symbol 
of  reconciliation.  The  other  party  drinks  up  your  good-will  as  you 
accept  his  token  of  returning  friendship — and  thus  the  liquor  is 
hallowed  which  Jones  has  paid  for :  and  I  like  to  think  that  the 
grape  which  grew  by  Rhine  or  Rhone  was  born  and  ripened  under 
the  smi  there,  so  as  to  be  the  means  of  bringing  two  good  fellows 
together.  I  once  heard  the  head  physician  of  a  Hydropathic  esta- 
blishment on  the  sunny  banks  of  the  first-named  river,  give  the 
health  of  his  Majesty  the  King  of  Prussia,  and,  calling  upon  the 
company  to  receive  that  august  toast  with  a  "  donnerndes  Lebehoch," 
toss  off'  a  bumpei'  of  sparkling  water.  It  did  not  seem  to  me  a 
genuine  enthusiasm.  Noj  no,  let  us  have  toast  and  wine,  not  toast 
and  water.  It  was  not  in  vain  that  gi-apes  grew  on  the  hills  of 
Father  Rhine. 

One  seldom  asks  ladies  now  to  take  wine, — except  wlien,  in  a 
confidential  wliisper  to  the  charming  creature  whom  you  have  Ijrought 
down  to  dinner,  you  humbly  ask  permission  to  pledge  her,  and  she 
delicately  touches  her  glass,  with  a  fascinating  smile,  in  reply  to 
your  glance, — a  smile,  you  rogue,  which  goes  to  your  heart.  I  say, 
one  does  not  ask  ladies  any  more  to  take  wine :  and  I  think,  this 
custom  being  abolished,  the  contrary  practice  should  be  introduced, 
and  that  the  ladies  should  ask  the  gentlemen.  I  know  one  who 
did,  line  (jrande  dame  de  jxir  le  inonde,  as  honest  Brantomc  phrases 
it,- and. from  whom  I  deserved  no  such  kindness;  but,  sir,  the  eff'ect 
of  that  graceful  act  of  hospitality  was  such,  that  she  made  a  grateful 


652     SKETCHES    AND    TRAVELS    IN    LONDON 

slave,  for  ever  of  one  who  was  an  adiuiriug  rebel  previously,  who 
woiilil  do  anything  to  show  his  gratitude,  and  who  now  knows 
no  greater  delight  than  when  he  receives  a  card  which  bears  her 
respected  name.* 

A  dinner  of  men  is  w(>ll  novv-  and  again,  but  few  well-regulated 
minds  relish  a  dinner  without  wonren.  There  are  some  wretches 
who,  I  believe,  still  meet  together  for  the  sake  of  what  is  called 
'•the  spread,"  who  dine  each  other  round  and  round,  and  have 
horrid  delights  in  turtle,  early  peas,  and  other  culinary  luxuries — 
but  I  pity  the  condition  as  I  avoid  the  banquets  of  those  men. 
The  oiily  substitute  for  ladies  at  dinners,  or  consolation  for  want 
of  them,  is — smoking.  Cigars,  introduced  with  the  coffee,  do,  if 
anything  can,  make  us  forget  the  absence  of  the  other  sex.  But 
what  a  substitute  is  that  for  her  wlio  doubles  our  joys,  and  divides 
our  griefs — for  woman  !  as  my  friend  the  traveller  said. 


GREAT   AND   LITTLE   DINNERS 

IT  has  been  said,  dear  Bob,  that  I  have  seen  the  mahoganies  of 
many  men,  and  it  is  with  no  small  feeling  of  pride  and  gratitude 
that  I  am  enabled  to  declare  also,  that  I  hardly  remember  in 
my  life  to  have  had  a  bad  dinner.  Would  to  Heaven  that  all 
mortal  men  could  say  likewise  !  Indeed,  and  in  the  presence  of  so 
much  want  and  misery  as  pass  under  our  ken  daily,  it  is  with  a 
feeling  of  something  like  shame  and  humiliation  that  I  make  the 
avowal*:  but  I  have  robbed  no  man  of  his  meal  that  I  know  of, 
and  am  here  speaking  of  very  humble  as  well  as  very  grand 
banquets,  the  which  I  maintain  are,  when  there  is  a  sufficiency, 
almost  always  good. 

Yes,  all  dinners  are  good,  from  a  shilling  upwards.  The  plate 
of  boiled  beef  which  Mary,  the  neat-handed  waitress,  brings  or  used 
to  bring  you  in  the  Old  Bailey — I  say  used,  for,  ah  me  !  I  speak 
of  years  long  past,  when  the  cheeks  of  Mary  were  as  blooming  as 
the  carrots  which  she  brought  up  with  the  beef,  and  she  may  be 
a  grandmother  by  this  time,  or  a  pallid  ghost,  far  out  of  the  regions 
of  beef ; — from  the  shilling  dinner  of  beef  and  carrots  to  the  grandest 
banquet  of  the  season — everything  is  good.  There  are  no  degrees 
in  eating,  I  mean  that  mutton  is  as  good  as  venison — beefsteak,  if 
you  are  hungry,  as  good  as  turtle — bottled  ale,  if  you  like  it,  to 

*  Upon  my  word,  Mr.  Brown,  tliis  is  too  broad  a  liint. — Punch. 


GREAT    AND    LITTLE    DINNERS  653 

the  full  as  good  as  champagne ; — there  is  no  delicacy  in  the  world 
which  Monsieur  Francatelli  or  Monsieur  Soyer  can  produce,  which 
I  beheve  to  be  better  than  toasted  cheese.  I  have  seen  a  dozen  of 
epicures  at  a  grand  table  forsake  every  French  and  Itahan  deUcacy 
for  boiled  leg  of  pork  and  pease-pudding.  You  can  but  be  hungry, 
and  eat  and  be  happy. 

What  is  the  moral  I  would  deduce  from  this  truth,  if  truth  it 
be  ?  I  would  have  a  great  deal  more  hospitality  practised  than  is 
common  among  us— more  hospitality  and  less  show.  Properly  con- 
sidered, the  quality  of  dinner  is  twice  blest :  it  blesses  him  that 
gives,  and  him  that  takes :  a  dinner  with  friendliness  is  the  best 
of  all  friendly  meetings — a  pompous  entertainment,  where  no  love 
is,  the  least  satisfactory. 

Why,  then,  do  we  of  the  middle  classes  persist  in  giving  enter- 
tainments so  costly,  and  beyond  our  means  1  This  will  be  read  by 
many  mortals,  who  are  aware  that  they  live  on  leg  of  mutton  them- 
selves, or,  worse  than  this,  have  what  are  called  meat  teas,  than 
which  I  cannot  conceive  a  more  odious  custom;  that  ordinarily 
they  are  very  sober  in  their  way  of  life ;  that  they  like  in  reality 
that  leg  of  mutton  better  than  the  condiments  of  that  doubtftd 
French  artist  who  comes  from  the  pastrycook's,  and  presides  over 
the  mysterious  stewpans  in  the  kitchen  ;  why,  then,  on  their  com- 
pany dinners,  should  they  flare  up  in  the  ma,gnificent  manner  in 
which  they  universally  do  ? 

Everybody  has  the  same  dinner  in  London,  and  the  same  soup, 
saddle  of  mutton,  boiled  fowls  and  tongue,  enti-ees,  champagne,  and 
so  forth.  I  own  myself  to  being  no  better  nor  worse  than  my 
neighbours  in  this  respect,  and  rush  off  to  the  confectioners'  for 
sweets,  &c.;  hire  sham  butlers  and  attendants;  have  a  fellow  going 
round  the  table  with  still  and  dry  champagne,  as  if  I  knew  his 
name,  and  it  was  my  custom  to  drink  those  wines  every  day  of 
my  life.  I  am  as  bad  as  my  neighbours  :  but  why  are  we  so  bad, 
I  ask  ? — why  are  we  not  more  reasonable  ? 

If  we  receive  verj'  great  men  or  ladies  at  our  houses,  I  vnW  lay 
a  wager  that  they  will  select  mutton  and  gooseberry  tart  for  their 
dinner  :  forsaking  the  entrees  which  the  men  in  white  Berlin  gloves 
are  handing  round  in  the  Birmingham  plated  dishes.  Asking  lords 
and  ladi&s,  who  have  great  establishments  of  their  own,  to  French 
dinners  and  dehcacies,  is  like  inviting  a  grocer  to  a  meal  of  figs, 
or  a  pastrycook  to  a  banquet  of  raspbeiTy  tarts.  They  have  had 
enough  of  them.  And  great  folks,  if  they  like  you,  take  no  count 
of  your  feasts,  and  grand  preparations,  and  can  but  eat  mutton 
like  men. 

One   cannot  have   sumptuary   laws   nowadays,   cr    restrict  the 


651.  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

gastronoiuii-al  more  than  auj'  other  trade :  but  I  wish  a  check 
coukl  be  put  upon  our  dinner  extravagances  by  some  means,  and 
am  confident  that  the  pleasures  of  life  would  greatly  be  increased 
by  moderation.  A  man  might  give  two  diimers  for  one,  according 
to  the  present  pattern.  Half  your  money  is  swallowed  up  in  a 
dessert,  which  nobody  wants  in  the  least,  and  which  I  always 
grudge  to  see  arriving  at  the  end  of  i)lenty.  Services  of  culinary 
kickshaws  swallow  up  money,  and  give  nobody  i)leasiire,  except  the 
pastrycook,  whom  they  enrich.  Everybody  entertains  as  if  he  had 
three  or  four  thousand  a  year. 

Some  one  Avith  a  voice  jiotential  should  cry  out  against  this  over- 
wdielming  luxury.  What  is  mere  decency  in  a  very  wealthy  man 
is  absurdity — nay,  wickedness — in  a  poor  one ;  a  frog  by  nature, 
I  am  an  insane  silly  creature  to  attempt  to  swell  myself  to  the  size 
of  the  ox,  my  neighbour.  Oh  that  I  could  establish  in  the  middle 
classes  of  London  an  Anti-entree  and  Anti-dessert  movement !  I 
would  go  down  to  posterity  not  ill  deserving  of  my  country  in  such 
a  case,  and  might  be  ranked  among  the  social  benefactors.  Let  us 
have  a  meeting  at  Willis's  Rooms,  Ladies  and  Gentlemen,  for  the  i)ur- 
pose,  and  get  a  few  pliilanthropists,  philosophers,  and  bishops  or  so, 
to  speak !  As  people,  in  former  days,  refused  to  take  sugar,  let  us 
get  up  a  society  Avhich  shall  decline  to  eat  dessert  and  made  dishes.* 

In  this  way,  I  say,  every  man  who  now  gives  a  dinner  might 
give  two ;  and  take  in  a  host  of  poor  friends  and  relatives,  who 
are  now  excluded  from  his  hospitality.  For  diimers  are  given 
mostly  in  the  middle  classes  by  way  of  revenge ;  and  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Thompson  ask  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Johnson,  because  the  latter  have  asked 
them.  A  man  at  this  rate  who  gives  four  dinners  of  twenty  persons 
in  the  com'se  of  the  season,  each  dimier  costing  him  something  very 
near  upon  thirty  pounds,  receives  in  return,  we  will  say,  forty 
dinners  from  the  friends  whom  he  has  himself  invited.  That  is, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Johnson  pay  a  hvmdrcd  and  twenty  pounds,  as  do 
all  their  friends,  for  forty-four  dinners  of  which  they  partake.  So 
that  they  may  calculate  that  every  time  they  dine  with  their 
respective  friends,  they  pay  about  twenty-eight  shillings  per  tete. 
W^hat  a  sum  this  is,  dear  Johnson,  for  you  and  me  to  spend  upon 
our  waistcoats  !  What  does  poor  Mrs.  Johnson  care  for  all  these 
garish  splendours,  who  has  had  her  dinner  at  two  with  her  dear 
children  in  the  nursery  1  Our  custom  is  not  hospitality  or  pleasure, 
but  to  be  able  to  cut  off"  a  certain  number  of  acquaintance  from  the 
dining  list. 

*  Mr.  Brown  here  enumerates  three  entries  which  he  confesses  he  can  not 
resist,  and  likewise  preserved  cherries  at  dessert :  but  the  principle  is  good, 
though  the  man  is  weak. 


.    GEEAT    AND    LITTLE    DINNERS  655 

One  of  these  dinners  of  twenty,  again,  is  scarcely  ever  pleasant 
as  far  as  regards  society.  You  may  chance  to  get  near  a  pleasant 
neighbour  and  neighbouress,  when  your  corner  of  the  table  is 
possibly  comfortable.  But  there  can  be  no  general  conversation. 
Twenty  people  cannot  engage  together  in  talk.  You  would  want 
a  speaking-trumpet  to  communicate  from  your  place  by  the  lady  of 
the  house  (for  I  wish  to  give  my  respected  reader  the  place  of 
honour)  to  the  lady  at  the  opposite  corner  at  the  right  of  the  host. 
If  you  have  a  joke  or  a  mot  to  make,  you  cannot  utter  it  before 
such  a  crowd.  A  joke  is  nothing  which  can  only  get  a  laugh  out 
of  a  third  part  of  the  company.  The  most  eminent  wags  of  my 
acquaintance  are  dumb  in  these  great  parties ;  and  your  raconteur 
or  story-teller,  if  lie  is  prudent,  will  invariably  hold  his  tongue. 
For  what  can  be  more  odious  than  to  be  compelled  to  tell  a  stoiy  at 
the  top  of  your  voice,  to  be  called  on  to  repeat  it  for  the  benefit  of 
a  distant  person  who  has  only  heard  a  part  of  the  anecdote  ?  There 
are  stories  of  mine  which  would  fail  utterly  were  they  narrated  in 
any  but  an  undertone ;  others  in  which  I  laugh,  am  overcome  by 
emotion,  and  so  forth — Avhat  I  call  my  intimes  stories.  Now  it  is 
impossible  to  do  justice  to  these  except  in  the  midst  of  a  general 
hush,  and  in  a  small  circle ;  so  that  I  am  commonly  silent.  And 
as  no  anecdote  is  positively  new  in  a  party  of  twenty,  the  chances 
are  so  much  against  you  that  somebody  should  have  heard  the  story 
Ijefore,  in  which  case  you  are  done. 

In  these  large  assemblies,  a  wit,  then,  is  of  no  use,  and  does  not 
have  a  chance  :  a  i^aconteur  does  not  get  a  fair  hearing,  and  both  of 
these  real  ornaments  of  a  dinner-table  are  thus  utterly  thrown  away. 
I  have  seen  Jack  JoUiffe,  wlio  can  keep  a  table  of  eight  or  ten 
persons  in  a  roar  of  laughter  for  four  hours,  remain  utterly  mute  in 
a  great  entertainment,  smothered  by  the  numbers  and  the  dowager 
on  each  side  of  him  :  and  Tom  Yarnold,  the  most  eminent  of  con- 
versationists, sit  through  a  dinner  as  dumb  as  the  footman  behind 
him.  They  do  not  care  to  joke,  unless  there  is  a  sympathising 
society,  and  prefer  to  be  silent  rather  than  throw  their  good  things 
away. 

What  I  would  recommend,  then,  with  all  my  power,  is,  that 
flinners  should  be  more  simple,  more  frequent,  and  should  comprise 
fewer  persons.  Ten  is  the  utmost  number  that  a  man  of  moderate 
means  should  ever  invite  to  his  table ;  although  in  a  great  house, 
managed  by  a  great  establishment,  the  case  may  be  different.  A 
man  and  woman  may  look  as  if  they  were  glad  to  see  ten  people  : 
l)ut  in  a  gi'cat  dinner  they  abdicate  their  position  as  host  and 
hostess, — are  mere  creatures  in  the  hands  of  the  sham  butlers,  sham 
footmen,  and  tall  confectioners'  emissaries  who  crowd  the  room, — 


656     SKETCHES    AND    TRAVELS    IN    LOND.ON 

and  are  guests  at  their  own  table,  where  they  are  lielped  last,  and 
of  which  they  occupy  the  top  and  bottom.  I  have  marked  many 
a  lady  watching  with  timid  glances  the  large  artificial  major-domo, 
who  officiates  for- that  night  only,  and  thought  to  myself,  "Ah,, 
my  dear  madam,  how  much  happier  might  we  all  be  if  there  were 
liut  half  the  splendoiu",  half  the  made  dishes,  and  half  the  company 
assembled." 

If  any  dinner-giving  person  who  reads  this  shall  be  induced  by 
my  representations  to  pause  in  his  present  career,  to  cut  off  some 
of  the  luxuries  of  his  table,  and  instead  of  giving  one  enormous 
feast  to  twenty  persons  to  have  three  simple  dinners  for  ten,  my 
dear  nephew  will  not  have  been  addressed  in  vain.  Eveiybotly 
will  be  bettered ;  and  while  the  guests  will  be  better  pleased,  and 
more  numerous,  the  host  will  actually  be  left  with  money  in  his 
pocket. 


ON  LOVE,  MARRIAGE,   MEN,   AND   WOMEN 


BOB  BROWN  is  in  love,  then,  and  undergoing  the  common 
lot !  And  so,  my  dear  lad,  you  are  this  moment  enduring 
the  delights  and  tortures,  the  jealousy  and  wakefulness,  the 
longing  and  raptures,  the  frantic  despair  and  elation,  attendant  upon 
the  passion  of  love.  In  the  year  1812  (it  was  before  I  contracted 
my  alliance  with  your  poor  dear  aunt,  who  never  caused  me  any  of 
the  disquietudes  above  enumerated),  I  myself  went  through  some  of 
those  miseries  and  pleasures  which  you  now,  0  my  nephew,  are 
enduring.  I  pity  and  sympathise  with  you.  I  am  an  old  cock 
now,  with  a  feeble  strut  and  a  faltering  crow.  But  I  was  young 
once :  and  remember  the  time  very  well.  Since  that  time,  amavi 
amantes :  if  I  see  two  young  people  happy,  I  like  it,  as  I  like  to 
see  children  enjoying  a  pantomime.  I  have  been  the  confidant  of 
numbers  of  honest  fellows,  and  the  secret  watcher  of  scores  of  little 
pretty  intrigues  in  life.  Miss  Y.,  I  know  why  you  go  so  eagerly  to 
balls  now  ;  and,  Mr.  Z.,  what  has  set  you  off"  dancing  at  your  mature 
age.  Do  you  fancy,  Mrs.  Alpha,  that  I  believe  you  walk  every  day 
at  half-past  eleven  by  the  Serpentine  for  nothing,  and  that  I  don't 
see  young  O'Mega  in  Rotten  Row?  .  .  .  And  so,  my  poor  Bob, 
you  are  shot. 

If  you  lose  the  object  of  your  desires,  the  loss  won't  kill  you  : 
you  may  set  that  down  as  a  certainty.     If  you  win,  it  is  possible 


LOVE,    MARRIAGE,    MEN,    AND    WOMEN     657 

that  you  will  be  disappointed  :  that  point  also  is  to  be  considered. 
But  hit  or  miss,  good  luck  or  bad — I  should  be  sorry,  my  honest 
Bob,  that  thou  didst  not  undergo  the  malady.  Every  man  ought 
to  be  in  love  a  few  times  in  his  life,  and  to  have  a  smart  attack  of 
the  fever.  You  are  the  better  for  it  when  it  is  over  :  the  better  for 
your  misfortune  if  you  endure  it  with  a  manly  heart ;  how  much 
the  better  for  success  if  you  win  it  and  a  good  wife  into  the  l^argain  ! 
Ah,  Bob — there  is  a  stone  in  the  burying-grc^imd  at  Funchal  which 
I  often  and  often  think  of — many  hopes  and  passions  lie  beneath  it, 
along  with  the  fairest  and  gentlest  creature  in  the  world — it's  not 
Mrs.  Brown  that  lies  there.  After  life's  fitful  fever,  she  sleeps  in 
Marylebone  burying-gi'ound,  poor  dear  soul !  Emily  Blenkinsop  might 
have  been  Mrs.  Brown,  but — but  let  us  change  the  suliject. 

Of  course  you  will  take  advice,  my  dear  Bob,  about  your  flame. 
All  men  and  women  do.  It  is  notorious  that  they  listen  to  the 
opinions  of  all  their  friends,  and  never  follow  their  own  counsel. 
Well,  tell  us  about  this  girl.  What  are  her  qualifications,  expecta- 
tions, belongings,  station  in  life,  and  so  forth  1 

About  beauty  I  do  not  argue.  I  take  it  for  granted.  A  man 
sees  beauty,  or  that  which  he  likes,  with  eyes  entirely  his  own.  I 
don't  say  that  plain  women  get  husbands  as  readily  as  the  pretty, 
girls — but  so  many  handsome  girls  are  unmarried,  and  so  many  of 
the  other  sort  wedded,  that  there  is  no  possibility  of  establishing  a 
rule,  or  of  setting  up  a  standard.  Poor  dear  Mrs.  Brown  was  a  far 
finer  woman  than  Emily  Blenkinsop,  and  yet  I  loved  Emily's  little 
finger  more  than  the  whole  hand  which  your  Aunt  Martha  gave  me 
— I  see  the  plainest  women  .exercising  the  greatest  fascinations  over 
men — in  fine,  a  man  falls  in  love  with  a  woman  because  it  is  fate, 
because  she  is  a  woman  ;  Bob,  too,  is  a  man,  and  endowed  with  a 
heart  and  a  beard. 

Is  she  a  clever  woman  ?  I  do  not  mean  to  disparage  you,  my 
good  fellow,  but  you  are  not  a  man  that  is  likely  to  set  the  Thames 
on  fire  ;  and  I  should  rather  like  to  see  you  fall  to  the  lot  of  a  clever 
woman.  A  set  has  been  made  against  clever  women  in  all  times. 
Take  all  Shakspearc's  heroines — they  all  seem  to  me  pretty  much 
the  same — afiectionate,  motherly,  tender,  that  sort  of  thing.  Take 
Scott's  ladies,  and  other  writers' — each  man  seems  to  draw  from 
one  model — an  exquisite  slave  is  what  we  want  for  the  most  part ; 
a  humble,  flattering,  ^smiling,  child-loving,  tea-making,  pianoforte- 
playing  being,  who  laughs  at  our  jokes,  however  old  they  may  be, 
coaxes  and  wheedles  us  in  our  humours,  and  fondly  lies  to  us 
through  life.  I  never  could  get  your  poor  aunt  into  this  system, 
though  I  confess  I  should  have  been  a  happier  man  had  she 
tried  it. 
2  Y 


658     SKETCHES    AND    TRAVELS    IN    LONDON 

There  are  many  more  clever  women  in  the  world  than  men 
think  for.  Our  habit  is  to  despise  them ;  we  believe  they  do  not 
think  because  they  do  not  contradict  us ;  and  are  weak  because 
they  do  not  struggle  and  rise  up  against  us.  A  man  only  begins 
to  know  women  as  he  grows  old ;  and  for  my  part  my  opinion  of 
their  cleverness  rises  every  day. 

When  I  say  I  know  women,  I  mean  I  know  that  I  don't  know 
them.  Every  single  woman  I  ever  knew  is  a  puzzle  to  me,  as  I 
have  no  doubt  she  is  to  herself.  Say  they  are  not  clever?  Their 
hypocrisy  is  a  perpetual  marvel  to  me,  and  a  constant  exercise  of 
cleverness  of  the  finest  sort.  You  see  a  demure-looking  woman 
perfect  in  all  her  duties,  constant  in  house-bills  and  shirt-buttons, 
obedient  to  her  lord,  and  anxious  to  please  him  in  all  things ; 
silent  when  you  and  he  talk  politics,  or  literature,  or  balderdash 
together,  and  if  referred  to,  saying,  with  a  smile  of  perfect  humility, 
"  Oh,  women  are  not  judges  upon  such  and  such  matters ;  we  leave 
learning  and  politics  to  men."  "Yes,  poor  Polly,"  says  Jones, 
patting  the  back  of  Mrs.  J.'s  head  good-naturedly,  "attend  to  the 
house,  my  dear ;  that's  the  best  thing  you  can  do,  and  leave  the 
rest  to  us."  Benighted  idiot !  She  has  long  ago  taken  your 
measure  and  your  friends' ;  she  knows  your  weaknesses,  and 
ministers  to  them  in  a  thousand  artful  ways,  She  knows  your 
obstinate  points,  and  marches  round  them  with  the  most  curious 
art  and  patience,  as  you  will  see  an  ant  on  a  journey  turn  round  an 
obstacle.  Every  woman  manages  her  husband  :  every  person  who 
manages  another  is  a  hypocrite.  Her  smiles,  her  submission,  her 
good-humour,  for  all  Avhich  we  value  her, — what  are  they  but 
admirable  duplicity  1  We  expect  falseness  fi'om  her,  and  order  and 
educate  her  to  be  dishonest.  Should  he  upbraid,  I'll  own  that  he 
prevail ;  say  that  he  frown,  I'll  answer  with  a  smile ; — what  are 
these  but  lies,  that  we  exact  from  our  slaves  1 — lies,  the  dexterous 
performance  of  which  we  announce  to  be  the  female  virtues  ;  brutal 
Turks  that  we  are  !  I  do  not  sfty  that  Mrs.  Brown  ever  obeyed 
me — on  the  contrary  :  but  I  should  have  liked  it,  for  I  am  a  Turk 
like  my  neighbour. 

I  will  instance  your  mother  now.  When  my  brother  comes  in 
to  dinner  after  a  bad  day's  sport,  or  after  looking  over  the  bills  of 
some  of  you  boys,  he  naturally  begins  to  be  surly  with  yom*  poor 
dear  mother,  and  to  gi'owl  at  the  nnitton.  What  does  she  do  1  She 
may  be  hurt,  but  she  doesn't  show  it.  She  proceeds  to  coax,  to 
smile,  to  turn  the  conversation,  to  stroke  downi  BiTiin,  and  get  him  in  a 
good-humour.  She  sets  him  on  his  old  stories,  and  she  and  all  the  girls 
— poor  dear  little  Sapphiras  ! — set  off  laughing ;  there  is  that  story 
about  the  Goose  walking  into  church,  which  your  father  tells,  and 


LOVE,    MARRIAGE,    MEN,    AND    WOMEN     659 

your  mother  and  sisters  laugh  at,  until  I  protest  I  am  so  ashamed  that 
I  hardly  know  where  to  look.  On  he  goes  with  that  story  time 
after  time  :  and  your  poor  mother  sits  there  and  knows  that  I  know 
she  is  a  humbug,  and  laughs  on  ;  and  teaches  all  the  girls  to  laugh 
too.  Had  that  dear  creature  been  born  to  wear  a  nose-ring  and 
bangles  instead  of  a  muff  and  bonnet ;  and  had  she  a  brown  skin  in 
the  place  of  that  fair  one  with  which  Nature  has  endowed  her,  she 
woidd  have  done  Suttee,  after  your  bro-mi  Braimiin  father  had  died, 
and  thought  women  very  irreligious  too,  who  refused  to  roast  them- 
selves for  their  masters  and  lords.  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  the 
late  Mrs.  Brown  would  have  gone  through  the  process  of  incremation 
for  me — far  from  it :  by  a  timely  removal  she  was  spared  from  the 
grief  which  her  widowhood  would  have  doubtless  caused  her,  and  I 
acquiesce  in  the  decrees  of  Fate  in  this  instance,  and  have  not  the 
least  desire  to  have  preceded  her. 

I  hope  the  ladies  will  not  take  my  remarks  in  ill  part.  If  I  die 
for  it,  I  must  omti  that  I  don't  think  they  have  fair  play.  In  the 
bargain  we  make  with  them  I  don't  think  they  get  their  rights. 
And  as  a  labourer  notoriously  does  more  by  the  piece  than  he  does 
by  the  day,  and  a  free  man  works  harder  than  a  slave,  so  I  doubt 
whether  we  get  the  most  out  of  our  women  by  enslaving  them  as 
we  do  by  law  and  custom.  There  are  some  folks  who  would  limit 
the  range  of  women's  duties  to  little  more  than  a  kitchen  range — others 
who  like  them  to  administer  to  om-  delectation  in  a  ball-room,  and 
permit  them  to  display  dimpled  shoulders  and  flowing  ringlets — just 
as  you  have  one  horse  for  a  mill,  and  another  for  tlie  Park.  But 
in  whatever  way  we  like  tliem,  it  is  for  our  use  somehow  that  we 
have  women  brought  up :  to  work  for  us,  or  to  shine  for  us,  or  to 
dance  for  us,  or  what  not  1  It  would  not  have  been  thought  shame 
of  our  fathers  fifty  years  ago,  that  they  could  not  make  a  custard  or 
a  pie,  but  oiu-  mothers  would  have  Ijeen  rebuked  had  they  been 
ignorant  on  these  matters.  Why  should  not  you  and  I  be  ashamed 
now  because  we  cannot  make  our  owii  shoes,  or  cut  out  our  owti 
breeches  ?  We  know  better  :  we  can  get  cobblers  and  tailors  to  do 
that — and  it  was  we  who  made  the  laws  for  women,  who,  we  are  in 
the  habit  of  saying,  are  not  so  clever  as  we  are. 

My  dear  nephew,  as  I  grow  old  and  consider  these  things,  I 
know  wliich  are  the  stronger,  men  or  women ;  but  which  are  the 
cleverer,  I  doubt. 


II 

LONG  years  ago — indeed  it  was  at  the  Peace  of  Amiens — when 
with  several  other  young  bucks  I  was  making  the  grand  tour,  I 
■^  recollect  how  sweet  we  all  of  us  were  upon  the  lovely  Ducliess 
of  Montepulciano  at  Naples,  who,  to  be  sure,  was  not  niggardly  of 
her  smiles  in  return.  There  came  a  man  amongst  us,  however, 
from  London,  a  very  handsome  young  fellow,  with  such  an  air  of 
fixscinating  melancholy  in  his  looks,  that  he  cut  out  all  the  other 
suitors  of  the  Duchess  in  the  course  of  a  week,  and  would  have 
maiTied  her  very  likely,  but  that  war  was  declared  while  this  youth 
was  still  hankering  about  his  Princess,  and  he  was  sent  off  to 
Verdmi,  whence  he  did  not  emerge  for  twelve  years,  and  until  he 
was  as  fat  as  a  porpoise,  and  the  Duchess  was  long  since  married 
to  General  Count  Raff,  one  of  the  Emperor's  heroes. 

I  mention  poor  Tibbits  to  show  the  curious  difference  of  manner 
which  exists  amongst  us  ;  and  which,  though  not  visible  to  foreigners, 
is  instantly  understood  by  English  people.  Brave,  clever,  tall, 
slim,  dark,  and  sentimental-looking,  he  passed  muster  in  a  foreign 
saloon,  and,  as  I  must  own  to  you,  cut  us  fellows  out :  whereas  we 
English  knew  instantly  that  the  man  was  not  well  bred,  by  a 
thousand  little  signs,  not  to  be  understood  by  the  foreigner.  In 
his  early  youth,  for  instance,  he  had  been  cruelly  deprived  of  his 
h\s  by  his  parents,  and  though  he  tried  to  replace  them  in  after 
life,  they  were  no  more  natural  than  a  glass  eye,  but  stared  at  you 
as  it  were  in  a  ghastly  manner  out  of  the  conversation,  and  pained 
you  by  their  horrid  intrusions.  Not  acquainted  with  these  refine- 
ments of  our  language,  foreigners  did  not  understand  what  Tibbits's 
errors  were,  and  doubtless  thought  it  was  from  envy  that  we  con- 
sjiired  to  slight  the  poor  fellow. 

I  mention  Mr.  Tibbits,  because  he  was  handsome,  clever,  honest, 
and  brave,  and  in  almost  all  respects  our  superior ;  and  yet  laboured 
under  disadvantages  of  manner  which  unfitted  him  for  certain 
society.  It  is  not  Tibbits  the  man,  it  is  not  Tibbits  the  citizen,  of 
whom  I  would  msh  to  speak  lightly  :  his  morals,  his  reading,  his 
courage,  his  generosity,  his  talents  are  undoubted — it  is  the  social 
Tibbits  of  whom  I  speak ;  and  as  I  do  not  go  to  balls  because  I 
do  not  dance,  or  to  meetings  of  the  Political  Economy  Club,  or 
other  learned  associations,  because  taste  and  education  have  not 
fitted  me  for  the  pursuits  for  which  other  persons  are  adapted,  so 
Tibbits's  sphere  is  not  in  drawing-rooms,  where  the  h,  and  other 
points  of  etiquette,  are  rigorously  maintained. 


LOVE,    MARRIAGE,    MEN,    AND    WOMEN     66l 

I  say  thus  much  because  one  or  two  people  have  taken  some 
remarks  of  mine  in  ill  part,  and  hinted  that  I  am  a  Tory  in  dis- 
guise :  and  an  aristocrat  that  shoidd  be  hung  up  to  a  lamp-post. 
Not  so,  dear  Bob  : — there  is  notliing  like  the  truth,  about  wh(jm- 
soever  it  may  be.  I  mean  no  more  disrespect  towards  any  fellow- 
man  by  saying  that  he  is  not  w^liat  is  called  in  Society  well  Ijred, 
than  by  stating  that  he  is  not  tall  or  short,  or  that  he  cannot  dance, 
or  that  he  does  not  know  Hebrew,  or  whatever  the  case  may  be.  I 
mean  that  if  a  man  works  with  a  pickaxe  or  shovel  all  day,  his 
hands  will  be  harder  than  those  of  a  lady  of  fiishion,  and  that  his 
opinion  about  Madame  Sontag's  singing,  or  the  last  new  novel,  will 
not  probably  be  of  much  value.  And  though  I  own  my  conviction 
that  there  are  some  animals  which  frisk  advantageously  in  ladies' 
drawing-rooms,  whilst  others  -pvll  stoutly  at  the  plough,  I  do  not 
most  certiwnly  mean  to  reflect  upon  a  horse  for  not  being  a  lap- 
dog,  or  see  that  he  has  any  cause  to  be  ashamed  that  he  is  other 
than  a  horse. 

And,  in  a  word,  as  you  are  what  is  called  a  gentleman  yoi;r- 
self,  I  hope  that  Mrs.  Bob  Brown,  whoever  she  may  be,  is  not  only 
by  natvuT,  but  by  education,  a  gentlewoman.  No  man  ought  ever 
to  be  called  upon  to  blush  for  his  wife.  I  see  good  men  rush  into 
marriage  with  ladies  of  whom  they  are  aften^'ards  ashamed  ;  and  in 
the  same  manner  channing  women  linked  to  partners  whose  \n.dgarity 
they  try  to  screen.  Poor  Mrs.  Botilx)l,  what  a  constant  hypocrisy 
yom-  life  is,  and  how  you  iiLsist  upon  infonning  everybody  that 
Botibol  is  the  best  of  men  !  Poor  Jack  Jinkins  !  what  a  female  is 
that  you  brought  back  from  Ba,gnigge  Wells  to  introduce  to  London 
society !  a  handsome,  tawdry,  flaunting,  watering-place  belle ;  a 
boarding-house  beauty.:  tremendous  in  brazen  onmments  and  cheap 
finery. 

If  you  marry,  dear  Bob,  I  hope  IMrs.  Robert  B.  will  be  a  lady 
not  very  much  above  or  below  yoiu-  own  station. 

I  would  sooner  that  you  should  promote  your  wife,  than  that 
she  should  advance  you.  And  though  every  man  can  point  you  out 
instances  where  liis  friends  have  been  mamed  to  ladies  of  superior 
rank,  who  have  accepted  their  new  position  Avith  perfect  grace,  and 
made  their  husbands  entirely  happy  ;  as  there  are  examples  of  maid- 
servants decorating  coronets,  anrl  sempstresses  presiding  worthily  over 
Baronial  Halls ;  yet  I  hope  Mrs.  Rol^ert  Brown  will  not  come  out 
of  a  palace  or  a  kitchen  :  but  out  of  a  house  something  like  yours, 
out  of  a  family  something  like  yours,  with  a  snug  jointure  some- 
thing like  that  modest  portion  which  I  dare  say  you  will  inherit. 

I  remem])or  when  Arthur  Rowdy  (who  I  need  not  tell  you 
belongs  to  tJit;  firm  of  Stumpy,  Rowdy,  &  Co.,  of  Lombard  Street, 


662     SKETCHES    AND    TRAVELS    IN    LONDON 

liankcrs)  married  Lady  Cleopatm :  M'hat  a  g:i-and  match  it  was 
thousxlit  l)y  the  Rowdy  famly ;  and  how  old  Mrs.  Rowdy  in  Port- 
man  Sc|iiare  was  elated  at  the  idea  of  her  son's  new  comieetion. 
Her  daughters  were  to  go  to  all  the  p;u-ties  in  London ;  and  her 
iiouse  was  to  be  filled  with  the  very  greatest  of  gi-eat  folks.  We 
heard  of  nothiiig  but  dear  Lady  Stonehenge  from  morning  till  night ; 
and  the  old  frequentere  of  the  house  were  perfectly  pestered  with 
stories  of  dear  Lady  Zenobia  and  dear  Lady  Cornelia,  and  of  the 
dear  Manjuis,  whose  masterly  traiLslation  of  ComeUas  Nepos  had 
placed  him  among  the  most  leai-ned  of  our  nobility. 

When  Rowdy  went  to  live  in  May  fair,  what  a  Avretched  house 
it  was  into  which  he  introduced  such  of  his  friends  as  were  thought 
worthy  of  presentation  to  his  new  society  !  The  rooms  were  filled 
with  young  dandies  of  tlie  Stonehenge  connection — beartUess  bucks 
from  Downmg  Street,  guy  young  sprigs  of  the  Guards — their  sistere 
and  mothers,  their  kith  and  kin.  They  overdrew  their  accounts  at 
Rowdy's  bank,  and  laughed  at  him  in  his  drawing-room ;  they  made 
their  l)ets  and  talked  their  d;indy  talk  over  liis  claret,  at  wMch  the 
poor  fellow  sat  quite  silent.  Lady  Stonelienge  invaded  liis  nm-sery, 
appointed  and  cashiered  his  governess  and  children's  maids ;  estab- 
lished her  apothecary  in  permanence  over  Mm ;  quarrelled  with  old 
Mrs.  Rfjwdy,  so  that  the  poor  old  body  was  only  allowed  to  see  her 
grandchildren  by  stealth,  and  have  secret  interviews  with  them  in 
the  garden  of  Berkeley  Square ;  matle  Rowdy  take  vilhis  at  Tun- 
bridge,  which  she '  filled  wath  lier  own  family ;  massacred  her 
daughter's  visiting-book,  in  the  which  La^ly  Cleopatra,  a  good- 
natured  woman,  at  first  admitted  some  of  her  husband's  relatives 
and  acquaintance;  and  carried  him  abroad  upon  excursions,  in 
which  all  he  had  to  do  was  to  settle  the  bills  with  the  courier.  And 
she  went  so  fir  as  to  order  him  to  change  his  side  of  the  House  and 
his  politics,  and  adopt  those  of  Lord  Stonehenge,  which  were  of  the 
age  of  the  Druids,  his  Lordship's  ancestors;  but  here  the  honest 
British  merchant  made  a  stand  and  conquered  his  mother-in-law, 
who  woidd  liave  smothered  him  the  otlier  day  for  voting  for  Roths- 
cliild.  If  it  were  not  for  the  Counting  House  in  the  morning,  antl 
the  House  of  Commons  at  night,  what  would  become  of  Rowdy? 
They  say  he  smokes  there,  and  chinks  when  he  smokes.  He  has 
been  known  to  go  to  VauxhaU,  and  has  even  been  seen,  ^ith  a 
comforter  over  his  nose,  listening  to  Sam  Hall  at  the  Cider  Cellars. 
All  this  misery  and  misfortune  came  to  the  poor  fellow  for  manning 
out  of  his  degree.  The  clerks  at  Lomliard  Street  laugh  wlien  Lord 
Mistletoe  steps  out  of  his  cab  and  walks  into  the  bank-parlour ;  and 
Rowdy's  private  account  invariably  telLs  tales  of  the  visit  of  his 
young  scapegrace  of  a  brother-in-law. 


Ill 

LET  us  now,  lieloved  and  ingenuous  youth,  take  the  other  side 
of  the  question,  and  discourse  a  httle  while  upon  the  state 
■'  of  that  man  who  takes  unto  himself  a  wife  inferior  to  him 
in  degree.  I  have  before  me  in  my  acquaintance  many  most  pitiabk' 
instances  of  individuals  who  have  made  this  fatal  mistake. 

Although  old  fellows  are  as  likely  to  be  made  fools  as  young 
in  love  matters,  and  Dan  Cupid  has  no  respect  for  the  most  vener- 
able age,  yet  I  remark  that  it  is  generally  the  young  men  who 
marry  vulgar  wives.  They  are  on  a  reading  torn-  for  the  Long 
Vacation,  they  are  quartered  at  Ballinafad,  they  see  Miss  Smith 
or  Miss  O'Shaughnessy  every  day,  healthy,  lively,  jolly  girls  with 
red  cheeks,  bright  eyes,  and  high  spirits— they  come  away  at  the 
end  of  the  vacation,  or  when  the  regiment  changes  its  ciuarters, 
engaged  men ;  family  rows  ensue,  mothers  cry  out,  papas  gi-umble. 
Miss  pines  and  loses'  her  health  at  Baymouth  or  Balhnafad — consent 
is  got  at  la.st,  Jones  takes  his  degree,  Jenkins  gets  his  company  ; 
Miss  Smith  and  ]\Iiss  O^Shaughnessy  become  Mrs.  Jones  and  Mrs. 
Jenkins. 

For  the  first  year  it  is  all  very  Avell.  Mrs.  Jones  is  a  gxeat 
bouncing  handsome  creature,  lavishly  fond  of  her  adored  Jones, 
and  caring  for  no  other  company  but  his  They  have  a  cottage  at 
Bayswater.  He  walks  her  out  every  evening.  He  sits  and  reads 
the  last  new  novel  to  her  whilst  she  works  slippers  for  him,  or 
makes  some  little  tiny  caps,  and— dear  Julia,  dear  Edward  !— they 
are  all  in  all  to  one  another. 

Old  ]Mrs.  Smith  of  course  comes  up  from  Swansea  at  the  time 
when  the  little  caps  are  put  into  requisition,  and  takes  possession 
of  the  cottage  at  Bayswater.  Mrs.  Jones  senior  calls  upon  Mrs. 
Edward  Jones's  mamma,  and,  of  course,  is  desirous  to  do  everything 
tliat  is  civil  to  the  family  of  Edward's  wife. 

Mrs.  Jones  finds  in"^  the  moUier-in-law  of  her  Edward  a  large 
woman  with  a  cotton  umbrella,  who  dines  in  the  middle  of  the  day, 
and  has  her  beer,  and  who  calls  Mrs.  Jones  Mum.  What  a  state 
they  are  in  in  Pocklington  Square  about  this  woman  !  How  can 
they  be  civil  to  hcr^  Whom  can  they  ask  to  meet  her?  How  the 
grirls,  Edward's  sisters,  go  on  about  her  !  Fanny  says  she  ought  to 
be  shown  to  the  housekeeper's  room  wlien  she  calls ;  Mary  proposes 
that  Mrs.  Shay,  the  washerwoman,  should  be  invited  on  the  day 
when  Mrs.  Smith  comes  to  dinner ;  and  Ennna  (who  was  Edward's 
favourite  sister,  and  who  considers  herself  jilted  V)y  his  maniage 


664.     SKETCHES    AND    TRAVELS    IN    LONDON 

with  Julia)  ])oints  out  the  most  (b'cadful  thing  of  all,  that  Mrs. 
Smith  and  Julia  'are  exactly  alike,  and  that  in  a  few  years  Mrs. 
Edward  Jones  will  be  the  very  image  of  that  great  enormous  un- 
wielily  horrid  old  woman. 

Closeted  with  her  daughter,  of  whom  and  of  her  baby  she  has 
taken  possession,  Mrs.  Smith  gives  her  oi^inion  about  the  Joneses  : 
— They  may  be  very  good,  but  they  are  too  fine  ladies  for  her  ;  and 
tliey  evidently  think  she  is  not  good  enough  for  tkem :  they  are  sad 
worldly  people,  and  have  never  sat  under  a  good  minister,  that 
is  clear :  they  talked  French  before  her  on  the  day  she  called  in 
Pocklington  Gardens,  "and  though  they  were  laughing  at  me,  I'm 
sure  I  can  pardon  them,"  Mrs.  Smith  says.  Edward  and  Julia  have 
a  little  altercation  about  the  manner  in  which  his  family  has  treated 
Mrs.  Smith,  and  Julia,  bursting  into  tears  as  she  clasps  her  child  to 
her  bosom,  says,  "  My  child,  my  child,  will  you  be  taught  to  he 
ashamed  of  ycrar  mother  1 " 

Edward  flings  out  of  the  room  in  a  rage.  It  is  true  that  Mrs. 
Smith  is  not  fit  to  associate  with  his  family,  and  that  her  maimers 
are  not  like  theirs ;  that  Julia's  eldest  brother,  who  is  a  serious 
tanner  at  Cardiff,  is  not  a  pleasant  con:ipanion  after  dinner :  and 
that  it  is  not  agreeable  to  be  called  "  Ned  "  and  "  Old  Cove  "  by 
her  younger  brother,  who  is  an  attorney's  clerk  in  Gray's  Inn,  and 
favours  Ned  by  asking  him  to  lend  him  a  "  sov,"  and  by  coming  to 
dinner  on  Sundays.  It  is  true  that  the  appearance  of  that  youth 
at  the  first  little  party  the  Edward  Joneses  gave  after  their  mar- 
riage, when  Natty  disgracefully  inebriated  himself,  caused  no  little 
scandal  amongst  his  friends,  and  much  wrath  on  the  part  of  old 
Jones,  who  said,  "  That  little  scamp  call  my  daughters  by  their 
Christian  names  ! — a  little  beggar  that  is  not  fit  to  sit  down  in  my 
hall.  If  ever  he  dares  to  call  at  my  house,  I'll  tell  Jobbins  to  fling 
a  pail  of  water  over  him.  And  it  is  true  that  Natty  called  many 
times  in  Pocklington  Square,  and  complained  to  Edward  that  he, 
Nat,  could  neither  see  his  mar  nor  the  gurls,  and  that  the  old  gent 
cut  up  uncommon  stifi". 

So  you  see  Edward  Jones  has  had  his  way,  and  got  a  handsome 
wife,  but  at  what  expense  1  'He  and  his  family  are  separated.  His 
wife  brought  him  nothing  but  good  looks.  Her  stock  of  brains  is 
smrdl.  She  is  not  easy  in  the  new  society  into  which  she  has  been 
brought,  and  sits  cpiite  mum  both  at  the  grand  parties  which  the 
(jld  Joneses  give  in  Pocklington  Square,  and  at  the  snug  little  enter- 
tainments which  poor  Edward  Jones  tries  on  his  own  part.  The 
women  of  the  Jones's  set  try  her  in  every  w^aj'',  and  can  get  no  good 
from  her  :  Jones's  male  friends,  who  are  civilised  beings,  talk  to  her, 
and  receive  only  monosyllables  in  rejily.     His  house  is  a  stupid  one ; 


LOVE,    MARRIAGE,    MEN,    AND    WOMEN     665 

his  acquaintances  di'op  off;  he  has  no  circle  at  all  at  last,  except, 
to  be  sure,  that  increasing  family  circle  which  brings  up  old  ]\Irs. 
Smith  from  Swansea  every  year. 

What  is  the  lot  of  a  man  at  the  end  of  a  dozen  years  who  has 
a  wife  like  this  1  She  is  handsome  no  longer,  and  she  never  had 
any  other  merit.  He  can't  read  novels  to  her  all  through  his  life, 
while  she  is  working  slippers — it  is  absurd.  He  can't  be  philander- 
ing in  Kensington  Gardens  ^vith  a  lady  who  does  not  walk  out  now 
except  with  two  nursemaids  and  the  t^vins  in  a  go-cart.  He  is  a 
young  man  still,  when  she  is  an  old  woman.  Love  is  a  mighty  fine 
thing,  dear  Bob,  but  it  is  not  the  life  of  a  man.  There  are  a  thou- 
sand other  things  for  him  to  think  of  besides  the  red  lips  of  Lucy, 
or  the  bright  eyes  of  Eliza.  There  is  business,  there  is  friendship, 
there  is  society,  there  are  taxes,  there  is  ambition,  and  the  manly 
desire  to  exercise  the  talents  which  are  given  us  by  Heaven,  and  reap 
the  prize  of  our  desert.  There  are  other  books  in  a  man's  library 
besides  Ovid ;  and  after  dawdling  ever  so  long  at  a  woman's  knee, 
one  day  he  gets  up  and  is  free.  We  have  all  been  there :  we  have 
all  had  the  fever:  the  strongest  and  the  smallest,  from  Samson, 
Hercules,  Rinaldo,  do^Tiwards  ;  but  it  burns  out,  and  you  get  well. 

Ladies  who  read  this,  and  who  know  what  a  love  I  have  for 
the  whole  sex,  ^nll  not,  I  hope,  cry  out  at  the  above  obsen^ations, 
or  be  angry  licause  I  state  that  the  ardour  of  love  declines  after 
a  certain  period.  My  dear  Mrs.  Hopkins,  you  would  not  have 
Hopkins  to  cany  on  the  same  absurd  behaviour  which  he  exliibited 
when  he  was  courting  you  1  or  in  place  of  going  to  bed  and  to  sleep 
comfortably,  sitting  up  half  the  night  to  write  to  you  bad  verses  ? 
You  would  not  have  him  racked  with  jealousy  if  you  danced  or  spoke 
with  any  one  else  at  a  ball ;  or  neglect  all  his  friends,  his  business, 
his  interest  in  life,  in  order  to  dangle  at  your  feet  ?  No,  you  are  a 
sensible  woman ;  you  know  that  he  must  go  to  his  counting-house, 
that  he  must  receive  and  visit  his  friends,  and  that  he  must  attend  to 
his  and  your  interest  in  life.  You  are  no  longer  his  goddess,  his  foiry, 
his  peerless  paragon,  whose  name  he  shouted  as  Don  Quixote  did  that 
of  Dulcinea.  You  are  Jane  Hopkins,  you  are  thirty  years  old,  you 
have  got  a  parcel  of  children,  and  Hop  loves  you  and  them  with 
all  his  heart.  He  would  be  a  helpless  driveller  and  ninny  were  he  to 
be  honeymooning  still,  whereas  he  is  a  good  honest  fellow,  respected 
on  'Change,  liked  by  his  friends,  and  famous  for  his  port-wine. 

Yes,  Bob,  the  fever  goes,  but  the  wife  doesn't.  Long  after  your 
passion  is  over,  Mrs.  Brown  will  be  at  your  side,  good  soul,  still ;  and 
it  is  for  that,  as  I  trust,  long  subse(iuent  period  of  my  worthy  Bob's 
life,  that  I  am  anxious.  How  will  she  look  when  the  fairy  brilliancy 
of  the  honeymooii  has  faded  into  the  light  of  common  day. 

21 


(m     SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

You  arc  of  a  jovial  aud  social  turn,  and  like  to  see  the  world, 
as  why  should  you  not  1  It  contains  a  great  luimbcr  of  kind  and 
honest  folks,  from  whom  you  may  hear  a  thousand  things  wise  and 
])leasant.  A  man  ought  to  like  his  neighbours,  to  mix  with  his 
neighbours,  to  be  popular  with  his  neighbours.  It  is  a  friendly  heart 
that  has  plenty  of  friends.  You  can't  be  talking  to  Mrs.  Brown 
for  ever  and  ever  :  you  will  be  a  couple  of  old  geese  if  you  do. 

She  ought  then  to  be  able  to  make  your  house  pleasant  to  your 
friends.  She  ought  to  attract  them  to  it  by  her  grace,  her  good 
breeding,  her  gooddiumour.  Let  it  be  said  of  her,  "  What  an  un- 
commoidy  nice  woman  Mrs.  Brown  is  !  "  Let  her  be,  if  not  a  clever 
woman,  an  appreciator  of  cleverness  in  others,  which,  perhaps,  clever 
folks  like  better.  Above  all,  let  her  have  a  sense  of  humour,  my 
dear  Bob,  for  a  woman  without  a  laugh  in  her  (like  the  late 
excellent  Mrs.  Brown)  is  the  greatest  bore  in  existence.  Life  with- 
out laughing  is  a  dreary  blank.  A  woman  who  cannot  laugh  is  a 
wet  blanket  on  the  kindly  nuptial  couch.  A  good  laugh  is  sunshine 
in  a  house.  A  quick  intelligence,  a  brightening  eye,  a  kind  smile, 
a  cheerful  spirit, — these,  I  hope,  Mrs.  Bob  will  bring  to  you  in  her 
trousseau,  to  be  used  afterwards  for  daily  Avear.  Before  all  things, 
my  dear  Nephew,  try  and  have  a  cheerful  wife. 

What,  indeed,  does  not  that  word  "cheerfulness"  imply"?  It 
means  a  contented  spirit ;  it  means  a  pure  heart ;  it  means  a  kind 
and  loving  disposition ;  it  means  humility  and  charity ;  it  means 
a  generous  ai)preciation  of  others,  and  a  modest  opinion  of  self. 
Stupid  people,  people  who  do  not  know  how  to  laugh,  are  always 
pompous  and  self-conceited  :  that  is,  bigoted  ;  tkat  is,  cruel ;  that  is, 
ungentle,  uncharitable,  unchristian.  Have  a  good,  jolly,  laughing, 
kind  Avoman,  then,  for  your  partner,  you  who  are  yourself  a  kind 
and  jolly  fellow ;  and  when  you  go  to  sleep,  and  when  you  wake, 
I  pray  there  may  be  a  smile  under  each  of  your  honest  nightcaps. 


OUT    OF    TOWN 

I 

1HAVE  little  news,  my  dear  Bob,  wherewith  to  entertain  thee 
from  this  city,  from  which  almost  everybody  has  fled  within  the 
last  week,  and  which  lies  in  a  state  of  torpor.  I  wonder  what 
the  newspapers  find  to  talk  about  day  after  day,  and  how  they  come 
out  every  morning.     But  for  a  little  distant  noise  of  cannonading 


OUT    OF    TOWN  667 

from  the  Danube  and  the  Theiss,  the  whole  world  is  silent,  and 
London  seems  to  have  hauled  down  her  flag,  as  her  Majesty  has 
done  at  Pimlico,  and  the  Queen  of  Cities  has  gone  out  of  town. 

You,  in  pursuit  of  Miss  Kicklel)ury,  are  probably  by  this  time 
at  Spa  or  Homburg.  Watch- her  well.  Bob,  and  see  what  her 
temper  is  like.  See  whether  she  flirts  with  the  foreigners  much, 
examine  how  she  looks  of  a  morning  (you  will  have  a  hundred  oppor- 
tunities of  familiarity,  and  can  drop  in  and  out  of  a  friend's  apart- 
ments at  a  German  watering-place  as  you  never  can  hope  to  do 
here),  examine  her  conduct  with  her  little  sisters,  if  they  are  of  the 
party,  whether  she  is  good  and  playful  with  them,  see  whether  she 
is  cheerful  and  obedient  to  old  Lady  Kick  (I  acknowledge  a  hard 
task) — in  fine,  try  her  manners  and  temper,  and  see  whether  she 
wears  them  all  day,  or  only  puts  on  her  smiles  with  her  fresh  bonnet, 
to  come  out  on  the  parade  at  music  time.  I,  meanwhile,  remain 
behind,  alone  in  our  airy  and  great  Babylon. 

As  an  old  soldier  when  he  gets  to  his  ground  begins  straightway 
a  se  caser,  as  the  French  say,  makes  the  most  of  his  circumstances, 
and  himself  as  comfortable  as  he  can,  an  old  Lowlon  man,  if  obliged 
to  pass  the  dull  season  in  town,  accommodates  himself  to  the  time, 
and  forages  here  and  there  in  the  deserted  city,  and  manages  to 
make  his  own  tent  snug.  A  thousand  means  of  comfort  and  amuse- 
ment spring  up,  whereof  a  man  has  no  idea  of  the  existence,  in  the 
midst  of  the  din  and  racket  of  the  London  season.  I,  for  my  part, 
am  grown  to  that  age,  sir,  when  I  like  the  quiet  time  the  best :  the 
gaiety  of  the  great  London  season  is  too  strong  and  noisy  for  me  ;  I 
like  to  talk  to  my  beloved  metropolis  when  she  has  done  dancing  at 
crowded  balls,  and  squeezing  at  concerts,  and  chattering  at  conver- 
saziones, and  gorging  at  great  dinners — when  she  is  calm,  contem- 
plative, confidential,  and  at  leisure. 

Colonel  Padmore  of  our  Club  being  out  of  town,  and  too  wise  a 
man  to  send  his  favourite  old  cob  to  grass,  I  mounted  him  yesterday, 
and  took  a  ride  in  Rotten  Row,  and  in  various  parts  of  the  city, 
where  but  ten  days  back  all  sorts  of  life,  hilarity,  and  hospitality 
were  going  on.  What  a  change  it  is  now  in  the  Park,  from  that 
scene  which  the  modem  Pepys,  and  that  ingenious  youth  who  signs 
his  immortal  drawings  with  a  D  surmounted  by  a  dickey-bird, 
depicted  only  a  few  weeks  ago !  Where  are  the  thousands  of 
carriages  that  crawled  along  the  Serpentine  shore,  and  which  give 
an  observant  man  a  happy  and  wholesome  sense  of  his  own  insignifi- 
cance— for  you  shall  be  a  man  long  upon  the  town,  and  pass  five 
hundred  equipages  without  knowing  the  owners  of  one  of  them'? 
Where  are  the  myriads  of  liorsemcn  who  trampled  the  Row  ? — the 
splendid  dandies  whose  boots  were  shiny,  whose  chins  were  tufted, 


()68  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

wliose  shirts  were  astounding,  whose  manners  were  frank  and  manly, 
whose  brains  were  somewhat  small "?  Where  are  the  stout  old 
capitalists  and  Lishojis  on  their  cobs  (the  Bench,  by  the  way,  cuts 
an  uncommonly  good  figiu-e  on  horseback)  1  Where  are  the  dear 
rideresses,  al)ove  all?  Where  is  she  the  gleaming  of  whose  red 
neck-ribbon  in  the  distance  made  your  venerable  uncle's  heart 
teat,  Bob  ?  He  sees  her  now  pnxncing  by,  severe  and  beautiful — a 
young  Diana,  with  pure  bright  eyes !  Whore  is  Fanny,  who  wore 
the  pretty  grey  hat  and  feather,  and  rode  the  pretty  grey  mare  ? 
Fanny  changexl  her  name  last  week,  without  ever  so  much  as  sending 
me  a  piece  of  cake.  The  gay  sciuadrons  have  disappeared :  the 
ground  no  longer  thrills  with  the  thump  of  their  countless  hoofs. 
Watte{\u-like  groups  in  shot  silks  no  longer  compose  themselves 
under  the  green  boughs  of  Kensington  Gkirdens:  the  scarlet  trumpeters 
have  blown  themselves  away  thence ;  you  don't  behold  a  score  of 
horsemen  in  the  com-se  of  an  hour's  ride ;  and  Mrs.  Catherine  High- 
flyer, whom  a  fortnight  since  you  never  saw  miaccomi)anied  by  some 
superb  yomig  Earl  and  roue  of  the  fashion,  had  yesterday  so  little 
to  do  with  her  beautiful  eyes,  that  she  absolutely  tried  to  kill  your 
hmnble  servant  with  them  as  she  cantered  by  me  in  at  the  barriers 
of  the  Row,  and  looked  round  firing  Partliian  shots  behind  her. 
But  Padmore's  cob  did  not  trot,  nor  did  my  blood  run,  any  the 
quicker,  Mr.  Bob ;  man  and  beast  are  grown  too  old  and  steady  to 
be  put  out  of  our  pace  by  any  Mrs.  Higliflyer  of  them  aU  ;  and 
though  I  hope,  if  I  live  to  be  a  hundred,  never  to  \)e  unmoved  by 
the  sight  of  a  pretty  girl,  it  is  not  thy  kind  of  beauty,  O  ogling  and 
vain  DeUlah,  that  can  set  me  cantering  after  thee. 

By  the  way,  one  of  the  benefits  I  find  in  the  dull  season  is 
at  my  own  lodgings.  When  I  ring  the  bell  now,  that  uncommonly 
})retty  young  woman,  the  landlady's  daughter,  condescends  to  come 
in  and  superintend  my  comfort,  and  wliisk  about  amongst  the  books 
and  tea-things,  and  wait  upon  me  in  general :  whereas  in  the  full 
season,  when  young  Lord  Claude  LollyiX)p  is  here  attending  to 
ills  arduous  duties  in  Parliament,  and  occupying  his  accustomed 
lodgings  on  the  second-floor,  the  deuce  a  bit  will  Miss  Flora  ever 
deign  to  bring  a  message  or  a  letter  to  old  Mr.  Brown  on  the  first, 
lait  sends  me  in  Muggins,  my  old  sen'ant,  whose  ugly  iace  I  have 
IvJiown  any  time  these  thirty  years,  or  the  blowsy  maid-of-aU  work 
with  her  sandy  hair  in  papers. 

Again,  at  the  Club,  how  many  privileges  does  a  man  lingering 
in  London  enjoy,  from  which  he  is  precluded  in  the  full  season? 
Every  man  in  every  Club  has  three  or  four  sjiecial  aversions — men 
who  somehow  annoy  him,  as  I  have  no  doubt  but  that  you  and  I, 
Bob,  are  hated  by  some  particidar  man,  and  for  that  excellent 


OUT    OF    TOWN  669 

reason  for  which  the  poet  disHked  Dr.  Fell — the  appearance  of  old 
Banquo,  in  the  same  place,  in  the  same  arm-chair,  reading  the 
newspaper  day  after  day  and  evening  after  evening  ;  of  Mr.  Plodder 
threading  among  the  coffee-room  tables  and  taking  note  of  every 
man's  dinner  ;  of  old  General  Hawkshaw,  who  makes  that  constant 
noise  in  tlie  Club,  sneezing,  coughing,  and  blowing  his  nose — all 
these  men,  by  their  various  defects  or  qualities,  have  driven  me 
half  mad  at  times,  and  I  have  thought  to  myself.  Oh  that  I  could 
go  to  the  Club  without  seeing  Banquo — Oh  that  Plodder  would  not 
come  and  inspect  my  mutton-chop — Oh  that  fate  would  remove 
Hawkshaw  and  his  pocket-handkerchief  for  ever  out  of  my  sight 
and  hearing  !  Well,  August  arrives,  and  one's  three  men  of  the  sea 
are  off  one's  shoulders.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Banquo  are  at  Leamington, 
the  paper  says  ;  Mr.  Plodder  is  gone  to  Paris  to  inspect  the  dinners 
at  the  "  Trois  Frferes  "  ;  and  Hawkshaw  is  coughing  away  at  Brighton, 
where  the  sad  sea  waves  murmur  before  him.  The  Clul)  is  your 
own.  How  pleasant  it  is  !  You  can  get  the  Globe  and  Standard 
now  without  a  struggle  ;  you  may  see  all  the  Simday  papere  ;  when 
you  dine  it  is  not  like  dining  in  a  street  dinned  by  the  tramp  of 
waiters  perpetually  passing  with  clanking  dishes  of  various  odovu^, 
and  jostled  by  young  men  who  look  scowlingly  down  upon  your 
<linner  as  they  pass  with  creaking  boots.  They  are  all  gone — you 
sit  in  a  vast  and  agi-eeable  apartment  with  twenty  large  servants 
at  your  orders— if  you  were  a  Duke  'v\ath  a  thousand  pounds  a  day 
you  couldn't  be  better  served  or  lodged.  Those  men,  having  nothing 
else  to  do,  are  anxious  to  prevent  your  desires  and  make  you  happy 
• — the  butler  bustles  about  with  your  pint  of  wine — if  you  order  a 
dish,  the  chef  himself  will  probably  cook  it :  what  mortal  can  ask 
more'? 

T  once  read  in  a  book  purporting  to  give  descriptions  of  London, 
and  life  and  manners,  an  account  of  a  fomily  in  the  lower  ranks 
of  genteel  life,  who  shut  up  the  front  windows  of  their  house,  and 
lived  in  the  back  rooms,  from  which  they  only  issued  for  fresh  air 
surreptitiously  at  midnight,  so  that  their  friends  might  suppose  that 
they  were  out  of  to-mi.  I  suppose  that  there  is  some  foundation  for 
this  legend.  I  suppose  that  some  peoi)le  a7^e  actually  afraid  to  be 
seen  in  London,  when  the  persons  who  form  their  society  have 
quitted  the  metropolis  :  and  that  IMr.  and  Mrs.  Higgs  being  left  at 
home  at  Islington,  when  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Biggs,  their  next-door  neigh- 
bours, have  departed  for  Margate  or  Gravesend,  feel  pangs  of  shame 
at  their  owti  poverty,  and  envy  at  their  friends'  better  fortune.  I 
have  seen  many  men  and  cities,  my  dear  Bob,  and  noted  their 
manners  :  and  for  servility  I  will  back  a  free-born  Englishman  of 
the  respectable  classes  against  any  man  of  any  nation  in  the  world, 


670     SKETCHES    AND    TRAVELS    IN    LONDON 

Li  tlie  ooiiijietitidii  for  social  rank  Ijetwecn  Higgs  and  Biggs,  think 
what  a  strange  standard  of  sujjeriority  is  set  up  ! — a  shilling  steamer 
to  Gravcsend,  and  a  few  shrimps  more  or  less  on  one  part  or  the 
otlier,  settle  tlie  claim.  Perhaps  in  what  is  called  high  life,  there  are 
disi)utes  as  paltry,  aims  as  mean,  and  distinctions  as  absurd :  but 
my  business  is  wdth  this  present  folly  of  being  ashamed  to  be  in 
London.  Ashamed,  sir  !  I  like  being  in  London  at  this  time,  and 
have  so  much  to  say  regarding  the  ])lcasurcs  of  the  place  in  the 
dead  season,  that  I  hope  to  write  you  another  letter  regarding  it 
next  week. 


II 

CAREERING  during  the  season  from  one  party  to  another, 
from  one  gi-eat  dinner  of  twenty  covers  to  another  of  eigliteen 
guests ;  from  Lady  Hustlebury's  rout  to  Mrs.  Packington's 
soiree — friendship,  to  a  man  about  town,  becomes  impossible  from 
February  to  August :  it  is  only  his  acquaintances  he  can  cultivate 
during  those  six  montlis  of  turmoil. 

In  the  last  fortnight,  one  has  had  leisure  to  recur  to  more  tender 
emotions  :  in  other  words,  as  nobody  has  asked  me  to  dinner,  I 
have  been  about  seeking  dinners  from  'my  old  friends.  And  very 
glad  are  they  to  see  you :  very  kindly  and  hospitable  are  they  dis- 
posed to  be,  very  pleasant  are  those  little  calm  reunions  in  the 
quiet  summer  evenings,  when  the  beloved  friend  of  your  youth  and 
you  sip  a  bottle  of  claret  together  leisurely  without  candles,  and 
ascend  to  the  drawing-room  where  the  friend  of  your  youth's  wife 
sits  blandly  presiding  over  the  teapot.  What  matters  that  it  is  the 
metal  teapot,  the  silver  utensils  being  packed  off  to  the  banker's  % 
What  matters  that  the  hangings  are  down,  and  the  lustre  in  a 
brown-hoUand  bag  ?  Intimacy  increases  by  this  artless  confidence 
— you  are  admitted  to  a  family  en  d6shahille.  In  an  honest 
man's  house,  the  wine  is  never  sent  to  the  banker's  :  he  can  always 
go  to  the  cellar  for  that.  And  so  we  drink  and  prattle  in  quiet 
— about  the  past  season,  about  our  sons  at  College,  and  what 
not?  We  become  intimate  again,  because  Fate,  which  has  long 
separated  us,  throw^s  us  once  more  together.  I  say  the  dull  season 
is  a  kind  season  :  gentle  and  amiable,  friendly  and  full  of  quiet 
enjoyment. 

Among  these  pleasant  little  meetings,  for  which  the  present 
season  has  given  time  and  opportunity,  I  shall  mention  one,  sir, 
which  took  place  last  Wednesday,  and  which  during  the  very  dimier 
itself  I  vowed  I  would  describe,  if  the  venerable  Mr.  Punch  would 


OUT    OF    TOWN  671 

grant  me  leave  and  space,  in  the  columns  of  a  journal  which  has  for 
its  object  the  i:)romotion  of  mirth  and  good-will. 

In  the  year  eighteen  hundred  and  something,  sir,  tliere  lived  at 
a  villa,  at  a  short  distance  from  London,  a  certain  gentleman  and 
lady  who  had  many  acquaintances  and  friends,  among  whom  was 
your  humble  servant.  For  to  become  acquainted  with  this  young 
woman  was  to  be  her  friend,  so  friendly  was  she,  so  kind,  so  gentle, 
so  full  of  natural  genius,  and  graceful  feminine  accomplishment. 
Whatever  she  did,  she  did  charmingly,  her  life  was  decorated  with 
a  hundred  pretty  gifts,  with  which,  as  one  would  fancy,  kind  fairies 
had  endowed  her  cradle  ;  music  and  pictures  seemed  to  flow  naturally 
out  of  her  hand,  as  she  laid  it  on  the  piano  or  the  drawing-bcard. 
She  sang  exquisitely,  and  with  a  full  heart,  and,  as  if  she  couldn't 
help  it  any  more  than  a  bird.  I  have  an  image  of  this  fair  creature 
before  me  now,  a  calm  sunshiny  evening,  a  green  lawn  flaring 
Avith  roses  and  geraniums,  and  a  half-dozen  gentlemen  sauntering 
thereon  in  a  state  of  gxeat  contentment,  or  gathered  under  the 
verandah,  by  the  open  French  window  :  near  by  she  sits  singing  at 
the  piano.  She  is  in  a  pink  dress  :  she  has  gigot  sleeves ;  a  little 
child  in  a  prodigious  sash  is  playing  about  at  her  mother's  knee. 
She  sings  song  after  song ;  the  sun  goes  down  behind  the  black  fir- 
trees  that  belt  the  lawn,  and  Missy  in  the  blue  sash  vanishes  to  the 
nursery  ;  the  room  darkens  in  the  twilight ;  the  stars  appear  in  the 
heaven— and  the  tips  of  the  cigars  glow  in  the  balcony  :  she  sings 
song  after  song,  in  accents  soft  and  low,  tender  and  melodious — we 
are  never  tired  of  hearing  her.  Indeed,  Bob,  I  can  hear  her  still — 
the  stars  of  those  calm  nights  still  shine  in  my  memory,  and  I  have 
been  humming  one  of  her  tunes  with  my  pen  in  my  mouth,  to  the 
surprise  of  Mr.  Dodder,  who  is  writing  at  the  opposite  side  of  the 
table,  and  wondering  at  the  lackadaisical  expression  which  pervades 
my  venerable  mug. 

You  will  naturally  argue  from  the  above  pathetic  passage,  that 
I  was  greatly  smitten  by  Mrs.  Nightingale  (as  we  will  call  this 
lady,  if  you  will  permit  me).  You  are  right,  sir.  For  what  is  an 
amiable  woman  made,  but  that  we  should  is\\  in  love  with  her? 
I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  you  are  to  lose  your  sleep,  or  give  up 
yom-  dinner,  or  make  yourself  unhappy  in  her  absence ;  but  when 
the  sun  shines  (and  it  is  not  too  hot)  I  like  to  bask  in  it :  when  the 
bird  sings,  to  listen  :  and  to  admire  that  which  is  admirable  with 
an  honest  and  hearty  enjoyment.  There  were  a  half-dozen  men  at 
the  period  of  which  I  speak  who  wore  Mrs.  Nightingale's  colours, 
and  we  used  to  be  invited  down  from  London  of  a  Saturday  and 
Sunday,  to  Thornwood,  by  the  hospitable  host  and  hostess  there, 
and  it  seemed  like  going  back  to  school,  when  we  came  away  by 


612     SKETCHES    AND    TRAVELS    IN    LONDON 

the  coach  of  a  IMoiiday  morning  :  we  talked  of  her  all  the  -way  back 
to  London,  to  sei^arate  upon  our  various  callings  when  Ave  got  into 
the  smoky  city.  Salvator  Rodgers,  the  painter,  went  to  his  easel ; 
Woodward  the  barrister,  to  his  chambers  ;  Piper,  the  doctor,  to  his 
patient  (for  he  then  had  only  one),  and  so  forth.  Fate  called  us 
eacli  to  his  business,  and  has  sent  us  upon  many  a  distant  errand 
since  that  day.  But  from  that  day  to  this,  whenever  we  meet, 
the  remembrance  of  the  holidays  at  Thornwood  lias  been  always  a 
bond  of  union  between  us  :  and  we  have  always  had  Mrs.  Nightin- 
gale's colom's  put  away  amongst  the  cherished  relics  of  old  times. 

N.  was  a  West  India  merchant,  and  his  property  went  to  the 
bad.  He  died  at  Jamaica.  Tht^niwood  was  let  to  other  people, 
who  knew  us  not.  The  widow  with  a  small  jointure  retired,  and 
educated  her  daughter  aliroad.  We  had  not  heard  of  her  for  years 
and  years,  nor  until  she  came  to  town  about  a  legacy  a  few  weeks 
since. 

In  those  years  and  years  what  changes  have  taken  place  !  Sir 
Salvator  Rodgers  is  a  Member  of  the  Royal  Academy ;  Woodward, 
the  barrister,  has  made  a  fortune  at  the  Bar ;  and  in  seeing  Doctor 
Piper  in  his  barouche,  as  he  rolls  about  Belgravia  and  Mayfair,  you 
at  once  know  what  a  man  of  importance  he  has  become. 

On  last  IMonday  week,  sir,  I  received  a  letter  in  a  delicate 
female  handwriting,  with  which  I  was  not  acquainted,  and  which 
Miss  Flora,  the  landlady's  daughter,  condescended  to  bring  me,, 
saying  that  it  had  been  left  at  the  door  by  two  ladies  in  a 
brougham. 

"  — Why  did  you  not  let  them  come  upstairs'?"  said  I  in  a  rage, 
after  reading  the  note. 

"We  don't  know  what  sort  of  people  goes  about  in  broughams," 
said  Miss  Flora,  with  a  toss  of  her  head  :  "we  don't  want  no  ladies 
in  oiir  house."     And  she  flung  her  imitcrtinence  out  of  the  room. 

The  note  was  signed  Frances  Nightingale, — whereas  02ir  Night- 
gale's  name  was  Louisa.  But  this  Frances  was  no  other  than 
the  little  thing  in  the  large  blue  sash,  whom  we  remembered  at 
Thornwood  ever  so  many  years  ago.  The  writer  declared  that  she 
recollected  me  quite  well,  that  her  manmia  was  most  anxious  to  see 
an  old  friend,  and  that  they  had  ajiartments  at  No.  166  Clarges 
Street,  Piccadilly,  whither  I  hastened  ott'  to  pay  my  respects  to  Mrs. 
Nightingale. 

When  I  entered  the  room,  a  tall  and  beautiful  young  woman 
with  blue  eyes,  and  a  serene  and  majestic  air,  came  up  to  shake 
hands  with  me  :  and  I  beheld  in  her,  without  in  the  least  recog- 
nising, the  little  Fanny  of  the  blue  sash.  Mamma  came  out  of 
the   adjoining   apartment    presently.       We    had    not   met  since — 


OUT    OF    TOWN  673 

since  all  sorts  of  events  had  occurred — her  voice  was  not  a  little 
agitated.  Here  was  that  fair  creature  whom  we  had  admired  so. 
Sir,  I  shall  not  say  whether  she  was  altered  or  not.  The  tones 
of  her  voice  were  as  sweet  and  kind  as  ever : — and  we  talked 
about  Miss  Fanny  as  a  subject  in  common  between  us,  and  I 
admired  the  growth  and  beauty  of  the  young  lady,  though  I  did  not 
mind  telling  her  to  her  face  (at  which  to  be  sure  the  girl  was 
delighted)  that  she  never  in  my  eyes  would  be  half  so  pretty  as 
her  mother. 

Well,  sir,  upon  this  day  arrangements  were  made  for  the  dinner 
which  took  place  on  Wednesday  last,  and  to  the  remembrance  of 
which  I  determined  to  consecrate  this  present  page. 

It  so  happened  that  everylwdy  was  in  town  of  the  old  set  of 
whom  I  have  made  mention,  and  everybody  was  disengaged.  Sir 
Salvator  Roilgers  (who  has  become  such  a  swell  since  he  was 
knighted  and  got  the  cordon  of  the  order  of  the  George  and  Blue 
Boar  of  Russia,  that  we  like  to  laugh  at  him  a  little)  made  his 
appearance  at  eight  o'clock,  and  was  perfectly  natural  and  affable. 
Woodward,  the  lawyer,  forgot  his  abominable  law  and  his  money 
about  which  he  is  always  thinking :  and  finally,  Doctor  Piper,  of 
whom  we  despaired  because  his  wife  is  mortally  jealous  of  every 
lady  whom  he  attends,  and  will  hardly  let  him  dine  out  o^  her 
sight,  had  pleaded  Lady  RackstraM-'s  situation  as  a  reason  for  not 
going  down  to  Wimbledon  Common  till  night — and  so  we  six  had 
a  meeting. 

The  door  was  opened  to  us  by  a  maid,  who  looked  us  hard  in 
the  face  as  we  went  upstairs,  and  who  was  no  other  than  little 
Fanny's  nar.^o  in  former  days,  come  like  us  to  visit  her  old  mistress. 
We  all  knew  her  except  Woodward,  the  lawyer,  and  all  shook 
hands  \vith  her  except  him.  Constant  study  had  driven  her  out 
of  the  lawyer's  memory.  I  don't  think  he  ever  cared  for  Mrs. 
Nightingale  as  much  as  the  rest  of  us  did,  or  indeed  that  it  is  in 
fhe  nature  of  that  learned  man  to  care  for  any  but  one  learned 
person. 

And  what  do  you  think,  sir,  this  dear  and  faithful  widow  had 
done  to  make  us  welcome'?  She  remembered  the  dishes  that  we 
used  to  like  ever  so  long  ago,  and  she  had  every  man's  favourite 
dish  for  him.  Rodgers  used  to  have  a  passion  for  herrings — there 
they  were;  the  lawyer,  who  has  an  enormous  appetite,  which  he 
gratifies  at  other  people's  expense,  had  a  shoulder  of  mutton  and 
onion  sauce,  which  the  lean  and  hungry  man  devoured  almost 
entirely  :  mine  did  not  come  till  the  second  course — it  was  baked 
plum-pudding — I  was  alfecteil  A^iien  I  saw  it,  sir — I  choked  almost 
when  I  ate  it.     Piper  made  a  Vjcautiful  little  speech,  and  made  an 


674     SKETCHES    AND    TRAVELS    IN    LONDON 

ice  coni]>(inn(l,  for  whicli  he  was  famous,  and  we  drank  it  just  as  we 
used  to  drink  it  in  old  times,  and  to  the  health  of  the  widow. 

How  should  we  have  had  this  dinner,  how  could  we  all  have 
assembled  together  again,  if  everybody  had  not  been  out  of  town, 
and  everybody  had  not  been  disengaged  1  Just  for  one  evening,  the 
scattered  memljers  of  an  old  circle  of  friendship  returned  and  met 
round  the  old  table  again — round  this  little  green  island  we  moor 
for  the  night  at  least, — to-morrov/  we  part  company,  and  each  man 
for  himself  sails  over  the  ingens  ceqxior. 

Since  I  wrote  the  above,  I  find  that  everybody  really  is  gone 
away.  The  widow  left  town  on  Friday.  I  have  been  on  my  round 
just  now,  and  have  been  met  at  every  step  by  closed  shutters  and 
the  faces  of  unfamiliar  charwomen.  No.  9  is  gone  to  Malvern. 
No.  37,  15,  25,  48,  and  36a  are  gone  to  Scotland.  The  solitude 
of  the  Club  begins  to  be  unbearable,  and  I  found  Muggins  this 
morning  preparing  a  mysterious  apparatus  of  travelling  boot-trees, 
and  dusting  the  portmanteaus. 

If  you  are  not  getting  on  well  mth  the  Kickleburys  at  Homburg, 
I  recommend  you  to  go  to  Spa.  Mrs.  Nightingale  is  going  thither, 
and  will  be  at  the  Hotel  d'Orange ;  where  you  may  use  my  name 
and  present  yourself  to  her ;  and  I  may  hint  to  you  in  confidence 
thal^Miss  Fanny  will  have  a  very  pretty  little  fortune. 


THE  PROSER 

ESSAYS     AND     DISCOURSES     BY     DE.     SOLOMON     PACIFICO 
I 

ON  A  LADY   IX   AN   OPERA-BOX 

GOING  the  other  night  to  tlie  Conservatoire  at  Paris,  where 
there  was  a  magnificent  assemblage  of  rank  and  fashion 
gathered  together  to  hear  the  dehghtful  performance  of 
Madame  Sontag,  the  friend  who  confen-ed  upon  me  the  polite 
favour  of  a  ticket  to  the  stalls,  also  pointed  out  to  me  who  were 
the  most  remarkable  i^ersonages  round  about  us.  There  were 
ambassadors,  politicians,  and  gentlemen,  military  and  literary ;  there 
were  beauties,  French,  Russian,  and  English :  there  were  old 
ladies  who  had  been  beauties  once,  and  who,  by  the  help  of  a 
little  distance  and  politeness  (and  if  you  didn't  use  your  opera- 
glass,  which  is  a  cruel  detector  of  paint  and  wrinkles),  looked 
young  and  handsome  still :  and  plenty  of  old  bucks  in  the  stalls 
and  lx)xes,  well  wigged,  well  gloved,  and  brilliantly  waistcoated, 
very  obsequious  to  the  ladies,  and  satisfied  with  themselves  and 
the  world. 

Up  in  the  second  tier  of  boxes  I  saw  a  very  stout,  jolly,  good- 
humoured-looking  lady,  whose  head-dress  and  ringlets  and  general 
appurtenances  were  unmistakably  English — and  whom,  were  you  to 
meet  her  at  Timbuctoo,  or  in  the  Seraglio  of  the  Grand  Sultan 
amongst  a  bevy  of  beauties  collected  from  all  the  countries  of  the 
earth,  one  would  instantly  know  to  be  a  British  female.  I  do  not 
mean  to  say  that,  were  I  the  Padishah,  I  would  select  that  moon- 
faced houri  out  of  all  the  lovely  society,  and  make  her  the  Empress 
or  Grand  Signora  of  my  dominions ;  but  simply  that  there  is  a 
character  about  our  countrywomen  which  leads  one  to  know,  recog- 
nise, and  admire,  and  wonder  at  them  among  all  women  of  all 
tongues  and  countries.  We  have  our  British  Lion  :  we  have  our 
Britannia  ruling  the  waves  ;  we  have  our  British  female — the  most 
respectable,  the   most   remarkable,  of  the  women   of  this  world. 


676     SKETCHES    AND    TRAVELS    IN    LONDON 

And  now  wc  liavo  coiue  to  the  Avonmii  who  gives  the  subject,  though 
she  is  not  herself  the  subject,  of  tliese  present  remarks. 

As  I  h)oke(l  at  her  with  that  fond  curiosity  and  silent  jjleasure 
and  wonder  which  she  (I  mean  the  Great-British  Female)  always 
insi)ires  in  my  mind,  watching  her  smiles,  her  ways  and  motions, 
her  allurements  and  attractive  gestures- — her  head  bobbing  to 
this  friend  whom  she  recognised  in  the  stalls — her  jolly  fat  hand 
wagging  a  welcome  to  that  acquaintance  in  a  neighbouring  box — 
my  friend  and  guide  for  the  evening  caught  her  eye,  and  made  her 
a  respectful  bow,  and  said  to  me  with  a  look  of  much  meaning, 
"  That  is  Mrs.  Trotter- Walker."  And  from  that  minute  I  forgot 
Madame  Sontag,  and  thouglit  only  of  Mrs.  T.  W. 

"  So  that,"  said  I,  "  is  Mrs.  Trotter-Walker !  You  have 
touched  a  chord  in  my  heart.  You  have  brought  back  old  times 
to  my  memory,  and  made  me  recall  some  of  the  griefs  and  dis- 
appointments of  my  early  days." 

"Hold  your  tongue,  man!"  says  Tom,  my  friend.  "Listen  to 
the  Sontag ;  how  divinely  she  is  singing !  how  fresh  her  voice 
is  still ! " 

I  looked  up  at  Mrs.  Walker  all  the  time  with  unaliated  interest. 
"  Madam,"  thought  I,  "  you  look  to  be  as  kind  and  good-natured 
a  person  as  eyes  ever  lighted  upon.  The  way  in  which  you  are 
smiling  to  that  young  dandy  with  the  double  eyeglass,  and  the 
empressement  with  which  he  returns  the  salute,  show  that  your 
friends  are  persons  of  rank  and  elegance,  and  that  you  are  esteemed 
by  them — giving  them,  as  I  am  sure  from  your  kind  appearance 
you  do,  good  dinners  and  pleasant  balls.  But  I  wonder  what 
would  you  think  if  you  knew  that  I  was  looking  at  you  1  I  behold 
you  for  the  first  time :  there  are  a  hundred  pretty  young  girls  in 
the  house,  whom  an  amateur  of  mere  beauty  would  examine  with 
much  greater  satisfaction  than  he  would  naturally  bestow  upon  a 
lady  whose  prime  is  j^ast ;  and  yet  the  sight  of  you  interests  me, 
and  tickles  me,  so  to  speak,  and  my  eyeglass  can't  remove  itself 
from  the  contemplation  of  your  honest  face." 

What  is  it  that  interests  me  so  ?  What  do  you  suppose  interests 
a  man  the  most  in  this  life  ?  Himself,  to  be  sure.  It  is  at  himself 
he  is  looking  through  his  opera-glass — himself  who  is  concerned,  or 
he  would  not  be  watching  you  so  keenly.  And  now  let  me  confess 
why  it  is  that  the  lady  in  the  upper  box  excites  me  so,  and  why  I 
say,  "That  is  Mrs.  Trotter-Walker,  is  if?"  with  an  air  of  such 
deep  interest. 

Well  then.  In  the  year  eighteen  hundred  and  thirty  odd,  it 
happened  that  I  went  to  pass  the  winter  at  Rome,  as  we  will  call 
the  city.     Major-General  and  Mrs.  Trotter- Walker  were  also  there ; 


ON    A    LADY    IN    AN    OPERA-BOX  677 

and  until  I  heard  of  them  there,  I  had  never  heard  that  there  were 
such  people  in  existence  as  the  General  and  the  lady — the  lady 
yonder  with  the  large  fan  in  the  uj^iier  boxes.  Mrs.  Walker,  as 
became  her  station  in  life,  took,  I  dare  say,  very  comfortable 
lodgings,  gave  dinners  and  jjartrts  to  her  friends,  and  had  a  night 
in  the  week  for  receptions. 

Much  as  I  have  travelled  and  lived  abroad,  these  evening  reunions 
have  never  greatly  fl^scinated  me.  Man  cannot  live  iipon  lemonade, 
wax  candles,  and  weak  tea.  Gloves  and  white  neckcloths  cost 
money,  and  those  plaguy  shiny  boots  are  always  so  tight  and  hot. 
Am  I  made  of  money,  that  I  can  hire  a  coach  to  go  to  one  of  these 
soirees  on  a  rainy  Roman  night ;  or  can  I  come  in  goloshes,  and 
take  them  off  in  the  ante- chamber  ?  I  am  too  poor  for  cabs,  and 
too  vain  for  goloshes.  If  it  had  been  to  see  the  girl  of  my  heart 
(I  mean  at  the  time  when  there  were  girls,  and  I  had  a  heart),  I 
couldn't  have  gone  in  goloshes.  Well,  not  being  in  love,  and  not 
liking  weak  tea  and  lemonade,  I  did  not  go  to  evening-parties 
that  year  at  Rome :  nor,  of  later  years,  at  Paris,  Vienna,  Copen- 
hagen, Islington,  or  wherever  I  may  have  been. 

What,  then,  were  my  feelings  when  my  dear  and  valued  friend, 
Mrs.  Coverlade  (she  is  a  daughter  of  that  venerable  peer,  the  right 
Honourable  the  Lord  Commandine),  who  was  passing  the  Avinter 
too  at  Rome,  said  to  me,  "  My  dear  Doctor  Pacifico,  what  have  you 
done  to  offend  Mrs.  Trotter-Walker  ? " 

"  I  know  no  person  of  that  name,"  I  said.  "  I  knew  Walker 
of  the  Post  Office,  and  poor  Trotter  who  was  a  captain  in  our  regi- 
ment, and  died  under  my  hands  at  the  Bahamas.  But  ^\ith.  the 
Trotter- Walkers  I  haven't  the  honour  of  an  acquaintance." 

"  Well,  it  is  not  likely  that  you  Avill  have  that  honour,"  Mrs. 
Coverlade  said.  "  Mrs.  Walker  said  last  night  that  she  did  not 
wish  to  make  your  acquaintance,  and  that  she  did  not  intend  to 
receive  you." 

"  I  think  she  might  have  waited  until  I  asked  her,  madam," 
I  said.  "What  have  I  done  to  herl  I  have  never  seen  or  heard 
of  her :  how  sliould  I  want  to  get  into  her  house  %  or  attend  at  her 
Tuesdays — confound  her  Tuesdays  ! "  I  am  sorry  to  say  I  said, 
"  Confound  Mrs.  Walker's  Tuesdays,"  and  the  conversation  took 
another  turn,  and  it  so  happened  that  I  was  called  away  from  Rome 
suddenly,  and  never  set  eyes  upon  Mrs.  Walker,  or  indeed  thought 
about  her  from  that  day  to  this. 

Strange  endurance  of  human  vanity  !  a  million  of  much  moro 
important  conversations  have  escaped  ojie  since  then,  most  likely, 
— but  the  memory  of  this  little  mortification  (for  such  it  is,  after 
all)  remains  quite  fresh  in  the  mind,   and  unforgotten,    though   it 


GTS     SKETCHES    AND    TRAVELS    IN    LONDON 

is  a  trifle,  and  more  than  half  a  score  of  years  old.  We  forgive 
injuries,  we  survive  even  our  remorse  for  great  wrongs  that  we  our- 
selves commit ;  but  I  doubt  if  we  ever  forgive  slights  of  this  nature 
put  upon  U!?,  or  forget  circumstances  in  which  our  self-love  had  been 
made  to  suffer. 

Otherwise,  why  should  the  remembrance  of  Mrs.  Trotter- Walker 
have  remained  so  lively  in  this  bosom  ?  Why  shciuld  lier  appear- 
ance have  excited  such  a  keen  interest  in  tliese  eyes  1  Had  Veims 
or  Helen  (the  favourite  beauty  of  Paris)  been  at  the  side  of 
Mrs.  T.-W.,  I  should  have  looked  at  the  latter  more  than  at  the 
Queen  of  Love  herself  Had  Mrs.  Walker  murdered  Mrs.  Pacifico, 
or  inflicted  some  mortal  injury  upon  me,  I  might  forgive  her — but 
for  a  slight  1     Never,    Mrs.    Trotter-Walker ;   never,   by    Nemesis, 


never 


And  now,  having  allowed  my  personal  wrath  to  explode,  let  us 
calmly  moralise  for  a  minute  or  tA^-o  upon  this  little  circumstance ; 
for  there  is  no  circumstance,  however  little,  that  won't  aff"ord  a  text 
for  a  sermon.  Why  was  it  that  Mrs.  General  Trotter- Walker 
refused  to  receive  Doctor  S.  Pacifico  at  her  parties^  She  had 
noticed  me  probably  somewhere  where  I  had  not  remarked  her ;  she 
did  not  like  my  aquiline  countenance,  my  manner  of  taking  snuff", 
my  Bhicher-baots  or  what  not ;  or  she  had  seen  me  walking  with 
my  friend  Jack  Raggett,  the  painter,  on  the  Pincio — a  fellow  with 
a  hat  and  Ijcard  like  a  bandit,  a  shabby  paletot,  and  a  great  pipe 
between  his  teeth.  I  was  not  genteel  enough  for  her  circle — I 
assume  that  to  be  the  reason  ;  indeed,  Mrs.  Coverlade,  with  a  good- 
natured  smile  at  my  coat,  which  I  own  was  somewhat  shabby,  gave 
me  to  understand  as  much. 

You  little  know,  my  worthy  kind  lady,  what  a  loss  you  had 
that  season  at  Rome,  in  turning  up  your  amiable  nose  at  the  present 
writer.  I  could  have  given  you  appropriate  anecdotes  (with  which 
my  mind  is  stored)  of  all  the  Courts  of  Europe  (besides  of  Africa, 
Asia,  and  St.  Domingo),  which  I  have  visited.  I  could  have  made 
the  General  die  of  laughing  after  dinner  with  some  of  my  funny 
stories,  of  which  I  keep  a  book,  without  which  I  never  travel.  I 
am  content  with  my  dinner  :  I  can  carve  beautifully,  and  make 
jokes  upon  almost  any  dish  at  table.  I  can  talk  about  wine, 
cookery,  hotels  all  over  the  Continent : — anything  you  will.  I 
have  been  familiar  with  Cardinals,  Red  Republicans,  Jesuits, 
German  princes,  and  Carljonari ;  and,  wliat  is  more,  I  can  listen 
and  hold  my  tongue  to  admiration.  Ah,  madam,  what  did  you 
lose  in  refusing  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  Solomon  Pacifico,  M.D.  ! 

And  Avhy  ?  Because  my  coat  was  a  trifle  threadbare ;  because 
I  dined  at  the   "  Lepre "  with   Raggett  and  some  of  those  other 


ON    A    LADY    IN    AN    OPERA-BOX  679 

bandits  of  painters,  and  had  not  the  money  to  hire  a  coach  and 
horses. 

Gentility  is  the  death  and  destruction  of  social  happiness 
amongst  the  middle  classes  in  England.  It  destroys  naturalness 
(if  I  may  coin  such  a  word)  and  kindly  sympathies.  The  object 
of  life,  as  I  take  it,  is  to  be  friendly  with  everybody.  As  a  rule, 
and  to  a  philosophical  cosmopolite,  every  man  ought  to  be  welcome. 
I  do  not  mean  to  your  intimacy  or  affection,  but  to  yom-  society ; 
as  there  is,  if  we  would  or  could  but  discover  it,  something  notable, 
something  worthy  of  observation,  of  sympathy,  of  wonder  and  amuse- 
ment, in  every  fellow-mortal.  If  I  had  been  Mr.  Pacifico,  travelling 
with  a  courier  and  a  carriage,  would  Mrs.  Walker  have  made  any 
objection  to  me  1  I  think  not.  It  was  the  Blucher-boots  and  the 
worn  hat  and  the  homely  companion  of  the  individual  which  were 
unwelcome  to  this  lady.  If  I  had  been  the  disguised  Duke  of 
Pacifico,  and  not  a  retired  army-surgeon,  would  she  have  forgiven 
herself  for  slighting  me '?  What  stores  of  novels,  what  foison  of 
plays,  are  composed  upon  this  theme — the  queer  old  character  in 
the  wig  and  cloak  throws  off  coat  and  spectacles,  and  appears 
suddenly  with  a  star  and  crown — ^^a  Haroun  Alraschid,  or  other 
Merry  Monarch.  And  straightway  we  clap  our  hands  and  applaud 
— whaf? — the  star  and  garter. 

But  disguised  emperors  are  not  common  nowadays.  You  don't 
turn  away  monarchs  from  your  door,  any  more  than  angels,  un- 
awares. Consider,  though,/  how  many  a  good  fellow  you  may  shut 
out  and  sneer  upon  !  what  an  immense  deal  of  pleasure,  frankness, 
kindness,  good-fellowship,  we  forego  for  the  sake  of  our  confounded 
gentility,  and  respect  for  outward  show  !  Instead  of  placing  our 
society  upon  an  honest  footing,  we  make  our  aim  almost  avowedly 
sordid.  Love  is  of  necessity  banished  from  your  society  when  you 
measure  all  your  guests  by  a  money-standard. 

I  think  of  all  this — a  harmless  man — seeing  a  good-natured- 
looking  jolly  woman  in  the  boxes  yonder,  who  thought  herself  once 
too  gi-eat  a  person  to  associate  with  the  likes  of  me.  If  I  give 
myself  airs  to  my  neighbour,  may  I  think  of  this  too,  and  be  a 
little  more  humble  !  And  you,  honest  friend,  who  read  this — have 
you  ever  pooh-poohed  a  man  as  good  as  you?  If  you  fall  into  the 
society  of  jjeople  whom  you  are  pleased  to  call  your  inferiors,  did 
you  ever  sneer  ?  If  so,  change  I  into  U,  and  the  fable  is  narrated 
for  your  own  benefit,  by  your  obedient  servant, 

Solomon  Pacifico. 


II 
ON  THE  PLEASURES   OF  BEING  A  FOGEY 

WHILST  I  was  riding  the  other  clay  by  the  beautiful 
Serpentine  River  upon  my  excellent  friend  Heaviside's 
grey  cob,  and  in  company  of  the  gallant  and  agreeable 
Augustus  Toplady,  a  carriage  passed  from  which  looked  out  a  face 
of  such  remarkable  beauty,  that  Augustus  and  myself  quickened 
our  pace  to  follow  the  vehicle,  and  to  keep  for  a  while  those  charm- 
ing features  in  view.  My  beloved  and  unknown  young  friend  who 
peruses  these  lines,  it  was  very  likely  yom*  face  which  attracted 
your  humble  servant ;  recollect  whether  you  were  not  in  the  Park 
upon  the  day  I  allude  to,  and  if  you  were,  whom  else  could  I  mean 
but  you  1  I  don't  know  your  name ;  I  have  forgotten  the  arms 
on  the  carriage,  or  whether  there  were  any ;  and  as  for  women's 
dresses,  who  can  remember  them  1  but  your  dear  kind  countenance 
was  so  pretty  and  good-humoured  and  pleasant  to  look  at,  that  it 
remains  to  this  day  faithfully  engi^avcn  on  my  heart,  and  I  feel  sure 
that  you  are  as  good  as  you  are  handsome.  Almost  all  handsome 
women  are  good :  they  cannot  choose  but  be  good  and  gentle  with 
those  sweet  features  and  that  charming  gi-aceful  figure.  A  day  in 
which  one  sees  a  veri/  pretty  woman  should  always  be  noted  as  a 
holyday  with  a  man,  and  marked  with  a  white  stone.  In  this  way, 
and  at  this  season  in  London,  to  be  sure,  such  a  day  comes  seven 
times  in  the  week,  and  our  calendar,  like  thri.  of  the  Roman 
Catholics,  is  all  Saints'  days. 

Toplady,  then,  on  his  chestnut  horse,  with  his  glass  in  his  eye, 
and  the  tips  of  his  shiny  boots  just  touching  the  stirrup,  and  your 
slave,  the  present  writer,  rode  after  your  carriage,  and  looked  at 
you  with  such  notes  of  admiration  expressed  in  their  eyes,  that  you 
remember  you  blushed,  you  smiled,  and  then  began  to  talk  to  that 
very  nice-looking  elderly  lady  in  the  front  seat,  who  of  course  was 
your  mamma.  You  turned  out  of  the  ride — it  was  time  to  go  home 
and  dress  for  dinner, — you  were  gone.  Good  luck  go  with  you,  and 
with  all  feir  things  which  thus  come  and  pass  away  ! 

Top  caused  his  horse  to  cut  all  sorts  of  absurd  capers  and 
caracoles  by  the  side  of  your  carriage.  He  made  it  dance  upon 
two  legs,  then  upon  other  two,  then  as  if  he  would  jump  over  the 
railings  and  crush  the  admiring  nursery-maids  and  the  rest  of  the 
infantry.     I  should  think  he  got  his  animal  from  Batty's,  and  that. 


ON    THE   PLEASURES    OF    BEING   A   FOGEY     681 

at  a  crack  of  Widdicomb's  whip,  he  could  dance  a  quadrille.  He 
ogled,  he  smiled,  he  took  off  his  hat  to  a  Countess's  carriage  that 
happened  to  be  passing  in  the  other  line,  and  so  showed  his  hair; 
he  grinned,  he  kissed  his  little  finger-tips  and  fiung  them  about  as 
if  he  would  shake  them  oft" ;  whereas  the  other  party  on  the  grey 
cob — the  old  gentleman — pounded  along  at  a  resolute  trot,  and 
never  once  took  his  respectful  eyes  off,  you  while  you  continued  in 
the  ring. 

When  you  were  gone  (you  see  by  the  way  in  which  I  linger 
about  you  still,  that  I  am  unwilling  to  part  with  you)  Toplady 
turned  round  upon  me  with  a  killing  triumphant  air,  and  stroked 
that  impudent  little  tuft  he  has  on  his  chin,  and  said — "I  say, 
old  boy,  it  was  the  chestnut  she  was  looking  at,  and  not  the  gway.'" 
And  I  make  no  doubt  he  thinks  you  are  in  love  with  him  to  this 
minute. 

"  You  silly  young  jackanapes,"  said  I,  "  what  do  I  care  whether 
she  was  looking  at  the  grey  or  the  chestiuit  ?  I  was  thinking  about 
the  girl ;  you  were  thinking  about  yourself,  and  be  hanged  to  your 
vanity  !  "  And  with  this  thrust  in  his  little  chest,  I  flatter  myself 
I  upset  ycung  Toplady,  that  triumphant  careering  rider. 

It  was  natural  that  he  should  wish  to  please ;  that  is,  that  he 
should  wish  other  people  to  admire  him.  Augustus  Toplady  is 
young  (still)  and  lovely.  It  is  not  until  a  late  period  of  life  that  a 
genteel  young  fellow,  with  a  Grecian  nose  and  a  suitable  waist  and 
whiskers,  begins  to  admire  other  people  besides  himself. 

That,  however,  is  the  great  advantage  which  a  man  possesses 
whose  morning  of  life  is  over,  whose  reason  is  not  taken  prisoner 
by  any  kind  of  blandishments,  and  who  knows  and  feels  that  he  is 
a  FOGEY.  As  an  old  buck  is  an  odious  sight,  absurd,  and  ridiculous 
Ixjfore  gods  and  men ;  cruelly,  but  deservedly,  quizzed  by  you  young 
people,  who  are  not  in  the  least  duped  by  his  youthful  airs  or  toilette 
artifices,  so  an  honest,  good-natured,  straightforward,  middle-aged, 
easily  pleased  Fogey  is  a  worthy  and  anuable  member  of  society,  and 
a  man  who  gets  both  respect  and  liking. 

Even  in  the  lovely  sex,  who  has  not  remarked  how  painful  is 
that  period  of  a  woman's  life  when  she  is  passing  out  of  her  bloom, 
and  thinking  about  gdving  up  her  position  as  a  beauty  1  What  sad 
injustice  and  stratagems  she  has  to  perpetrate  during  the  struggle  ! 
Siie  hides  away  her  daughters  in  the  sclioolroom,  she  makes  them 
wear  cruel  pinafores,  and  dresses  herself  in  the  garb  which  they 
ought  to  assume.  She  is  obliged  to  distort  the  calendar,  and  to 
resort  to  all  sorts  of  schemes  and  arts  to  hide,  in  her  own  person, 
the  august  and  respectable  marks  of  time.  Ah  !  what  is  this  revolt 
against  nature  Imt  imp(jtent  blaspliemy  ?  Is  not  Autumn  beautiful 
^  22 


()82  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

in  its  ai)i)i)i]itc<l  season,  that  we  are  to  be  ashamed  of  her  and  paint 
lier  yellowing  leaves  pea-green  1  Let  ns,  I  say,  take  the  fall  of  the 
year  as  it  was  made,  serenely  and  sweetly,  and  await  the  time  when 
Winter  comes  and  the  nights  shut  in.  I  know,  for  my  part,  many 
ladies  who  are  for  more  agreeable  and  more  •  beautiful  too,  now  that 
they  are  no  longer  beauties  ;  and,  by  converse,  I  have  no  doubt  that 
Toplady,  about  whom  we  jvere  speaking  just  now,  will  be  a  far 
pleasanter  i)erson  when  he  has  given  up  the  practice,  or  desire,  orf 
killing  the  other  sex,  and  has  sunk  into  a  mellow  repose  as  an  old 
bachelor  or  a  married  man. 

The  great  and  delightful  advantage  that  a  man  enjoys  in  the 
world,  after  he  has  abdicated  all  pretensions  as  a  conqueror  and 
enslaver  of  females,  and  both  formally,  and  of  his  heart,  acknow- 
ledges himself  to  be  a  Fogey,  is  that  he  now  comes  for  the  first  time 
to  enjoy  and  appreciate  duly  the  society  of  women.  For  a  young 
man  about  town,  there  is  only  one  woman  in  the  whole  city — (at 
least  very  few  indeed  of  the  young  Turks,  let  us  hope,  dare  to  have 
two  or  three  strings  to  their  wicked  bows) — he  goes  to  ball  after 
ball  in  pursuit  of  that  one  jjerson  ;  he  sees  no  other  eyes  but  hers  ; 
hears  no  other  voice ;  cares  for  no  other  petticoat  but  that  in  which 
his  charmer  dances ;  he  pursues  her — is  refused — is  accepted  and 
jilted ;  breaks  his  heart,  mends  it  of  course,  and  goes  on  again  after 
some  other  beloved  being,  until  in  the  order  of  fate  and  nature  he 
marries  and  settles,  or  remains  unmarried,  free,  and  a  Fogey.  Until 
then  we  know  nothing  of  women — the  kindness  and  refinement  and 
wit  of  the  elders ;  the  artless  p-attle  and  dear  little  chatter  of  the 
young  ones ;  all  these  are  hidden  from  us  until  we  take  the  Fogey's 
degree  :  nay,  even  perhaps  from  married  men,  whose  age  and  gravity 
entitle  them  to  rank  amongst  Fogeys ;  for  every  woman,  who  is 
worth  anything,  will  be  jealous  of  her  husband  up  to  seventy  or 
eighty,  and  always  prevent  his  intercourse  with  other  ladies.  But 
an  old  bachelor,  or  better  still,  an  old  widower,  has  this  delightful 
entree  into  the  female  world  :  he  is  free  to  come;  to  go;  to  listen  ; 
to  joke ;  to  sympathise  ;  to  talk  with  Mamma  about  her  plans 
and  troubles;  to  pump  from  Miss  the  little  secrets  that  gush  so- 
easily  from  her  j^ure  little  well  of  a  heart ;  the  ladies  do  not  [/ene?- 
themselves  before  him,  and  he  is  admitted  to  their  mysteries  like 
the  Doctor,  the  Confessor,  or  the  Kislar  Aga. 

What  man,  who  can  enjoy  this  pleasure  and  privilege,  ought  to 
be  indiff'erent  to  it  ?  If  the  society  of  one  woman  is  delightful,  as 
the  young  fellows  think,  and  justly,  how  much  more  delightful  is 
the  society  of  a  thousand  !  One  woman,  for  instance,  has  brown 
eyes,  and  a  geological  or  musical  turn ;  another  has  sweet  blue  eyes, 
and  takes,  let  us  say,  the  Gorham  side  of  the  controversy  at  present 


ON    THE    BENEFITS    OF    BEING    A    FOGEY     683 

pending ;  a  third  darling,  with  long  fringed  lashes  hiding  eyes  of 
hazel,  lifts  them  uj]  ceiling-wards  in  behalf  of  Miss  Sellou,  thinks 
the  Lord  Chief  Justice  has  hit  the  poor  yonng  lady  vei'y  hard  in 
publishing  her  letters,  and  proposes  to  quit  the  Church  next  Tues- 
day or  Wednesday,  or  whenever  Mr.  Oriel  is  ready — and,  of  course. 
a  man  may  be  in  love  with  one  or  the  other  of  these.  But  it  is 
manifest  that  brown  eyes  will  remain  brown  eyes  to  the  end,  and 
that,  having  no  other  interest  but  Jiiusic  or  geology,  her  conversation 
on  those  points  may  grow  more  than  sutiicient.  Sapphira,  again, 
when  she  has  said  her  say  with  regard  to  the  Gorham  affair,  and 
proved  that  the  other  party  are  but  Romanists  in  disguise,  and  who 
is  interested  on  no  other  subject,  may  possibly  tire  you — so  may 
Hazelia,  Avho  is  working  altar-cloths  all  day,  and  would  desire  no 
better  martjTdom  than  to  walk  barefoot  in  a  night  procession  up 
Sloane  Street  and  lK)me  l)y  Wilton  Place,  time  enough  to  get  her 
poor  meurt)-is  little  feet  into  white  satin  slippers  for  the  night's  ball 
— I  say,  if  a  man  can  be  wrought  up  to  rapture,  and  enjoy  bliss  in 
the  company  of  any  one  of  these  j'oung  ladies,  or  any  other  in- 
dividuals in  the  infinite  variety  of  Miss-kind — how  much  real 
sympathy,  benevolent  pleasure,  and  kindly  observation  may  he 
enjoy,  when  he  is  allowed  to  be  familiar  with  the  whole  charming 
race,  and  behold  the  brightness  of  all  their  different  eyes,  and  listen 
to  the  sweet  music  of  their  various  voices  ! 


Ill 

OX   THE   BENEFITS   OF   BEIXG  A   FOGEY 

IN  possession  of  the  right  and  privilege  of  garrulity  which  is  ac- 
corded to  old  age,  I  cannot  allow  that  a  single  side  of  paper 
should  contain  all  that  I  have  to  say  in  respect  to  the  manifold 
advantages  of  being  a  Fogey.  I  am  a  Fogey,  and  have  been  a  young 
man.  I  see  twenty  women  in  the  world  constantly  to  whom  I  would 
like  to  "have  given  a  lock  of  my  hair  in  days  when  my  pate  boasted 
of  that  ornament ;  for  whom  my  heart  felt  tumultuous  emotions, 
before  the  victorious  and  beloved  Mrs.  Pacifico  subjugated  it.  If 
I  had  any  feelings  now,  Mrs.  P.  would  order  them  and  me  to  be 
quiet :  but  I  have  none  ;  I  am  tranquil — yes,  really  tranquil  (though 
as  my  dear  Leonora  is  sitting  oj)posite  to  me  at  this  minute,  and  has 
an  askance  glance  from  her  novel  to  my  i)aper  as  I  write — even  if 
I  were  not  tranquil,  I  should  say  that  I  was ;  but  I  am  quiet)  :  I 


()S-t  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

have  i)a,ssc(l  the  hot  stage :  and  I  do  not  know  a  pleasanter  and 
cahnor  feeling  of  mind  than  that  of  a  respectable  person  of  the 
middle  age,  who  can  still  be  heartily  and  generously  fond  of  all  the 
women  about  whom  he  was  in  a  passion  and  a  fever  in  early  life. 
If  you  cease  liking  a  woman  when  you  cease  loving  her,  depend  on 
it  that  one  of  you  is  a  bad  one.  You  are  jiarted,  never  mind  with 
what  pangs  on  either  side,  or  by  what  circumstances  of  fate,  choice, 
or  necessity — you  have  no  money  or  she  has  too  much,  or  she  likes 
somebody  else  better,  and  so  forth ;  but  an  honest  Fogey  should 
always,  unless  reason  be  given  to  the  contrary,  think  well  of  the 
woman  whom  he  has  once  thought  well  of,  and  remember  her  with 
kindness  and  tenderness,  as  a  man  remembers  a  place  where  he  has 
been  very  happy. 

A  proi)er  management  of  his  recollections  thus  constitutes  a  very 
great  item  in  the  happiness  of  a  Fogey.     I,  for  my  part,  would  rather 

remember ,  and ,  and  (I  dare  not  mention  names, 

for  isn't  my  Le;)nora  pretending  to  read  "  The  Initials,"  and  peeping 
over  my  shoulder?),  than  be  in  love  over  again.  It  is  because  I 
have  suffered  prodigiously  from  that  passion  that  I  am  interested  in 
beholding  others  undergoing  the  malady.  I  watch  it  in  all  ball- 
rooms (over  my  cards,  where  I  and  the  old  ones  sit)  and  dinner- 
parties. Without  sentiment,  there  would  be  no  flavour  in  life  at 
all.  I  like  to  watch  young  folks  who  are  fond  of  each  other,  be  it 
the  housemaid  furtively  engaged  smiling  and  glancing  with  John 
through  the  area  railiiigs ;  be  it  Miss  and  the  Captain  whispering 
in  the  embrasure  of  the  drawing-room  window — Amant  is  interesting 
to  me  because  of  Aniavi — of  course  it  is  Mrs.  Pacifico  I  mean. 

All  Fogeys  of  good  breeding  and  kind  condition  of  mind,  who  go 
about  in  tlie  world  much,  should  remember  to  efface  themselves — if 
I  may  use  a  French  phrase — they  should  not,  that  is  to  say,  thrust 
in  their  old  mugs  on  all  occasions.  When  the  people  are  marching 
out  to  dinner,  for  instance,  and  the  Cai)tain  is  sitlling  up  to  Miss, 
Fogey,  because  he  is  twenty  years  older  than  the  Captain,  should 
not  push  himself  forward  to  arrest  that  young  fellow,  and  carry  oft" 
the  disappointed  girl  on  his  superannuated  rheumatic  old  elbow. 
"\Mien  there  is  anything  of  this  sort  going  on  (and  a  man  of  the 
world  has  possession  of  the  carte  du  p^ys  with  half  an  eye),  I 
Ijecome  interested  in  a  picture,  or  have  something  particular  to  say 
to  pretty  Polly  the  parrot,  or  to  little  Tommy,  who  is  not  coming 
in  to  dinner,  and  while  I  am  talking  to  him,  ]\Iiss  and  the  Captain 
make  their  little  arrangement.  In  this  way  I  managed  only  last 
week  to  let  young  Billington  and  the  lovely  Blanche  Pouter  get 
together ;  and  walked  downstairs  with  my  hat  for  the  only  partner 
of  my  arm.     Augustus  Toplady  now,  because  he  was  a  Captain  of 


ON    THE    BENEFITS    OF    BEING    A    FOGEY     685 

Dragoons  almost  before  Billington  was  born,  would  have  insisted 
upon  his  right  of  precedence  over  Billington,  who  only  got  his  troop 
the  other  day. 

Precedence  !  Fiddlestick  !  Men  squabble  about  precedence  be- 
cause they  are  doubtful  about  their  condition,  as  Irishmen  Mali  insist 
upon  it  that  you  are  determined  to  insult  and  trample  upon  their 
beautiful  country,  whether  you  are  thinking  about  it  or  no ;  men 
young  to  the  world  mistrust  the  bearing  of  others  towards  them, 
because  they  mistrust  themselves.  I  have  seen  many  sneaks  and 
much  cringing  of  course  in  the  world ;  but  the  fault  of  gentlefolk  is 
generally  the  contrary — an  absurd  doubt  of  the  intentions  of  others 
towards  us,  and  a  perpetual  assertion  of  our  twopenny  dignity,  which 
nobody  is  thinking  of  wounding. 

As  a  young  man,  if  the  lord  I  knew  did  not  happen  to  notice 
me,  the  next  time  I  met  him  I  used  to  envelop  myself  in  my  dignity, 
and  treat  his  Lordship  with  such  a  tremendous  hauteur  and  killing 
coolness  of  demeanour,  that  you  might  have  fancied  I  was  an  Earl 
at  least,  and  he  a  menial  upon  whom  I  trampled.  AVhereas  he  was 
a  simple  good-natured  creature  who  had  no  idea  of  insulting  or  slight- 
ing me,  and,  indeed,  scarcely  any  idea  about  any  subject,  except  racing 
and  shooting.  Young  men  have  this  uneasiness  in  society,  because 
they  are  thinking  about  themselves  :  Fogeys  are  happy  and  tranquil, 
because  they  are  taking  advantage  of,  and  enjoying,  without  sus- 
picion, the  good-nature  and  good  offices  of  other  well-bred  people. 

Have  you  not  often  wished  for  yourself,  or  some  other  dear 
friend,  ten  "thousand  a  year?  It  is  natural  that  you  should  like  such 
a  good  thing  as  ten  thousand  a  year;  and  all  the  pleasures  and 
comforts  which  it  brings.  So  also  it  is  natural  that  a  man  should 
like  the  society  of  people  well-to-do  in  the  world ;  who  make  their 
houses  pleasant,  who  gather  pleasant  persons  about  them,  who 
have  fine  pictures  on  their  walls,  pleasant  books  in  their  libraries, 
pleasant  parks  and  town  and  country  houses,  good  cooks  and  good 
cellars ;  if  I  were  coming  to  dine  with  you,  I  would  rather  have  a 
good  dinner  than  a  bad  one ;  if  So-and-so  is  as  good  as  you  and 
possesses  these  things,  he,  in  so  far,  is  better  than  you  who  do  not 
possess  them  :  therefore  I  had  rather  go  to  his  house  in  Belgravia 
than  to  your  lodgings  in  Kentish  Town.  That  is  the  rationale  of 
living  in  good  comj)any.  An  absurd,  conceited,  high-and-mighty 
young  man  hangs  back,  at  once  insolent  and  bashful ;  an  honest, 
simple,  quiet,  easy,  clear-sighted  Fogey  steps  in  and  takes  the  gooils 
which  the  gods  provide,  without  elation  as  without  squcamishness. 

It  is  only  a  few  men.  who  attain  simplicity  in  early  life.  This 
man  has  his  conceited  self-importance  to  be  cured  of;  that  has  his 
conceited  bashfulness  to  be  "taken  out  of  him,"  as  the  phrase  is. 


686     SKETCHES    AND    TRAVELS    IN    LONDON 

You  liave  a  disquiet  which  you  try  to  hide,  and  you  put  on  a  haughty 
guarded  manner.  You  are  suspicious  of  the  good-will  of  the  company 
round  about  yoii,  or  of  the  estimation  in  wliich  they  hohl  you. 
You  sit  nuun  at  table.  It  is  not  your  j)lace  to  "  put  yourself 
forward."  You  are  thinking  about  yourself;  that  is,  you  are  sus- 
picious about  that  personage  and  everybody  else :  that  is,  you  are 
not  frank ;  that  is,  you  are  not  well  bred ;  that  is,  you  are  not 
agreealjle.  I  would  instance  my  young  friend  Mumford  as  a  painful 
example — one  of  the  wittiest,  cheeriest,  cleverest,  and  most  honest  of 
fellows  in  his  own  circle  ;  but  having  the  honour  to  dine  the  other 
day  at  Mr.  Hobanob's,  where  his  Excellency  the  Crimean  Minister 
and  several  gentlemen  of  humour  and  wit  were  assembled.  Mum- 
ford  did  not  open  his  mouth  once  for  the  purposes  of  conversation, 
but  sat  and  ate  his  dinner  as  silently  as  a  brother  of  La  Trappe. 

He  was  thinking  with  too  much  distrust  of  himself  (and  of 
others  by  conseijuence),  as  Toplady  was  thinking  of  himself  in  the 
little  atFair  in  Hyde  Park  to  which  I  have  alluded  in  the  former 
(;hapter.  When  Mumford  is  an  honest  Fogey,  like  some  folks,  he 
will  neither  distrust  his  host,  nor  his  company,  nor  himself;  he  will 
make  the  best  of  the  hour  and  the  people  round  about  him ;  he  will 
scorn  tumbling  over  head  and  heels  for  his  dinner,  but  he  will  take 
and  give  his  part  of  the  good  things,  join  in  the  talk  and  laugh 
unafiectedly,  nay,  actually  tumble  over  head  and  heels,  perhaps,  if 
he  has  the  talent  that  way  ;  not  from  a  wish  to  show  off  his  powers, 
but  from  a  sheer  good-humour  and  desire  to  oblige.  Whether  as 
guest  or  as  entertainer,  your  part  and  business  in  society  is  to  make 
people  as  happy  and  as  easy  as  you  can;  the  master  gives  you  his 
best  wine  and  welcome — you  gi\'e,  in  your  turn,  a  smiling  face,  a 
disposition  to  be  pleased  and  to  please ;  and  my  good  young  friend 
who  read  this,  don't  doubt  about  yourself,  or  think  about  your 
precious  person.  When  you  have  got  on  your  best  coat  and  waist- 
coat, and  have  your  dandy  shirt  and  tie  arranged — consider  these  as 
so  many  settled  things,  and  go  forward  and  through  your  business. 

That  is  why  i-eople  in  what  is  called  the  great  world  are  com- 
monly better  bred  than  persons  less  fortunate  in  their  condition :  not 
that  they  are  better  in  reality,  but  from  circumstances  they  are  never 
uneasy  about  their  position  in  the  world  :  therefore  they  are  more 
honest  and  simple  :  therefore  they  are  better  bred  than  Growler,  who 
scowls  at  the  great  ]nan  a  defiance  and  a  determination  that  he  will 
not  be  trampled  upon:  or  poor  Fawner,  who  giies  ciuivering  down  on 
his  knees,  and  licks  my  Lord's  shoes.  But  I  tliink  in  our  world — at 
least  in  my  experience — there  are  even  more  Growlers  than  Fawners. 

It  will  be  seen  by  the  above  remark,  that  a  desire  to  shine  or 
to  occupy  a  marked  place  in  society  does  not  constitute  my  idea  of 


ox    A    GOOD-LOOKING    YOUNG    LADY      687 

happiness,  or  become  the  character  of  a  discreet  Fogey.  Time,  which 
has  dimmed  the  histre  of  his  waistcoats,  allayed  the  violence  of  his 
feelings,  and  sobered  down  his  head  "ndth  grey,  shonld  give  to  the 
whole  of  his  life  a  quiet  neutral  tinge ;  out  of  which  calm  and  re- 
poseful condition  an  honest  old  Eogcy  looks  on  the  world,  and  the 
struggle  there  of  women  and  men.  I  doubt  whether  this  is  not 
better  than  struggling  yourself,  for  you  preserve  yoiu-  interest  and 
do  not  lose  your  temper.  Succeeding  ?  What  is  the  great  use  of 
succeeding  ?  Failing  ?  Where  is  the  great  harm  1  It  seems  to 
you  a  matter  of  vast  interest  at  one  time  of  your  life  whether  you 
shall  be  a  lieutenant  or  a  colonel — whether  you  shall  or  shall  not 
be  invited  to  the  Duchess's  party — whether  you  shall  get  the  place 
you  and  a  hundred  other  competitors  are  trying  for — whether  Miss 
will  have  you  or  not  :  what  the  deuce  does  it  all  matter  a  few  years 
afterwards  ?  Do  you,  Jones,  mean  to  intimate  a  desire  that  History 
should  occupy  herself  with  your  paltry  personality  ?  The  Future 
does  not  care  whether  you  were  a  captain  or  a  private  soldier.  You 
get  a  card  to  the  Duchess's  party  :  it  is  no  more  or  less  than  a  ball, 
or  a  breakfast,  like  other  balls  or  breakfasts.  You  are  half-distracted 
because  Miss  won't  have  you  and  takes  the  other  fellow,  or  you  get 
her  (as  I  did  Mrs.  Pacifico)  and  find  that  she  is  c[uite  a  different 
thing  from  what  you  expected.  Psha  !  These  things  appear  as 
nought — when  Time  passes — Time  the  consoler — Time  the  anodyne 
— Time  the  grey  calm  satirist,  whose  sad  smile  seems  to  say.  Look, 
0  man,  at  the  vanity  of  the  obj,ects  you  pursue,  and  of  yourself 
who  pursue  them  ! 

But  on  the  one  hand,  if  tliere  is  an  alloy  in  all  success,  is  there 
not  a  something  wholesome  in  all  disappointment]  To  endeavour 
to  regard  them  both  benevolently,  is  the  task  of  a  philosopher ; 
and  he  who  can  do  so  is  a  very  lucky  Fogey. 


IV 
ox  A  GOOD-LOOKING  YOUXG  LADY 

SOME  time  ago  I  had  the  fortune  to  witness  at  the  house  of 
Erminia's  brother  a  rather  pretty  and  affecting  scene  :  where- 
upon, as  my  custom  is,  I  would  like  to  make  a  few  moral 
remarks.  I  must  premise  that  I  knew  Erminia's  family  long  before 
the  young  lady  waa  bom.  Victorina  her  mother,  Boa  her  aunt, 
Chinchilla  her  grandmother — I  have  been  intimate  with  every  cue 


688     SKETCHES    AND    TRAVELS    IN    LONDON 

of  these  ladies :  and  at  the  table  of  Sabilla,  her  married  sister, 
with  whom  Ermiiiia  lives,  have  a  eover  laid  for  me  whenever  I 
choose  to  ask  for  it. 

Everybody  who  has  once  seen  Erminia  remembers  her.  Fate 
is  beneficent  to  a  man  before  whose  eyes  at  the  parks,  or  churches, 
or  theatres,  or  public  or  private  assemblies  it  throws  Erminia.  To 
see  her  face  is  a  personal  kindness  for  which  one  ought  to  be 
thankful  to  Fortune :  who  might  have  shown  you  Caprella,  with 
her  whiskers,  or  Felissa,  with  lier  savage  eyes,  instead  of  the  calm 
and  graceful,  the  tender  and  beautiful  Erminia.  When  she  comes 
into  the  room,  it  is  like  a  beautiful  air  of  Mozart  breaking  upon 
you :  when  she  passes  through  a  ballroom,  everybody  turns  and 
asks  who  is  that  Pi'incess,  that  fairy  lady  1  Even  the  women, 
especially  those  who  are  the  most  beautiful  th3mselves,  admire  her. 
By  one  of  those  kind  freaks  of  favouritism  which  Nature  takes,  she 
has  endowed  this  young  lady  with  almost  every  kind  of  ])erfection  : 
has  given  her  a  charming  face,  a  perfect  form,  a  pure  heart,  a  fine 
perception  and  Avit,  a  pretty  sense  of  humour,  a  laugh  and  a  voice 
that  are  as  sweet  as  music  to  hear,  for  innocence  and  tenderness 
ring  in  every  accent,  and  a  grace  of  movement  which  is  a  curiosity 
to  watch,  for  in  every  attitude  of  motion  or  repose  her  form  moves 
or  settles  into  beauty,  so  that  a  perpetual  grace  accompanies  her. 
I  have  before  said  that  I  am  an  old  Fogey.  On  the  day  when  I 
leave  off  admiring,  I  hope  I  shall  die.  To  see  Erminia  is  not  to 
fall  in  love  with  her :  there  are  .some  women  too  handsome,  as  it 
were,  for  that :  and  I  would  as  soon  think  of  making  myself 
miserable  because  I  could  not  marry  the  moon,  and  make  the 
silver-bowed  Goddess  Diana  Mrs.  Pacifico,  as  I  should  think  of 
having  any  jiersonal  aspirations  towards  Miss  Erminia. 

Well  then,  it  happened  the  other  day  that  this  almost  peerless 
creature,  on  a  visit  to  the  country,  met  that  great  poet,  Timotlieus, 
whose  habitation  is  not  far  from  the  country  house  of  Erminia's 
friend,  and  who,  upon  seeing  the  young  lady,  felt  for  her  that 
admiration  which  every  man  of  taste  expeiiences  upon  beholding 
her,  and  which,  if  Mrs.  Timotlieus  had  not  been  an  exceedingly 
sensible  person,  would  have  caused  a  jealousy  between  her  and 
the  great  bard  her  husband.  But,  charming  and  beautiful  herself, 
Mrs.  Timotlieus  can  even  pardon  another  woman  for  being  so ;  nay, 
with  perfect  good  sense,  though  possibly  with  a  little  factitious 
enthusiasm,  she  professes  to  share  to  its  fullest  extent  the  admira- 
tion of  the  illustrious  Timotlieus  for  the  young  beauty. 

After  having  made  himself  well  acquainted  with  Erminia's  per- 
fections, the  famous  votary  of  Apollo  and  leader  of  the  tuneful 
choir  did  what   might  be   expected   from  such  a  ])oet  under  such 


ON    A    GOOD-LOOKING    YOUNG    LADY      689 

.circumstances,  and  began  to  sing.  Tliis  is  the  way  in  which  Nature 
has  provided  that  i)oets  should  express  their  emotions.  Wlien  tliey 
see  a  beautifid  creatiu-e  they  straightway  fall  to  work  with  their 
ten  syllables  and  eight  syllables,  with  duty  rhyming  to  beauty, 
vernal  to  eternal,  riddle  to  fiddle,,  or  what  you  please,  and  turn  out 
to  the  best  of  their  ability,  and  with  great  pains  and  neatness  on 
their  own  part,  a  copy  of  verses  in  praise  of  the  adorable  object. 
I  myself  may  have  a  doubt  about  the  genuineness  of  the  article 
produced,  or  of  the  passion  which  vents  itself  in  this  way,  for  how 
can  a  man  who  has  to  assort  carefully  his  tens  and  eights,  to  make 
his  epithets  neat  and  melodious,  to  hunt  here  and  there  for  rhymes, 
and  to  bite  the  tip  of  his  pen,  or  pace  the  gravel  walk  in  front  of 
his  house  searching  for  ideas— I  doubt,  I  say,  how  a  man  who  must 
go  through  the  above  process  before  turning  out  a  decent  set  of 
verses,  can  be  actuated  by  such  strong  feelings  as  you  and  I,  when, 
in  the  days  of  our  youth,  with  no  particular  preparation,  but  with 
our  hearts  full  of  manly  ardour,  and  tender  and  respectful  admira- 
tion, we  went  to  tlie  Saccharissa  for  the  time  being,  and  poured 
out  om-  souls  at  her  feet.  That  sort  of  eloquence  comes  spon- 
taneously ;  that  poetry  doesn't  require  rhyme-jinghng  and  metre- 
sorting,  but  rolls  out  of  you  you,  don't  know  how,  as  much,  perhaps, 
to  your  own  surprise  as  to  that  of  the  beloved  object  whom  you 
addLress.  In  my  time,  I  know  whenever  I  began  to  make  verses 
about  a  woman,  it  was  when  my  heart  was  no  longer  very  violently 
smitten  about  her,  and  the  verses  were  a  sort  of  mental  dram  and 
artificial  stimulus  with  which  a  man  worked  himself  up  to  represent 
enthusiasm  and  perform  passion.  Well,  well ;  I  see  what  you 
mean ;  I  am  jealous  of  him.  Timotheus's  verses  were  beautiful, 
that's  the  fact — confound  him  ! — and  I  wish  I  coidd  write  as  well, 
or  half  as  well  indeed,  or  do  anything  to  give  Eniiinia  pleasure. 
Like  an  honest  man  and  faithful  .s«;rvant,  he  went  and  made  the 
best  thing  he  could,  and  laid  this  ofl^cring  at  Beauty's  feet.  What 
can  a  gentleman  do  more  %  My  dear  Mrs.  Pacifico  here  remarks 
that  I  never  made  Jier  a  copy  of  verses.  Of  com-se  not,  my  love. 
I  am  not  a  verse-making  man,  nor  are  you  that  sort  of  oljject — 
that  sort  of  target,  I  may  say — at  which,  were  I  a  ijoet,  I  would 
choose  to  discharge  tliose  winged  sliafts  of  Apollo. 

When  Erminia  got  the  verses  and  read  them,  she  laid  them 
down,  and  witli  one  of  tlie  prettiest  and  most  affecting  emotions 
which  I  ever  saw  in  my  life,  she  began  to  cry  a  little.  The  verses 
of  course  were  full  of  praises  of  her  beauty.  "  They  all  tell  me 
that,"  she  said;  "  nobody  cares  for  anything  but  that,"  cried  the 
gentle  and  sensitive  creature,  feeling  witliin  that  she  had  a  thousand 
accomplisliments,  attractions,  charms,  which  her  hundred  thousand 
3a 


690    SKETCHES    AND    TRAVELS    IN    LONDON 

lovers  would  not  see,  Mliilst  they  were  adiiiii'iiiLj  lier  inero  out\v;inl 
figure  and  liea(li)iece. 

I  onco  licard  of  another  lady,  "  de  i)ar  le  monde,"  as  honest 
Dcs  Bourdeillcs  says,  who  after  looking  at  her  i)lain  fiiee  in  tiie 
glass,  said,  beautifully  and  pathetically,  "  I  am  sure  I  should  have 
made  a  good  wife  to  any  n)un,  if  he  could  but  have  got  over  my 
face ! "  and  bewailing  her  maidenhood  in  this  touching  and  artless 
manner,  saying  that  she  had  a  heart  full  of  love,  if  anybody  would 
accept  it,  full  of  faith  and  devotion,  could  she  but  find  some  man 
on  whom  to  bestow  it,  she  but  echoed  the  sentiment  which  I  have 
mentioned  above,  and  which  caused  in  the  pride  of  her  beauty  the 
melancholy  of  the  lonely  and  victorious  beauty.  "  We  are  full  of 
love  and  kindness,  ye  men  ! "  each  says ;  "  of  truth  and  purity. 
We  don't  care  about  your  good  looks.  Could  we  but  find  the 
right  man,  the  man  who  loved  us  for  ourselves,  we  would  endow 
him  with  all  the  treasures  of  our  hearts,  and  devote  our  lives  to 
make  him  happy."  I  admire  and  reverence  Erminia's  tears,  and 
the  simple  heart-stricken  plaint  of  the  other  forsaken  lady.  She 
is  Jephthah's  daughter  condemned  by  no  fault  of  her  own,  but 
doomed  by  Fate  to  disappear  from  among  women.  The  other  is 
a  Queen  in  her  splendour  to  whom  all  the  Lords  and  Princes  bow 
down  and  pay  worship.  "  Ah  !  "  says  she,  "  it  is  to  the  Queen  you 
are  kneeling,  all  of  you.  I  am  a  woman  mider  this  crown  and  this 
ermine.  I  want  to  be  loved,  and  not  to  be  worshipped  :  and  to 
be  allowed  to  love  is  given  to  everybody  but  me." 

How  much  finer  a  woman's  nature  is  than  a  man's  (by  an 
Ordinance  of  Nature,  for  the  purpose  no  doubt  devised),  how  much 
purer  and  less  sensual  than  ours,  is  seen  in  that  fact  so  consoling 
to  missliapen  men,  to  ugly  men,  to  little  men,  to  giants,  to  old 
men,  to  poor  men,  to  men  scarred  with  the  smallpox,  or  ever  so 
ungainly  or  unfortunate  —  that  their  ill-looks  or  mishaps  don't 
influence  women  regarding  them,  and  that  the  awkwardest  fellow 
has  a  chance  for  a  prize.  Whereas,  when  we,  brutes  that  we  are, 
enter  a  room,  we  sidle  up  naturally  towards  the  prettiest  woman  : 
it  is  the  pretty  face  and  figure  which  attracts  us ;  it  is  not  virtue, 
or  merit,  or  mental  charms,  be  they  ever  so  great.  When  one  reads 
the  fairy  tale  of  Beauty  and  the  Beast,  no  one  is  at  all  surprised 
at  Beauty's  being  moved  by  Beast's  gallantry,  and  devotion,  and 
true-heartednsss,  and  rewarding  him  with  her  own  love  at  last. 
There  was  hardly  any  need  to  make  him  a  lovely  young  Prince  in 
a  gold  dress  under  his  horns  and  bearskin.  Beast  as  he  was, 
but  good  Beast,  loyal  Beast,  brave,  affectionate,  upright,  generous, 
enduring  Beast,  she  would  have  loved  his  ugly  mug  without  any 
attraction  at  all.     It  is  her  nature  to  d(j  so,  God  bless  her !     It 


ON   AN    INTERESTING   FRENCH    EXILE    691 

was  a  man  made  the  story,  one  of  those  twopenny-halfpenny  men- 
milliner  moralists,  who  think  that  to  have  a  handsome  person  and  a 
title  are  the  greatest  gifts  of  fortune,  and  that  a  man  is  not  complete 
unless  he  is  a  lord  and  has  glazed  boots.  Or  it  may  have  been  that 
the  transformation  alluded  to  did  n«t  actually  take  place,  but  was  only 
spiritual,  and  in  Beauty's  mind,  and  that,  seeing  before  her  loyalty, 
bravery,  truth,  and  devotion,  tliey  became  in  her  eyes  lovely,  and 
that  slie  hugged  her  Beast  with  a  perfect  contentment  to  the  end. 

When  ugly  Wilkes  said  that  he  was  only  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
Ijehind  the  handsomest  man  in  England ;  meaning  that  the  charms 
(»f  his  conversation  would  make  him  in  that  time  at  a  lady's  side 
as  agreeable  and  fascinating  as  a  beau,  what  a  compliment  he  paid 
the  whole  sex  !  How  true  it  is  (not  of  course  applicable  to  yon, 
my  dear  reader  and  lucky  dog  who  possess  both  wit  and  the  most 
eminent  personal  attractions,  but  of  the  world  in  general),  We  look  for 
Beauty :  women  for  Love.  So,  fair  Erminia,  dry  your  beautiful  eyes 
and  submit  to  your  lot,  and  to  that  adulation  which  all  men  pay  you ; 
in  the  midst  of  which  court  of  yours  the  sovereign  must  perforce  be 
lonely.  That  solitude  is  a  condition  of  your  life,  my  dear  young 
lady,  which  many  would  like  to  accept,  nor  will  yoiu-  dominion  last 
much  longer  than  my  Lord  Farncombe's,  let  us  say,  at  the  Mansion 
House,  whom  Time  and  the  inevitable  November  will  depose. 
Another  ]jotentate  will  ascend  his  throne;  the  toast-master  will  pro- 
claim another  name  than  his,  and  the  cup  will  be  pledged  to  another 
healtli.  As  with  Xerxes  and  all  his  courtiers  and  army  at  the  end  of 
a  few  years,  as  with  the  flowers  of  the  field,  as  with  Lord  Farncombe, 
so  with  Erminia  :  were  I  Timotheus  of  the  tuneful  choir,  I  might 
follow  out  tins  simile  between  Lord  Mayors  and  Beauties,  and  with 
smooth  rhymes  and  i|uaint  antitliesis  make  a  verse-offering  to  my  fair 
young  lady.  But,  madam,  your  faithful  Pacifico  is  not  a  poet,  only  a 
proser;  and  it  is  in  truth,  and  not  in  numbers,  that  he  admires  you. 


V 

ON   AN   INTERESTING   FRENCH  EXILE 

AS  he  walks  thi'  streets  of  Lniidijii  in  this  present  season,  every- 
body must  have  remarked  the  constant  appearance  in  all 
'  thoroughfares  and  ])ublic  places  of  very  many  well-dressed 
foreigners.  \\'ith  comely  l)eards,  vai-iegated  neckclotlis,  and  var- 
nished little  boots,  with  guide-books  in  their  hands,  or  a  shabby 


G9'2  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

guide  or  ('(iiiductor  accompanying  a  smart  littlo  sqund  of  lialf-a- 
dozi'u  of  tlioni,  these  honest  Continentals  march  through  tlie  city 
and  its  environs,  examine  Nelson  on  his  indescribable  |)illar,  tlie 
Duke  of  York  impaled  between  tlie  Athemiouni  and  the  United 
Service  Clubs — les  docks,  le  tunnel  (monanient  du  genie  Franrais), 
Greenwich  avec  son  pare  et  ses  tvkifes-bates,  les  monuments  de  la 
cite,  les  Squarrs  du  West  End,  &c.  The  sigiit  of  these  peaceful 
invaders  is  a  very  pleasant  one.  One  would  like  to  lieaj"  their 
comments  upon  our  city  and  institutions,  and  to  be  judged  by'  thnt 
living  posterity ;  and  I  have  often  thought  that  an  ingenious  young 
Englishman,  such  as  there  are  many  now  amongst  us,  possessing 
the  two  languages  perfectly,  would  do  very  well  to  let  his  beard 
grow,  and  to  travel  to  Paris,  for  the  purpose  of  returning  thence 
with  a  company  of  excursionists,  who  arrive  to  pass  une  semaine  a 
Londres  and  of  chronicling  the  doings  and  opinions  of  the  party. 
His  Excellency  the  Nepaulese  Ambassador,  and  Lieutenant  Futty 
Jung,  know  almost  .as  much  about  our  country  as  many  of  those 
otlier  foreigners  wlio  live  but  four  hom-s'  distance  from  us  ;  and  who 
are  transported  to  England  and  back  again  at  the  cost  of  a  couple 
of  hundred  francs.  Tiiey  are  conducted  to  our  theatres,  courts  of 
justice.  Houses  of  Parliament,  churches ;  not  understanding,  for  the 
most  part,  one  syllable  of  what  they  hear  :  their  eager  imaginations 
fancy  an  oration  or  a  dialogue,  Avhich  su]iplies  the  words  delivered 
by  the  English  speakers,  and  replaces  them  by  figures  and  senti- 
ments of  their  own  faron ;  and  they  believe,  no  doubt,  that  their 
reports  are  pretty  accurate,  and  that  they  have  actually  heard  and 
understood  something. 

To  see  the  faces  of  these  good  folks  of  a  Sunday — their  dreary 
bewilderment  and  puzzled  demeanour  as  they  walk  the  blank  streets 
(if  they  have  not  tiie  means  of  flight  to  Ricliemont  or  Amstedd,  or 
some  other  pretty  environs  of  the  town  where  gazon  is  plentiful 
and  ale  cheap),  is  always  a  most  queer  and  comic  sight.  PLis  not 
one  seen  that  jieculiar  puzzled  look  in  certain  little  amusing  manikins 
at  the  Zoological  Gardens  and  elsewhere,  when  presented  with  a 
nut  which  they  can't  crack,  or  examining  a  looking-glass  of  which 
they  can't  understand  the  mystery — that  look  so  delightfully  i)iteous 
and  ludicrous  1  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  all  Frenchmen  are  like 
the  active  and  ingenious  animals  alluded  to,  and  make  a  simious 
comparison  odious  to  a  mighty  nation ;  this,  in  tlie  present  delicate 
condition  of  tlie  diplomatic  relations  between  the  two  countries,  and 
while  Lord  Stanley's  questions  are  pending  respecting  papers  which 
have  reference  to  the  affairs   of  a  celebrated   namesake  of  mine,* 

*  A  Jew  named  Pacifico,  who  claimed  compen.sation  for  damage  done  to  his 
property  in  a  riot  at  Athens  in  1847. 


ON    AN    INTERESTING    FRENCH    EXILE     693 

would  be  a  dangerous  and  unkind  simile  ;  but  that,  as  our  pro- 
verbial dulness  and  ferocity  often  shows  itself  in  the  resemblance 
between  the  countenances  of  our  people  and  our  houles-dogiies,  so 
the  figure  and  motions  of  the  Frenchman  bear  an  occasional  likeness 
to  the  lively  ring-tail,  or  the  biisk  and  interesting  marmoset.  They 
can't  crack  any  of  our  nuts;  an  impenetrable  shell  guards  them 
from  our  friends'  teeth.  I  saw  last  year,  at  Paris,  a  little  play 
called  "Une  Semaine  k  Londres,"  intending  to  ridicule  the  amuse- 
ments of  the  excursionists,  and,  no  doubt,  to  satirise  the  manners 
of  the  English.  Very  likely  the  author  had  come  to  see  London — 
so  had  M.  Gautier — so  had  M.  Valentino — the  first  of  whom  saw 
"  vases  chiselled  by  Benvenuto  "  in  the  pot  from  which  Mrs.  Jones 
at  Clapham  poured  out  the  poet's  tea ;  the  second,  from  a  conversa- 
tion in  English,  of  which  he  didn't  understand  a  syllable,  with  a 
young  man  in  Messrs.  Hunt  and  Roskell's  shop,  found  out  that  the 
shopman  was  a  Red  Republican,  and  that  he  and  most  of  his  fellows 
were  groaning  under  the  tyranny  of  the  aristocracy.  Very  likely, 
we  say,  the  author  of  "line  Semaine  a  Londres"  had  travelled 
hither.  There  is  no  knowing  what  he  did  not  see  :  he  saw  the 
barge  of  the  Queen  pulling  to  Greenwich,  whither  her  Majesty  was 
going  to  manger  un  excellent  sandividg ;  he  saw  the  bateaux  of 
the  blanchisseuses  on  the  river  ;  and  with  these  and  a  hundred 
similar  traits,  he  strove  to  paint  oiu'  manners  in  behalf  of  his 
countrymen. 

I  was  led  into  the  above  and  indeed  the  ensuing  reflections,  by 
reading  an  article  in  the  Times  newspaper  last  week,  on  Citizen 
Ledru  RoUin's  work  on  the  decadence  of  this  unhappy  country ; 
and  by  a  subsequent  reference  to  the  work  itself.  That  great 
citizen  protests  that  he  has  cracked  the  British  nut,  and,  having 
broken  his  grinders  at  it,  pronounces  the  kernel  utterly  poisonous, 
bitter,  and  rotten.  No  man  since  the  days  of  Pittetcobourg  has 
probably  cursed  us  with  a  more  hearty  ill-will — not  O'Connell 
liiniself  (whom  the  ex-tribune  heartily  curses  and  abuses  too) 
abused  us  more  in  his  best  days.  An  enthusiastic  malevolence, 
a  happy  instinct  for  blundering,  an  eye  that  naturally  distorts 
tlie  objects  which  its  bloodshot  glances  rest  upon,  and  a  fine  natural 
ignorance,  distinguish  the  prophet  who  came  among  us  when  Ws 
own  country  was  too  hot  to  hold  him,  and  who  bellows  out  to  us 
his  predictions  of  hatred  and  ruin.  England  is  an  assassin  and 
corrupter  (roars  our  friend) ;  it  has  nailed  Ireland  to  the  cross  (this 
is  a  favourite  image  of  the  orator ;  he  said,  two  years  ago  in  Paris, 
that  he  wtus  nailed  to  the  cross  for  the  purpose  of  saving  the 
nation  !)  ;  that,  while  in  France  the  ])ress  is  an  apostleship,  in 
England   it  is  a  business ;  that  the   Clnu-ch  is  a  vast  aristocratic 


()()!  SKETCHES  AND  TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

corniptidii,  the  Prolate  (if  Canterbury  having'  three  million  francs 
of  revenue,  and  the  Bishop  of  Hawkins  having  died  Avorth  six 
millions  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  ;  that  the  eommercial 
aristorraey  is  an  aecursed  ])ower,  making  "  Ride  Britannia"  resound 
in  distant  seas,  from  the  height  of  its  victorious  masts;  and  so 
forth.  I  am  not  going  to  enter  into  an  argument  or  quarrel  with 
the  accuracy  of  details  so  curious — my  purpose  in  writing  is  that 
of  friendly  negotiator  and  interposer  of  good  offices,  and  my  object 
eminently  pacific. 

But  though  a  man  ]iaints  an  odious  picture,  and  writes  beneath 
it,  as  the  boys  do,  "This  is  England,"  that  is  no  reason  that  the 
portrait  should  be  like.  Mr.  Spec,  for  instance,  who  tried  to  draw 
Erminia  as  a  figure-head  for  the  Proser  of  Itist  week,  made  a  face 
which  was  no  more  like  hers  than  it  was  like  mine;  and  how 
should  he,  being  himself  but  a  wretched  performer,  and  having 
only  once  seen  the  young  lady,  at  an  exhibition,  where  I  pointed  her 
out  1  As  with  Spec  and  Erminia,  so  with  Ledru  and  Britannia.  I 
doubt  whether  the  Frenchman  has  ever  seen  at  all  the  dear  old 
country  of  ours  which  he  reviles,  and  curses,  and  abuses. 

How  is  Ledru  to  see  England  ?  We  may  wager  that  he  does 
not  know  a  word  of  the  language,  any  more  than  nine  hundred  and 
ninety-nine  of  a  thousand  Frenchmen.  What  do  they  want  with 
Jordan  when  they  have  Abana  and  Pharpar,  rivers  of  Damascus, 
which  they  consider  to  be  the  finest  and  most  cleansing  waters  of 
the  world?  In  the  reader's  acquaintance  with  Frenchmen,  how 
many  does  he  know  who  can  speak  our  language  decently  1  I  have 
for  my  part,  and  for  example,  seen  many  of  the  refugees  whom  the 
troubles  of  '48  sent  over  among  us,  and  not  met  one  who,  in  the 
coujile  of  years'  residence,  has  taken  the  trouble  to  learn  our  language 
tolerably,  who  can  understand  it  accurately  when  spoken,  much 
more  express  himself  in  it  with  any  fluency.  And  without  any 
knowledge  of  Mr.  Rollin,  who  blunders  in  every  page  of  his  book, 
who  does  not  make  the  least  allusion  to  our  literature,  one  may 
pretty  surely  argue  that  this  interesting  exile  does  not  know  our 
language,  and  could  not  construe,  Avithout  enormous  errors,  any 
half-a-dozen  sentences  in  the  Times.  AVhen  Macaulay  was  busy 
with  his  great  chapters  on  King  William,  he  thoroughly  learned 
I  )utch,  in  order  to  understand,  and  have  at  first-hand,  the  despatches 
of  the  Prince  of  Orange.  Have  you  heard  of  inany  Frenchnien 
swaltowing  a  language  or  two  before  they  thought  of  producing 
a  history?  Can  Thiers  read  a  page  of  Napier?  No  more  than 
Ledru  can,  or  communicate  in  our  native  language  with  an  English- 
man, of  any  party,  from  Lord  John  Manners  to  Mr.  Julian  Harney. 

How  many  houses  has  Ledru  visited  of  the  ruffian  aristocrats  who 


ON    AN    INTERESTING    FRENCH    EXILE     695 

are  plundering  the  people,  of  the  jiriests  who  are  cheating  them,  of 
the  middle  classes  who  are  leagued  with  the  aristocracy,  or  of  the 
people  themselves  ?  Is  he  intimate  with  any  three  English  families  1 
with  any  single  nobleman,  with  any  one  parson,  tradesman,  or 
working-man  ?  He  quotes  a  gi'eat  mass  of  evidence  against  England 
from  the  Morniw/  Chronicle:  flid  he  translate  from  the  Chronicle 
himself,  or  get  a  secretary  %  Can  he  translate  %  If  he  will,  without 
the  aid  of  a  dictionary,  sit  down  in  our  office,  and  translate  this 
l)aper  fairly  into  French,  he  shall  have  the  last  volume  of  Pnnch, 
gilt,  and  jn-esented  to  him  gratis. 

The  chances  are  that  this  exile  never  sees  our  society  at  all; 
that  he  gets  his  dinner  at  a  French  table-d' -hote,  where  other  un- 
fortunates of  his  nation  meet  and  eat  and  grumble ;  that  he  goes  to 
a  French  cafe,  or  coffee-shop  used  by  Frenchmen,  to  read  the  French 
newspapers ;  that  he  buys  his  cigars  at  a  French  house ;  that  he 
takes  his  walk  between  the  Quadrant  and  Leicester  Square ;  that 
he  takes  his  amusement  at  the  French  play,  or  at  an  hotel  in 
Leicester  Place  where  there  is  a  billiard-  and  a  smoking-room,  and 
where  the  whiskered  Red  men  can  meet  and  curse  rivjame 
Am/leterre. 

Marius  sitting  in  the  ruins  of  Carthage  and  scowling  on  his 
pursuers,  is  a  grand  figure  enough  ;  but  a  French  tribune  looking 
upon  our  Carthage,  standing  alone  we  may  fancy  against  the 
desolate  statue  yonder  in  Leicester  Square,  is  the  most  dismal, 
a1)surd,  ludicrous  image  imaginable.  "  Thou  hireling  soldier  "  (says 
he,  folding  his  arms  against  the  statue  and  knitting  his  brows  with 
an  awful  air),  "thou  shuddering  C-imbrian  slave,  tell  thy  master 
that  thou  hast  seen  Caius  Marius,  banislied  and  a  fugitive,  seated 
on  the  ruins  of,"  &c.  The  minion  of  despots  whom  he  addresses 
does  not  care  in  the  least  about  his  scowls,  or  his  folded  arms,  or 
his  speech ;  not  he — Policeman  X  points  with  his  staff,  thinks 
within  himself  that  it's  only  a  Frenchman,  and  tells  him  to  move  on. 

To  an  exile  of  this  sort  what  a  daily  humiliation  London  must 
be  !  How  small  lie  ai)])cars  amongst  the  two  millions  !  Who  the 
deuce  cares  for  him  ?  Tlie  Government  does  not  even  pay  him  the 
compliment  of  the  slightest  persecution,  or  set  so  much  as  a  spy  or 
a  policeman  as  a  .guard  of  honour  at  his  door.  Every  man  he  meets 
of  the  two  millions  has  his  own  business  to  mind.  Yonder  man 
can't  attend  to  Marius  :  he  is  Chowler,  and  has  got  to  "  chaw  up  " 
Peel.  The  next  can't  listen  :  he  is  Cobdcn,  who  is  so  pressed  that 
he  cannot  even  receive  Captain  Aaron  Smith,  who  has  something 
l)articular  to  say  to  him.  A  third  is  engaged  :  it  is  Lord  Ashley, 
who  has  the  bettering  of  the  working  classes  at  heart,  and  the  model 
houses  to  visit.     A  fourth  gives  Marius  a  little  sympathy,  but  nmst 


696     SKETCHES    AND    TRAVELS    IN    LONDON 

pass  on  :  it  is  Mr.  G.  W.  M.  Reynolds,  Author  of  "  Tlie  Mysteries 
of  London  "  and  "  The  People's  Listrnctor,"  who  is  going  to  l)eard 
Lord  John  at  the  meeting,  and  ask  his  Loi-dshij)  what  his  Lordship 
is  going  to  do  for  the  millions'?  One  and  all  they  have  their  own 
affairs  to  mind.  Who  cares  about  Marius?  Get  along,  Marius, 
anil  play  a  pool  at  billiards,  and  smoke  a  cigar,  and  curse  England 
to  the  other  braves.     Move  on,  Marius,  and  don't  block  up  the  way. 


VI 

ON  AN   AMERICAN   TRAVELLER 

AS  you  sit  in  the  great  drawing-room  at  tlie  "  Megatherium,"  or 
any  other  club,  I  dare  say  you  will  remark  that  as  each  man 
passes  the  great  mirror  in  the  middle  room,  be  he  ever  so 
handsome  or  homely,  so  well  or  ill  dressed,  so  hurried  or  busy,  he 
nevertheless  has  time  for  a.  good  survey  of  himself  in  the  glass, 
and  a  deliberate  examination  of  his  clothes  and  i)ei'son.  He  is 
anxious  to  know  what  the  glass  thinks  of  him.  We  are  anxious 
to  know  what  all  reflective  persons  think  of  us.  Hence  our  con- 
stant pleasure  in  reading  books  of  travel  ])y  foreigners :  by  Hadji 
Babas  ami  Persian  Princes ;  by  Ledru  Rollins  or  German  phihj- 
sophers ;  by  Americans  who  come  to  England ;  and  the  like.  If 
the  black  gentleman  in  Saint  Paul's  Chm-chyard,  who  was  called 
away  from  his  broom  the  other  day,  and  lifted  up  into  the  Nepaulese 
General's  carriage  in  the  quality  of  interpreter,  writes  his  account  of 
London  life,  its  crossings  and  sweepings,  I  have  no  doubt  we  shall 
all  read  it ;  and  as  for  the  Americans,  I  think  a  smart  publisher 
might  bring  over  a  traveller  from  the  States  every  season,  at  least, 
so  constant  is  our  curiosity  regarding  ourselves,  so  pleased  arc  we 
to  hear  ourselves  spoken  of,  of  such  an  unfailing  interest  are  We 
to  Us. 

Thus,  after  reading  Ledru  Rollin's  Ixiok  the  other  day,  and 
taking  the  dismal  view  supplied  of  ourselves  by  that  cracked  and 
■wari)ed  and  dingy  old  estaminet  looking-glass,  I,  for  one,  was  glad 
to  survey  my  person  in  such  a  bright  and  elegant  New  York  mirror 
as  that  of  Mr.  Parker  Willis  ;  and  seized  eagerly,  at  a  railway 
station,  upon  a  new  volume  .by  that  gentleman,  bearing  the  fasci- 
nating title  of  "  People  I  have  Met."  Parker  Willis  is  no  other  than 
that  famous  and  clever  N.  P.  Willis  of  former  days,  whose  remini- 
scences have  delighted  so  many  of  us,  and  in  whose  company  one  is 


ON    AN    AMERICAN    TRAVELLER  697 

always  sure  to  find  amusement  of  some  sort  or  the  other.  Some- 
times it  is  amusement  at  the  writer's  wit  and  smartness,  his  brilliant 
descriptions,  and  wondrous  flow  and  rattle  of  spirits  ;  sometimes  it 
is  wicked  amusement,  and,  it  must  be  confessed,  at  Willis's  own 
expense — amusement  at  the  immensity  of  N.  P.'s  blunders,  amuse- 
ment at  the  prodigiousness  of  his  self-esteem ;  amusement  always, 
with  him  or  at  him ;  with  or  at  Willis  the  poet,  Willis  the  man, 
Willis  the  dandy,  Willis  the  lover — now  the  Broadway  Crichton, 
once  the  ruler  of  fashion,  and  heart-enslaver  of  Bond  Street,  and  the 
Boulevard,  and  the  Corso  and  the  Chiaja,  and  the  Constantinople 
Bazaar.  It  is  well  for  the  general  peace  of  families  that  the  world 
does  not  produce  many  such  men ;  there  would  be  no  keeping  our 
wives  and  daughters  in  their  senses  were  such  fascinators  to  make 
frequent  apparitions  amongst  us ;  but  it  is  comfortable  that  there 
should  have  been  a  Willis;  and  (since  the  appearance  of  the 
Proser)  a  literary  man  myself,  and  anxious  for  the  honour  of  that 
profession,  I  am  proud  to  think  that  a  man  of  our  calling  should 
have  come,  should  have  seen,  should  have  conquered,  as  Willis 
has  done. 

"  There  is  more  or  less  of  truth,"  he  nobly  says,  "  in  every  one 
of  the  stories  "  which  he  narrates  here  in  "  People  I  have  Met " — 
more  or  less,  to  be  sure  there  is— and  it  is  on  account  of  this  more 
or  less  of  truth  that  I,  for  my  part,  love  and  applaud  this  hero  and 
poet  so ;  and  recommend  every  man  who  reads  Punch  to  lay  out  a 
shilling  and  read  Willis.  We  live  in  our  country  and  don't  know  it : 
Willis  walks  into  it  and  dominates  it  at  once.  To  know  a  Duchess, 
f(^r  instance,  is  given  to  very  few  of  us.  He  sees  things  that  are  not 
given  to  us  to  see.  We  see  the  Duchess  pass  by  in  her  carriage, 
and  gaze  with  nuich  reverence  on  the  strawberry  leaves  on  the 
panels  and  her  Grace  within  :  whereas  the  odds  are  that  that  lovely 
Duchess  has  had.  one  time  or  the  other  a  desperate  flirtation  with 
Willis  the  Conqueror  :  perhaps  she  is  thinking  of  Lim  at  this  very 
minute  as  her  jewelled  hand  presses  her  perfumed  cambric  handker- 
chief to  her  fair  and  coroneted  brow,  and  she  languidly  stops  to 
purchase  a  ruby  bracelet  at  Gunter's,  or  to  sip  an  ice  at  Howell  and 
James's.  He  must  have  whole  mattresses  stuffed  with  the  blonde, 
or  raven,  or  auburn  memories  of  England's  fairest  daughters.  When 
the  female  English  aristocracy  read  this  title  of  "People  I  have 
Met,"  I  can  fancy  the  whole  female  peerage  of  Willis's  time  in  a 
sliudder :  and  the  melancholy  Marchioness,  and  the  abandoned 
Countess,  and  the  heart-stricken  Baroness,  trembling  as  each  gets 
the  volume,  and  asking  of  her  guilty  conscience,  "Gracious  goodness! 
is  the  monster  going  to  show  up  me  V 

"The  greater  number  of  his  stories,"  Willis  says,  "embody  such 
23 


698     SKETCHES    AND    TRAVELS    IN    LONDON 

passages  iu  tlio  juM-sonal  history  of  thv  ciniiicnt  men  and  women  of 
Europe  as  the  author  came  to  tlie  knowk'dge  of,  by  conversanee  with 
the  circles  in  wliicli  tliey  moved  " — and  tliis  is  the-  point,  rather  tlian 
their  own  liveliness,  elegance  of  style,  and  intrinsic  merit,  which 
makes  them  so  valuable  to  English  readers.  We  can't  hope  for  the 
facilities  accorded  to  him.  As  at  Paris,  by  merely  exhil)iting  his 
passport,  a  foreigner  will  walk  straight  into  an  exhibition,  which  is 
only  visible  to  a  native  on  certain  days  in  the  year ;  so  with  English 
aristocratic  society,  to  be  admitted  into  that  Elysium  you  had  best 
be  a  stranger.  Indeed,  how  should  it  be  otherwise?  A  lady  of 
ftxshion,  however  benevolently  disposed,  can't  ask  everybody  to  her 
house  in  Grosvenor  Siiuare  or  Carlton  Gardens.  Say  there  are  five 
hundred  thousand  ]>eople  in  London  (a  moderate  calculation)  who 
have  heard  of  Lady  P.'s  Saturday  evening  parties  and  would  like  to 
attend  them  :  where  could  her  Ladyship  put  the  thousandth  part 
of  them?  We  on  the  outside  must  be  content  to  liear  at  second 
hand  of  the  pleasures  which  the  initiated  enjoy. 

With  strangers  it  is  diiferent,  and  they  claim  and  get  admittance 
as  strangers.  Here,  for  instance,  is  an  account  of  one  Brown,  an 
American  (though,  under  that  modest  mask  of  Brown,  I  can't  help 
fancying  that  I  see  the  features  of  an  N.  P.  W.  himself) :  Brown 
arrived  in  London  with  a  budget  of  introductions  like  the  postman's 
bag  on  Valentine's  Day  ;  he  "  began  with  a  most  noble  Duke  "  (the 
sly  rogue),  and,  of  course,  was  quickly  "  on  the  dinner-list  of  most 
of  the  patricians  of  Mayfair." 

"As  I  was  calling  myself  to  account  the  other  day  over  my 
breakfast,"  said  Brown,  filling  his  glass,  and  pushing  the  bottle, 
"  it  occurred  to  me  that  my  round  of  engagements  i-e(|uired  some 
little  variation.  There's  a  toujour s  j>erdrit;  even  among  lords  and 
ladies,  j^articularly  when  you  belong  as  much  to  their  si)here,  and 
are  as  likely  to  bec6me  a  part  of  it,  as  the  fly  revohing  in  aristo- 
cratic dust  on  the  wheel  of  my  Lord's  carriage.  I  thought,  perhaps, 
I  liad  better  see  some  other  sort  of  people. 

"  I  had,  under  a  presse-]mpier  on  the  table,  about  a  hundred 
letters  of  introduction — the  condemned  remainder,  after  the  selec- 
tion, by  advice,  of  fV)ur  or  five  only.  I  determined  to  cut  this  heap 
like  a  pack  of  cards  and  follow  up  the  trump. 

" '  John  Mimpson,  Esquire,  House  of  Mimpson  and  Phipps, 
Mark  Lane,  London.' 

"  The  gods  had  devoted  me  to  the  ac((uaintance  of  Mr.  (and 
probably  Mrs.)  Jolm  Mimpson." 

After  a  "dialogue  of  accost,"  Brown  jtroduceil  his  inti-oduetory 
letter  to  Mimpson,  wimni  he  finely  describes  as  having  that  hujUly- 


ON    AN    AMERICAN    TRAVELLER  699 

tvashed  look  peculiar  to  London  City  men  ; "  and  Mimpson  asked 
Brown  to  lunch  and  sleep  at  bis  villa  at  Hampstead  the  next  day, 
whither  the  American  accordingly  went  in  a  "  poshay "  with  "a 
pair  of  Newman's  posters."  Brown  might,  as  he  owns,  have  per- 
formed this  journey  i'l  an  omniVnis  for  sixpence,  whereas  the  chaise 
would  cost  four  dollars  at  least ;  but  the  stranger  preferred  the  more 
costly  and  obsolete  contrivance. 

"  Mrs.  Mimpson  was  in  the  garden.  The  dashing  footman  who 
gave  me  the  information  led  me  through  a  superb  drawing-room, 
and  out  at  a  glass  door  upon  the  lawn,  and  left  me  to  make  my 
own  way  to  tlie  lady's  presence. 

"  It  was  a  delicious  s](ot,  and  I  should  have  been  very  glad  to 
ramble  about  by  myself  till  dinner;  but,  at  a  tm-n  in  the  grand 
walk,  I  came  suddenly  upon  two  ladies. 

"  I  made  my  l)ow,  and  Tjegged  leave  to  introduce  myself  as  '  Mr. 
Brown.' 

"  With  a  very  slight  inclination  of  the  head,  and  no  smile  what- 
ever, one  of  the  ladies  asked  me  if  I  had  walked  from  town,  and 
begged  her  companion  (without  introducing  me  to  her)  to  show  me 
in  to  lunch.  The  spokester  was  a  stout  and  tall  woman,  who  had 
rather  an  aristocratic  nose,  and  was  not  handsome ;  but,  to  give 
her  her  due,  she  had  made  a  narrow  escape  of  it.  She  was  dressed 
very  showily,  and  evidently  had  great  pretensions ;  but  that  she 
was  not  at  all  glad  to  see  Mr.  Brown  was  as  apparent  as  was  at  all 
necessary.  As  the  other  and  younger  lady  who  was  to  accompany 
me,  however,  was  very  pretty,  though  dressed  very  plainly,  and 
lia(l,  withal,  a  look  in  her  eye  which  assured  me  she  was  amused 
with  my  unwelcome  apparition,  I  determined,  as  I  should  not 
otherwise  have  done,  to  stay  it  out,  and  accepted  her  convoy  with 
submissive  civility — very  much  inclined,  however,  to  be  impudent  to 
St  imebody,  somehow. 

"  The  lunch  was  on  a  tray  in  a  side  room,  and  I  rang  the  bell 
and  ordered  a  bottle  of  champagne.  The  ser^sant  looked  surprised, 
but  brought  it,  and  meantime  I  was  getting  through  the  weather, 
and  the  other  conunonplaces,  and  the  lady,  saying  little,  was  watching 
me  very  calmly.  I  liked  her  looks,  however,  and  was  sure  she  was 
not  a  Mimpson. 

"  '  Hand  this  to  Miss  Armstrong,'  said  I  to  the  footman,  pouring 
out  a  glass  of  champagne. 

"  '  Miss  Bellamy,  you  mean,  sir.' 

"I  rose  and  l)owed,  and,  witli  as  grave  a  curtsey  as  I  could 
command,  expressed  my  ]»leasure  at  my  first  introduction  to  Miss 
Bellamy     through  Thomas  the  footman!     Miss  Bellamy  burst  into 


700     SKETCHES    AND    TRAVELS    IN    LONDON 

a  laiiyli  and  was  pleased  to  comiiliinciit  my  Auieriean  manners,  and 
in  ten  minutes  we  were  a  very  merry  pair  nt'  friends,  and  slie  accepted 
my  arm  for  a  strull  thruugli  the  grounds,  carefully  avoiding  the 
frigid  neighbourhood  of  Mrs.  Mimpson." 

Tliere's  a  rascal  for  you  !  He  enters  a  house,  is  received  coolly 
by  the  mistress  (and  if  INIrs.  Mimpson  had  to  receive  every  Brown 
in  London — ye  gods!  what  was  she  to  dol),  walks  into  chicken 
fixings  in  a  side  room,  and,  not  content  with  Mimpson's  sherry,  calls 
for  a  bottle  of  champagne — not  for  a  glass  of  champa.gne,  but  for  a 
bottle  ;  he  catches  hold  of  it  and  pours  out  lor  himself,  the  rogue", 
and  for  Miss  Bellamy,  to  whom  Thomas  introduces  him.  And  this 
upon  an  introduction  of  five  years'  date,  from  one  mercantile  man  to 
another  ;  ujjon  an  introduction,  one  of  a  thousand  which  lucky  Brown 
possesses,  and  on  the  strength  of  which  Brown  sneers  at  Mimj^son, 
sneers  at  Mrs.  M.,  sneers  at  M.'s  sherry,  makes  a  footman  introduce 
him  to  a  lady,  and  consumes  a  bottle  of  champagne  !  Come,  Brown  ! 
you  are  a  stranger,  and  on  the  dinuerdist  of  most  of  the  ])atricians 
of  May  fair  ;  but  isn't  this  tin  peu  fort,  my  boy  "?  If  Mrs.  Mimpson, 
who  is  described  as  a  haughty  lady,  fourth  cousin  of  a  Scoti'h 
Earl,  and  marrying  M.  for  his  money  merely,  had  suspicions  re- 
garding the  conduct  of  her  husband's  friends,  don't  you  see  that 
this  sort  of  behaviour  on  your  part,  my  dear  Brown,  was  not  likely 
to  do  away  with  Mrs.  M.'s  little  prejudices  1  I  should  not  like 
a  stranger  to  enter  my  house,  pooh-pooh  my  Marsala,  order  my 
servant  about,  and  desire  an  introduction  to  my  daughter  through 
him  ;  and  deferentially  think,  Brown,  that  you  had  no  right  to 
be  impudent  somehow  to  somebody,  as  in  this  instance  you  cer- 
tainly were. 

The  upsliot  of  the  story  is,  that  Mrs.  M.  was  dying  to  take  her 
daughter  to  Almat^k's,  for  which  place  of  entertainment  Brown, 
through  one  of  the  patronesses,  Lady  X,  "  the  best  friend  he  has," 
could  get  as  many  tickets  as  he  wished  ;  and  that,  to  punish  Mrs. 
Mimpson  for  her  rudeness,  and  reward  Miss  Bellamy  for  her  kind- 
ness, Brown  got  tickets  for  Miss  Bellamy  and  Aer  mamma,  but 
would  get  never  a  ticket  for  Miss  Mimpson  and  hers— a  wonderful 
story,  truly,  and  witli  a  wonderful  moral. 


VII 
ON  THE   PRESS   AND   THE   PUBLIC 

MY  rising  young  friend  Hitchings,  the  author  of  "  Randolph 
the  Robber,"  "The  Murderers  of  Mayfair,"  and  other 
romances,  and  one  of  the  chief  writers  in  the  Lictor  news- 
paper—  a  highly  Liberal,  nay,  seven-leagued-boots  progressional 
journal,  was  discoursing  with  the  writer  of  the  present  lines  upon 
the  queer  decision  to  which  the  French  Assembly  has  come,  and 
which  enforces  a  signature  henceforth  to  all  the  leading  articles  in 
the  French  papers.  As  an  act  of  government,  Hitchings  said  he 
thought  the  measure  most  absurd  and  tyrannous,  but  he  was  not 
sorry  for  it,  as  it  would  infallibly  increase  the  importance  of  the 
profession  of  letters,  to  which  we  both  belonged.  The  man  of  letters 
will  no  longer  be  the  anonymous  slave  of  the  newspaper-press 
proprietor,  Hitchings  said ;  the  man  of  letters  will  no  longer  be 
used  and  flung  aside  in  his  old  daj's ;  he  will  be  rewarded  according 
to  his  merits,  and  have  the  chance  of  making  himself  a  name.  And 
then  Hitchings  spoke  with  great  fervour  regarding  the  depressed 
condition  of  literary  men,  and  said  the  time  was  coming  when  their 
merits  would  get  tlieni  their  own 

On  this  latter  subject,  which  is  a  favom-ite  one  with  many  gentle- 
men of  our  profession,  I,  for  one,  am  confessedly  incredulous.  I  am 
resolveil  not  to  consider  myself  a  m:ii-tyr.  I  never  knew  a  man  who 
had  written  a  good  book  (unless,  indeed,  it  were  a  Barrister  with 
Attorneys)  hurt  his  position  in  society  by  having  done  so.  On  the 
contrary,  a  clever  writer,  with  decent  manners  and  conduct,  makes 
more  friends  than  any  other  man.  And  I  do  not  believe  (parenthe- 
tically) that  it  will  make  much  difierence  to  my  friend  Hitchings 
whetlier  his  name  is  affixed  to  one,  twenty,  or  two  thousand  articles 
of  his  composition.  But  what  woidd  happen  in  Engliuid  if  such  a 
regulation  as  that  just,  passed  in  France  were  to  become  law  ;  and 
the  House  of  Commons  omnipotent,  which  can  shut  up  our  parks 
for  us,  which  can  shut  up  our  Post  Oflice  for  us,  which  can  do 
anything  it  will,  should  take  a  fancy  to  have  the  signature  of  every 
writer  of  a  newspaper  article  ? 

Have  they  got  any  secret  ledger  at  the  Timea  in  which  the 
names  of  the  wi-iters  of  all  the  articles  in  that  journal  are  written 
down  1  That  would  lie  a  curious  book  to  see.  Articles  in  that 
paper  have  been  attributed  to  every  great  man  of  the  day :  at  one 


702     SKETCHES    AND    TRAVELS    IN    LONDON 

time  it  was  said  Brougham  wrote  regularly,  at  another  Canning  was 
a  known  contributor,  at  some  other  time  it  was  Sir  Robert  Peel, 
Lord  Aberdeen.  It  would  be  curious  to  see  the  real  names.  The 
Chancellor's  or  the  Foreign  Secretary's  articles  would  most  likely 
turn  out  to  be  written  by  Jones  or  Smith.  I  mean  no  disrespect 
tti  the  latter,  but  the  contrary — to  be  a  writer  for  a  newspaper 
requires  more  knowledge,  genius,  readiness,  scholarship,  than  you 
want  in  St.  Steplien's.  Compare  a  good  leading  article  and  a 
speech  in  the  House  of  Commons  :  compare  a  House  of  Commons 
orator  with  a  writer,  psha  ! 

Would  Jones  or  Smith,  however,  much  profit  by  the  publication 
of  their  names  to  their  articles  1  That  is  doubtful.  When  the 
Chronicle  or  the  Times  speaks  now,  it  is  "  we  "  who  are  speaking, 
we  the  Liberal-Conservatives,  we  the  Conservative  Sceptics  :  when 
Jones  signs  the  article,  it  is  we  no  more,  but  Jones.  It  goes  to  the 
public  with  no  authority.  The  public  doe,s  not  care  very  nmch 
what  Jones's  opinions  are.  They  don't  purchase  the  Jones  organ 
any  more — the  paper  droops;  and,  in  fixct,  I  can  conceive  notliing 
more  wearisome  than  to  see  the  names  of  Smith,  Brown,  Jones, 
Robinson,  and  so  forth,  written  in  capitals  every  day,  day  after  day, 
under  the  various  articles  of  the  paper.  The  public  would  begin  to 
cry  out  at  the  poverty  of  the  literary  dramatis  j^ersoiue.  We  have 
had  Brown  twelve  times  this  month,  it  would  say.  That  Robinson's 
name  is  always  coming  up — as  soon  as  there  is  a  finance  question, 
or  a  foreign  question,  or  what  not,  it  is  Smith  who  signs  the  article. 
Give  us  somebody  else. 

Thus  Brown  and  Robinson  would  get  a  doubtful  and  precarious 
bread  instead  of  the  comfortable  and  regular  engagement  which  they 
now  have.  The  paper  would  not  be  what  it  is.  It  would  be  im- 
possible to  employ  men  on  trial,  and  see  what  their  talents  were 
worth.  Occasion  is  half  a  public  writer's  battle.  To  sit  down  in 
his  study  and  compose  an  article  that  might  be  suitable,  is  a  liard 
work  for  him  :  twice  as  hard  as  the  real  work  ;  and  yet  not  the 
real  work  ;  which  is  to  fight  the  Imttle  at  two  hours'  notice,  at  the 
given  place  and  time.  Tlie  debate  is  over  at  twelve  o'clock  at 
night,  let  us  say.  Mr.  Editor  looks  round,  and  fixes  on  his  man. 
"Now's  your  time.  Captain  Smith,"  says  he,  "charge  the  enemy, 
and  rout  them," — or  "  Advance,  Colonel  Jones,  with  your  column 
and  charge." 

Now  there  may  be  men  who  are  Jones's  or  Robinson's  superiors 
in  intellect,  and  who — give  them  a  week  or  ten  days  to  prepare — ■ 
would  turn  out  such  an  article  as  neither  of  the  two  men  named 
could  ever  have  produced — that  is  very  likely.  I  have  often,  for 
my  part,  said  the  most  brilliant  thing  in  the  world,  and  one  that 


ON    THE    PRESS    AND    THE    PUBLIC         703 

would  utterly  upset  that  impudent  Jenkins,  whose  confounded  jokes 
and  puns  spare  nobody- — but  then  it  has  been  three  hours  after 
Jenkins's  pun,  when  I  was  walking  home  very  likely — and  so  it  is 
with  writers ;  some  of  them  possess  the  amazing  gift  of  the  im- 
promptu, and  can  always  be  counted  upon  in  a  moment  of  necessity 
— whilst  others,  slower  coacheS  or  leaders,  require  to  get  all  their 
heavy  guns  into  position,  and  laboriously  to  fortify  their  cam}>, 
before  they  Ijegin  to  fire. 

Now,  saying  that  Robinst)n  is  the  fellow  chiefly  to  be  entrusted 
with  the  quick  work  of  the  paper,  it  would  be  a  most  unkind  and 
unfair  piece  of  tyranny  on  the  newspaper  proprietor  to  force  him  to 
publish  Robinson's  name  as  the  author  of  all  the  articles  d' occasion. 
You  have  no  more  right  to  call  for  this  publicity  from  the  news- 
paper owner,  who  sells  you  three  yards  of  liis  iM'inted  fabric,  than 
to  demand  from  the  linen-draper,  from  what  wholesale  house  he  got 
his  calico ;  who  spun  it ;  who  owned  the  cotton,  and  who  cropped 
it  in  America.  It  is  the  article,  and  not  the  name  and  pedigree  of 
the  artificer,  which  a  newspaper  or  any  other  dealer  has  a  right 
to  sell  to  the  public.  If  I  get  a  letter  (which  Heaven  forbid  !) 
from  Mr.  Tapes  my  attorney,  I  know  it  is  not  in  Tapes's  own 
handwriting;  I  know  it  is  a  clerk  writes  it — so,  a  newspaper  is  a 
composite  work  got  up  by  many  hireling  hands,  of  whom  it  is 
necessary  to  know  no  other  name  than  the  printer's  or  proprietor's. 

It  is  not  to  be  denied  that  men  of  signal  ability  will  write  for 
years  in  papers  and  perish  imknown — and  in  so  tar  their  lot  is  a 
hard  one  :  and  the  chances  of  life  are  against  them.  It  is  hard  upon 
a  man,  with  whose  work  the  whole  town  is  ringing,  that  not  a  soul 
should  know  or  care  who  is  the  author  who  so  delights  the  public. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  if  your  article  is  excellent,  would  you 
have  had  any  great  renownr  from  it,  sup])osing  the  paper  had  not 
published  it  1  Would  you  have  had  a  chance  at  all  but  for  that 
])aiier'?  Suppose  you  had  brougiit  out  that  article  on  a  broad-sheet, 
who  would  have  bought  iti  Did  you  ever  hear  of  an  unknown 
man  making  a  fortune  by  a  pamphlet  1 

Again,  it  may  so  happen  to  a  literary  man  tliat  the  stipend 
which  he  receives  from  one  i)ublication  is  not  sufficient  to  boil  his 
family  pot,  and  that  he  nuist  write  in  some  other  quarter.  If 
Brown  writes  articles  in  the  daily  pajjcrs,  and  articles  in  the  weekly 
and  monthly  periodicals  too,  and  signs  the  same,  he  surely  weakens 
his  force  by  extending  his  line.  It  would  be  better  for  him  to  write 
incognito,  than  to  placard  his  name  in  so  many  quarters — as  actors 
understand,  who  do  not  perform  in  too  many  pieces  on  the  same 
night ;  and  painters,  who  know  that  it  is  not  worth  their  while  to 
exhibit  more  than  a  certain  nuiid)cr  of  pictures, 


704     SKETOTTES    AND    TRAVELS    IN    LONDON 

Besides,  it'  to  soiiio  men  the  want  of  })ul)lirity  is  an  evil :  to 
many  others  the  privaey  is  most  wel(;ome.  Many  a  young  barrister 
is  a  public  writer,  for  instance,  to  whose  futui-e  prospects  his  fame 
as  a  liteniry  man  Avould  give  no  ])ossil)le  aid,  and  whose  intention 
it  is  to  put  away  the  i)en,  when  the  attorneys  begin  to  find  out  his 
juridical  merits.  To  such  a  man  it  would  only  be  a  misfortune  to 
be  known  as  a  writer  of  leading  articles.  His  battle  for  fame  and 
fortune  is  to  be  made  witli  other  weapons  than  the  pen.  Then 
again,  a  man  without  ambition — and  there  are  very  many  such 
sensil)le  persons,  or  whose  ambition  does  not  go  beyond  his^)o^  mi 
feu,  is  happy  to  have  the  opportunity  of  quietly  and  honourably 
adding  to  his  income  :  of  occupying  himself :  of  improving  himself : 
of  paying  for  Tom  at  College,  or  for  Mamma's  carriage — and  what 
not.  Take  away  this  modest  mask — force  every  man  upon  the 
public  stage  to  appear  with  his  name  placarded,  and  we  lose  some 
of  the  best  books,  some  of  the  best  articles,  some  of  the  pleasantest 
wit  that  we  have  ever  had. 

On  the  wliole,  then,  in  this  controversy  I  am  against  Hitchings ; 
and  although  he  insists  upon  it  that  he  is  a  persecuted  being,  I  do 
not  believe  it ;  and  although  he  declares  that  I  ought  to  consider 
myself  trampled  on  by  the  world,  I  decline  to  admit  that  I  am 
persecuted,  and  protest  that  it  treats  me  and  my  brethren  kindly 
in  the  main. 


A    LITTLE    DINNER   AT 
TIMMINS'S 


A    LITTLE    DINNER    AT 
TIMMINS'S 


M 


CHAPTER    I 

R.  and  Mrs.  Fitzroy  Timmins  live  in  Lilliput  Street,  that 
neat  little  street  which  runs  at  right  angles  with  the  Park 
and  Brobdingnag  Gardens.  It  is  a  very  genteel  neighbour- 
hood, and  I  need  not  say  they  are  of  a  good  family. 

Especially  Mrs.  Timmins,  as  her  mamma  is  always  telling 
Mr.  T.  They  are  Suffolk  people,  and  distantly  related  to  the 
Right  Honourable  the  Earl  of  Bungay. 

Besides  his  house  in  Lilliimt  Street,  Mr.  Timmins  has  chambers 
in  Fig-tree  Court,  Temple,  and  goes  the  Northern  Circuit. 

The  other  day,  when  there  Avas  a  shght  difference  al)Out  the 
jiayment  of  fees  between  the  great  Parliamentary  Counsel  and 
the  Solicitors,  Stoke  and  Rogers,  of  Great  George  Street,  sent  the 
papers  of  the  Lough  Foyle  and  Lough  Corrib  Junction  Railway  to 
Mr.  Fitzroy  Timmins,  who  was  so  elated  that  he  instantly  pur- 
cliased  a  couple  of  looking-glasses  for  his  drawing-rooms  (the  front 
room  is  16  by  12,  and  the  back,  a  tight  but  elegant  apartment, 
10  ft.  6,  by  8  ft.  4),  a  coral  for  the  l)aby,  two  new  dresses  for  Mrs. 
Tinunins,  and  a  little  rosewood  desk,  at  the  Pantechnicon,  for  which 
Rosa  had  long  b(!en  sighing,  with  crumi)lcd  legs,  emerald-green  and 
gold  morocco  top,  and  drawers  all  over. 

Mrs.  Timmins  is  a  very  pretty  poetess  (her  "  Lines  to  a  Faded 
Tulip"  and  her  "Plaint  of  PHnlimmon "  appeared  in  one  of  last 
year's  Keepsakes)  ;  and  Fitzroy,  as  he  impressed  a  kiss  on  the 
snowy  forehead  of  hi.s  bride,  pointed  out  to  her,  in  one  of  the 
innumerable  pockets  of  the  desk,  an  elegant  ruby-tipped  pen,  and 
six  charming  little  gilt  blank  books,  marked  "My  Books,"  which 
Mrs.  Fitzroy  might  fill,  he  said  (he  is  an  ■(3xford  man,  and  very 
poHte),   "with  the  delightful   pn^ductions  of  her  Muse."     Beskles 


708         A    LITTLE    DINNER    AT    TIMMINS'S 

these  books,  there  was  pink  paper,  paper  with  crimson  edges,  lace 
paper,  all  stamped  with  R.  F.  T.  (Rosa  Fitzroy  Timmins)  and  tlie 
hand  and  battle-axe,  the  crest  of  the  Timminses  (and  borne  at 
Ascalon  by  Roaldus  de  Timmins,  a  crusader,  who  is  now  buried 
in  the  Temple  Church,  next  to  Serjeant  Snooks),  and  yellow,  pink, 
light-blue,  and  other  scented  sealing-waxes,  at  the  service  of  Rosa 
when  she  chose  to  correspond  with  her  friends. 

Rosa,  you  may  be  sure,  jumped  with  joy  at  the  sight  of  this 
sweet  present ;  called  her  Charles  (his  first  name  is  Samuel,  but 
they  have  sunk  that)  the  best  of  men ;  embraced  him  a  great 
number  of  times,  to  the  edification  of  her  buttony  little  page,  who 
stood  at  the  landing ;  and  as  soon  as  he  was  gone  to  chambers,  took 
the  new  pen  and  a  sweet  sheet  of  paper,  and  began  to  compose 
a  poem. 

"  What  shall  it  be  about  ? "  was  naturally  her  first  thought. 
"  What  should  be  a  young  mother's  first  inspiration '? "  Her 
child  lay  on  the  sofa  asleep  before  her ;  and  she  began  in  her 
neatest  hand — 

"LINES 

"on   my   son,    BUNGAY   DE    BllACY   GASHLEIGH    TYMMYNS, 
AGED    TEN    MONTHS. 

"  Tuesday. 
"How  beautiful  !  how  beautiful  thou  seemest, 
My  boy,  my  precious  one,  my  rosy  babe  ! 
Kind  angels  hover  round  thee,  as  thou  dreamest : 
Soft  lashes  hide  thy  beauteous  azure  eye  which  gleaniest." 

"Gleamest?  thine  eye  which  gleamest?  Is  that  grammar?" 
thought  Rosa,  who  had  puzzled  her  little  brains  for  some  time 
with  this  absurd  question,  when  the  baby  woke.  Then  the  cook 
came  up  to  ask  about  dinner ;  then  Mrs.  Fundy  slipped  over  from 
No.  27  (they  are  opposite  neighbours,  and  made  an  acquaint- 
ance through  Mrs.  Fundy's  macaw) ;  and  a  thousand  things 
happened.  Finally,  there  was  no  rhyme  to  babe  except  Tippoo 
Saib  (against  whom  Major  Gashleigh,  Rosa's  grandfather,  had 
distinguished  himself),  and  so  she  gave  up  the  little  poem  about 
her  De  Bracy. 

Nevertheless,  when  Fitzroy  returned  from  chambers  to  take  a 
walk  with  his  wife  in  the  Park,  as  he  peeped  through  the  rich 
tapestry  hanging  which  divided  the  two  drawing-room-s,  he  found 
his  dear  girl  still  seated  at  the  desk,  and  writing,  writing  away 
with  her  ruby  pen  as  fast  as  it  could  scribble. 

"What  a  genius  that  child  has!"  he  said;  "why,  she  is  a 


A    LITTLE    DINNER    AT    TIMMINS'S         709 

second   Mrs.   Norton ! "   and   advanced   smiling   to    peep   oA-er  her 
shoulder  and  see  what  pretty  thing  Rosa  was  composing. 

It  was  not  poetry,  though,  that  she  was  writing,  and  Fitz  read 
as  follows : — 

"  iTiLLiPUT  Street  :   Tuesday,  22nd  May. 

"  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Fitzroy  Tymmyns  request  the  pleasure  of  Sir 
Thomas  and  Lady  Kicklebury's  company  at  dinner  on  Wednesday, 
at  7i  o'clock." 

"•  My  dear  !  "  exclaimed  the  barrister,  pulling  a  long  face. 

"  Law,  Fitzroy,"  cried  the  beloved  of  his  bosom,  "  how  you  do 
startle  one  ! " 

"  Give  a  dinner-party  with  our  means  !  "  said  he. 

"  Ain't  you  making  a  fortune,  you  miser  1 "  Rosa  said.  "  Fifteen 
guineas  a  day  is  four  thousand  live  hundred  a  year ;  I've  calculated 
it."  And,  so  saying,  she  rose,  and  taking  hold  of  his  whiskers 
(which  are  as  fine  as  those  of  any  man  of  his  circuit),  she  put  her 
mouth  close  up'  against  his  and  did  something  to  his  long  face,  which 
quite  changed  the  expression  of  it ;  and  which  the  little  page  heard 
outside  the  door. 

"  Our  dining-room  won't  hold  ten,"  he  said. 

"We'll  only  ask  twenty,  my  love.  Ten  are  sure  to  refuse  in 
this  season,  when  everybody  is  giving  parties.  Look,  here  is 
the  list." 

"  Earl  and  Countess  of  Bungay,  and  Lady  Barbara  Saint 
Mary's." 

"  You  are  dying  to  get  a  lord  into  the  house,"  Timmins  said  (he 
has  not  altered  his  name  in  Fig-tree  Court  yet,  and  therefore  I  am 
not  so  affected  as  to  call  him  Tymmyns). 

"  Law,  my  dear,  tliey  are  our  cousins,  and  must  be  asked," 
Rosa  said. 

"  Let  us  put  down  my  sister  and  Tom  Crowder,  then." 

"  Blanche  Crowder  is  really  so  very  fat,  Fitzroy,"  liis  wife  said, 
"  and  our  rooms  are  so  veiy  small." 

Fitz  laughed.  "You  little  rogue,"  he  said,  "Lady  Bungay 
weighs  two  of  Blanche,  even  when  she's  not  in  the  f " 

"  Fiddlesticks  !  "  Rose  cried  out.  "  Doctor  Crowder  really 
cannot  be  admitted  :  he  makes  such  a  noise  eating  his  soup,  that 
it  is  really  quite  disagreeable."  And  she  imitated  the  giu-gling 
noise  perfonned  by  the  Doctor  while  inhausting  his  soup,  in  such 
a  funny  way,  that  Fitz  saw  inviting  him  was  out  of  the  question. 

"Besides,  we  mustn't  have  too  many  relations,"  Rosa  went  on. 
"  Mamma,  of  course,  is  coming.     She  doesn't  like  to  be  asked  in  the 


710         A    LITTLE    ])INNER    AT    TIMMINS'S 

evening;  ami  slie'll  brini;  her  silver  brcad-liaskct  aii<l  lier  candle- 
stieks,  wliich  are  very  rich  and  liandsonie." 

"And  you  roniplaiii  <if  Jjlaiiclic  for  hciiig  too  stout  !"  groaned 
out  Timniins. 

"  Well,  well,  don't  be  in  a  pet,"  said  little  Rosa.  "  The  girls 
won't  come  to  diiuier  ;  but  Avill  bring  their  nuisic  afterwards."  And 
she  went  on  with  the  hst. 

"  Sir  Thomas  and  Lady  Kicklebury,  2.  No  saying  no :  M'e 
must  ask  them,  Charles.  Tliey  are  rich  jieojjle,  and  any  room  in 
tlu>ir  house  in  Brobdingnag  Gardens  would  swallow  up  our  hiunble 
cot.  But  to  jieople  in  our  jjosition  in  societ//  they  will  be  glad 
enough  to  {;ome.  The  City  i)eople  are  glad  to  mix  with  the  old 
families." 

"  Very  good,"  says  Fitz,  with  a  sad  face  of  assent — and  Mrs 
Timmins  went  on  reading  her  list. 

"  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Topham  Sawyer,  Belgravine  Place." 

"Mrs.  Sawyer  hasn't  asked  you  all  the  season.  She  gives 
herself  the  airs  of  an  empress  ;  and  when " 

"One's  Member,  you  know,  my  dear,  one  nuist  have,"  Rosa 
replied,  with  mu(^h  dignity  ;  as  if  the  presence  of  the  i-epresentative 
of  her  native  place  would  be  a  protection  to  lier  dinner.  And  a  note 
was  written  and  transported  by  the  page  early  next  morning  to  the 
mansion  of  the  Sawyers,  in  Belgravine  Place. 

The  Topham  Sawyers  had  just  come  down  to  breakfast :  Mrs.  T. 
in  her  large  dust-coloured  morning  dress  and  Madonna  front  (she 
l(j(jks  rather  scraggy  of  a  morning,  but  I  promise  you  her  ringlets 
and  figure  will  stun  you  of  an  evening)  ;  and  having  read  the  note, 
the  following  dialogue  passed  : — - 

Mrs.  Toj^ham  Saivyer.  "  Well,  upon  my  word,  I  don't  know 
where  things  will  end.  Mr.  Sawyer,  the  Timminses  have  asked  us 
to  dinner." 

Mr.    Topham    Sawyer.    "Ask    us    to    diinier !      What   d 

impudence  ! " 

Mrs.  Topham  Sawt/er.  "  The  most  dangerous  and  insolent 
revolutionary  principles  are  abroad,  Mr.  Sawyer ;  and  I  shall  write 
and  hint  as  much  to  these  persons." 

Mr.   Topham  Saivyer.   "  No,  d- it,  Joanna :  they  are  my 

constituents  and  we  must  go.  Write  a  civil  note,  and  say  we  will 
come  to  their  party."  {He  resumes  the  perusal  of  "The  Times" 
and  Mrs.  Topham  Sawyer  ivrites) — 

"My  dear  Rosa, — We  shall  have  great  pAeasure  in  joining 
your  little  party.  I  do  not  reply  in  the  third  person,  as  we  are  old 
friends,  you  know,  and  country  neighbours.     I  hope   your  mamma 


MR.   AND    MRS.   TOPHAM    SAWYER. 


A    LITTLE    DINNER    AT    TIMMINS'S         711 

is  well :  present  ray  kindest  remembrances  to  her,  and  I  hope  we 
shall  see  much  more  of  each  other  in  the  summer,  when  we  go  doMm 
to  the  Sawpits  (for  ^^oing  abroad  is  out  of  the  question  in  these 
dreadful  times).  With  a  hundred  kisses  to  your  dear  little  2^6ti 
believe  me  your  attached  ,  J.  T.  S." 

She  said  jyet,  because  she  did  not  know  whether  Rosa's  child 
was  a  girl  or  boy  :  and  Mrs.  Timmins  was  very  much  pleased  with 
the  kind  and  gracious  nature  of  the  reply  to  her  invitation. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  next  persons  whom  little  Mrs.  Timmins  was  bent  upon 
asking,  were  Mr.  and  Mrs.  John  Rowdy,  of  the  firm  of 
Stumpy,  Rowdy,  &  Co.,  of  Brobdingnag  Gardens,  of  the 
Prairie,  Putney,  and  of  Lombard  Street,  City. 

Mrs.  Timmins  and  Mrs.  Rowdy  had  been  brought  up  at  the 
same  school  together,  and  there  was  always  a  little  rivalry  between 
them,  from  the  day  when  they  contended  for  the  French  prize  at 
school  t(i  last  week,  when  each  had  a  stall  at  the  Fancy  Fair  for 
the  benefit  of  the  Daughters  of  Decayed  Muffin-men  ;  and  when 
Mrs.  Timmins  danced  against  Mrs.  Rowdy  in  the  Scythe  Mazurka 
at  the  Polish  Ball,  headed  by  Mrs.  Hugh  Slasher.  Rowdy  took 
twenty-three  pounds  more  than  Timmins  in  tlie  Muffin  transaction 
(for  she  had  possession  of  a  kettle-holder  worked  by  the  hands  of 
R-y-lty,  which  brought  crowds  to  her  stall)  ;  but  in  the  Mazurka, 
Rosa  conquered  :  she  has  the  prettiest  little  foot  possible  (which  in 
a  red  bwt  and  silver  heel  looked  so  lovely  that  even  the  Chinese 
ambassador  remarked  it),  whereas  Mrs.  Rowdy's  ibot  is  no  trifle,  as 
Lord  Cornbury  acknowledged  when  it  came  down  on  his  Lordship's 
boot-tip  as  they  danced  together  amongst  the  Scythes. 

"  These  people  are  ruining  themselves,"  said  Mrs.  John  Rowdy 
to  her  husband,  on  receiving  the  pink  note.  It  was  carried  round 
by  that  rogue  of  a  buttony  page  in  the  evening ;  and  he  walked  to 
Brobdingnag  Gardens  and  in  the  Park  afterwards,  with  a  young 
lady  who  is  kitchcnmaid  at  27,  and  who  is  not  more  than  fourteen 
years  ohler  than  little  Buttons. 

"  Tliesc  people  are  ruining  themselves,"  said  Mrs.  John  to  her 
hus})and.      "  Rosa  says  she  has  asked  the  Bungays." 

"  Bungays  indeed  !  Tinunins  was  always  a  tuft-hunter,"  said 
Rowdy,  who  had  been  at  college  with  the  barrister,  and  who,  for 
his  own  i)art,  has  no  more  objection  to  a  lord  than  you  or  I  have ; 
24 


712  A    LITTLE    DINNER    AT    TIMMINS'S 

•and  addiii.i;',  "  ii;inji;  liiiii,  wlmt  Imsiiiess  has  he  to  be  giving 
jwirtios?"  allowed  Mrs.  Rowdy,  nevertheless,  to  aceei)t  Rosa's 
invitation. 

"  When  I  go  to  liusincss  to-morrow,  I  will  just  have  a  look  at 
Mr.  Fitz'.s  aceount,"  Mr.  Rowdy  thought;  "and  if  it  is  overdrawn, 
as  it  nsnally  is,  why — ■ — ^"  The  annonneement  of  Mrs.  Rowdy's 
hroughani  here  i)nt  an  end  to  this  agreeable  train  of  thought;  and 
the  banker  and  his  lady  stepjied  into  it  to  join  a  snug  little  family- 
party  of  two-and-twenty,  given  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Secondeho])  at 
their  great  house  on  the  other  side  of  the  Park. 

"  Rowdys  2,  Bungays  3,  ourselves  and  mamma  3,  2  Sawyers," 
calculated  little  Rosa. 

"  General  Gulpin,"  Rosa  continued,  ''  eats  a  great  deal,  and  is 
very  stupid,  but  he  looks  well  at  table  with  his  star  and  riband. 
Let  us  put  him  down  ! "  and  she  noted  down  "  Sir  Thomas  and 
Lady  Gulpin,  2.      Lord  Castlemouldy,  1." 

"You  will  make  your  party  abominably  genteel  and  stupid," 
groaned  Timniins.  "  Why  don't  you  ask  some  of  our  old  friends  % 
Old  Mrs.  Portman  has  asked  us  twenty  times,  I  am  sure,  within 
the  last  two  years." 

"And  the  last  time  we  went  there,  there  was  pea-soup  for 
dinner  !  "  Mrs.  Timmins  said,  with  a  look  of  ineffable  scorn. 

"  Nol)ody  can  have  been  kinder  than  the  Hodges  have  always 
been  to  us ;  and  some  sort  of  return  w^e  might  make,  I  think." 

"  Return,  indeed  !  A  pretty  sound  it  is  on  the  staircase  to  hear 
'  Mr.  and  Mrs.  'Odge  and  Miss  'Odges '  pronounced  by  Billiter,  who 
always  leaves  his  A's  out.  No,  no  :  see  attorneys  at  your  chambers, 
my  dear — but  what  ciiuld  the  poor  creatures  do  in  our  society  % " 
And  so,  one  by  one,  Timmius's  old  fi-iends  were  tried  and  eliminated 
by  Mrs.  Timmins,  just  as  if  she  had  been  an  Irish  Attornej^-General, 
and  they  so  many  Catholics  on  Mr.  Mitchell's  jury. 

Mrs.  Fitzroy  insisted  that  the  party  should  be  of  her  very  best 
company.  Funnyman,  the  great  wit,  was  asked,  because  of  his 
jokes  ;  and  Mrs.  Butt,  on  whom  he  practises  ;  and  Potter,  who  is 
asked  because  eveiybody  else  asks  him  ;  and  Mr.  Ranville  Ran\  il!e 
of  the  Foreign  Otfice,  wdio  might  give  some  news  of  the  Spanish 
sijuabble  ;  and  Botherby,  who  has  suddeidy  sjirung  up  into  note 
Ijecause  he  is  intimate  with  the  French  Revolution,  and  visits  Ledru- 
Rollin  and  Lamartine.  And  these,  with  a  couple  more  who  are 
a?/»'.s  de  la  maUon,  made  up  the  twenty,  Avhom  Mrs.  Timmins 
thought  she  might  safely  invite  to  her  little  dinner. 

But  the  deuce  of  it  was,  that  when  the  answers  to  the  invitations 
came  back,  everybody  accepted  !  Here  was  a  pretty  quandary. 
How  they  were  to  get  twenty  into  tlicir  dining-room  was  a  calcuhv 


A    LITTLE    DINNER    AT    TIMMINS'S         713 

tion  -wliich  poor  Timniins  could  not  solve  at  all ;  and  lie  paced  up 
and  down  the  little  room  in  dismay. 

"  Pooh  !  "  said  Rosa  with  a  laugh.  "  Your  sister  Blanche  looked 
very  well  in  one  of  my  dresses  last  year ;  and  you  know  how  stout 
she  is.  We  will  find  some  means  to  accommodate  them  all,  depend 
upon  it." 


Mrs.  John  Rowdy's  note  to  dear  Rosa,  accepting  the  hitter's 
invitation,  was  a  very  gracious  and  kind  one  ;  and  Mrs.  Fitz  showed 
it  to  her  husband  when  he  came  back  from  chambers.  But  there 
was  another  note  which  had  arrived  for  him  by  this  time  from 
Mr.  Rowdy — or  rather  from  the  firm  ;  and  to  the  eftect  that  Mr. 
F.  Tinunins  had  overdrawn  his  account  £'2S,  18s.  6d.,  and  was 
requested  to  pay  tliat  sum  to  liis  obedient  servants,  Stumpy,  Row^dy, 
and  Co. 


And  Timmins  did  not  like  to  tell  his  wife  that  the  contending 
parties  in  the  Lough  Foyle  and  Lough  Corrib  Railroad  had  come  to 
a  settlement,  and  that  the  fifteen  guineas  a  day  had  consequently 
determined.  "  I  have  had  seven  days  of  it,  though,"  he  thought ; 
"  and  that  will  be  enough  to  pay  for  the  desk,  the  dinner,  and  the 
glasses,  and  make  all  right  with  Stumpy  and  Rowdy." 


CHAPTER    III 

THE  cards  for  dinner  having  been  issued,  it  became  the  duty 
of  Mrs.  Timmins  to  make  further  arrangements  respecting 
the  invitations  to  the  tea-i)arty  which  was  to  follow  the 
more  substantial  meal. 

These  arrangements  are  difficult,  as  any  lady  knows  who  is  in 
the  habit  of  entertaining  her  friends.     There  are — 

People  who  are  oftended  if  yon  ask  them  to  tea  whilst  others 
have  been  a-sked  to  dinner  ; 

People  who  are  offended  if  you  ask  them  to  tea  at  all  ;  and 
cry  out  fiiriously,  "  Good  heavens  !  Jane,  ray  love,  why  do  these 
Timminses  sujjpose  that  I  am  to  leave  my  dinner-table  to  attend 

tlieir  soin'c?"  (the  dear  reader  may  fill  up  the  to  any 

strength,  according  to  his  liking) — or,  "  Upon  my  word,  William, 
my  dear,  it  is  too  nmch  to  ask  us  to  pay  twelve  shillings  for  a 
brougham,  and  to  spend  I  don't  know  how  much  in  gloves,  just 


714         A    LITTLE    DINNER    AT    TIMMINS'S 

to  make  our  curtseys  in  Mrs.  Tinirains's  little  drawing-room."  Mrs. 
Moser  made  the  latter  remark  about  tiie  Timmins  atlair,  while  the 
former  was  uttered  by  Mr.  Grumjjley,  barrister~at-law,  to  his  lady, 
in  Gloucester  Place. 

That  there  are  people  who  are  ofTendcd  if  you  don't  ask  them 
at  all,  is  a  point  which  I  suppose  nobody  will  question.  Timmius's 
earliest  friend  in  life  was  Simmins,  whose  wife  and  family  have 
taken  a  cottage  at  Mortlake  for  the  season. 

"We  can't  ask  them  to  come  out  of  the  country,"  Rosa  said 
to  her  Fitzroy — (between  ourselves,  she  was  delighted  that  Mrs. 
Simmins  was  out  of  the  way,  and  was  as  jealous  of  her  as  every 
well-regulated  woman  should  be  of  her  husband's  female  friends) — 
"we  can't  ask  them  to  come  so  far  for  the  evening." 

"  Why,  no,  certainly,"  said  Fitzroy,  who  has  himself  no  very 
great  opinion  of  a  tea-party  ;  and  so  the  Simminses  were  cut  out  of 
the  list. 

And  what  was  the  consequence  1  The  consequence  was,  that 
Simmins  and  Timmins  cut  when  they  met  at  Westminster ;  that 
Mrs.  Simmins  sent  back  all  the  books  which  she  had  borrowed 
from  Rosa,  with  a  withering  note  of  thanks ;  that  Rosa  goes  about 
saying  that  Mrs.  Simmins  squints  ;  that  Mrs.  S.,  on  her  side, 
declares  that  Rosa  ig  crooked,  and  behaved  shamefully  to  Captain 
Hicks  in  marrying  Fitzroy  over  him,  though  she  was  forced  to  do 
it  by  her  mother,  and  prefers  the  Captain  to  her  husband  to  this 
day.  If,  in  a  word,  these  two  men  could  be  made  to  fight,  I  ■ 
believe  their  wives  would  not  be  displeased ;  and  the  reason  of 
all  this  misery,  rage,  and  dissension,  lies  in  a  poor  little  twopenny 
dinner-i)arty  in  Lilliput  Street. 

Well,  the  guests,  both  for  before  and  after  meat,  having  been 
asked,  old  Mrs.  Gashleigh,  Rosa's  mother — (and,  by  consequence, 
Fitzroy's  dear  mother-in-law,  though  I  promise  you  that  "dear"  is 
])articularly  sarcastic) — Mrs.  Gashleigh  of  course  was  sent  for,  and 
came  with  Miss  Eliza  Gashleigh,  who  plays  on  the  guitar,  and 
Emily,  who  limps  a  little,  but  plays  sweetly  on  the  concertina. 
They  live  close  by — trust  them  for  that.  Your  mother-in-law  is 
always  within  hearing,  thank  our  stars  for  the  attention  of  the 
dear  women.  The  Gashleighs,  I  say,  live  close  by,  ami  came  early 
on  the  morning  after  Rosa's  notes  had  been  issued  for  the  dinner. 

When  Fitzroy,  who  was  in  his  little  study,  which  opens  into 
his  little  dining-room — one  of  those  alisurd  little  rooms  which  ought 
to  be  called  a  gentleman's  pantry,  and  is  scarcely  bigger  than  a 
shower-bath,  or  a  state  cabin  in  a  ship — when  Fitzroy  heard  his 
mother-in-law's  knock,  and  her  well-known  scuffling  and  chattering 
in  the  passage  —in  which  she  squeezed  up  young  fJuttons,  the  page, 


A    LITTLE    DINNER    AT    TIMMINS'S         715 

while  slie  put  questions  to  liiiu  reganliiii,'  baV)y,  and  the  cook's 
health,  and  whether  she  had  taken  whaf  Mrs.  Gashleigh  had  sent 
overuight,  and  the  housemaid's  health— and  whether  Mr.  Timniins 
had  gone  to  chambers  or  not — and  when,  after  this  preliminary 
chatter,  Buttons  flung  open  the  door,  announcing — "  Mrs.  Gashleigh 
and  the  young  ladies,"  Fitzroy  laid  down  his  Times  newspaper  with 
an  expression  that  had  best  not  be  printed  here,  and  took  his  hat 
and  walked  aw;iy. 

Mrs.  Gashleigh  has  never  liked  him  since  he  left  off  calling  her 
mamma,  and  kissing  her.  But  he  said  he  could  not  stand  it  any 
longer — he  was  hanged  if  he  would.  So  he  went  away  to  chambers, 
leaving  the  field  clear  to  Rosa,  mamma,  and  the  two  dear  girls. 

— Or  to  one  of  them,  rather :  for  before  leaving  the  house,  he 
thought  he  would  have  a  look  at  little  Fitzroy  upstairs  in  the 
nursery,  and  he  found  the  child  in  the  hands  of  his  maternal  aunt 
Eliza,  wlio  was  holding  him  and  pinching  him  as  if  he  had  been 
her  guitar,  I  suppose  ;  so  that  the  little  fellow  bawled  pitifully — 
and  his  father  finally  quitted  the  premises. 

No  sooner  was  he  gone,  although  the  party  was  still  a  fortnight 
off,  than  the  women  pounced  upon  his  little  study,  and  began  to 
put  it  in  order.  Some  of  his  papers  they  pushed  up  over  the  book- 
case, some  they  put  behind  the  Encyclopaedia,  some  they  crammed 
into  the  drawers — when  Mi-s.  Gashleigh' found  three  cigars,  which 
she  pocketed,  and  some  letters,  over  which  she  cast  her  eye  ;  and 
by  Fitz's  return  they  had  the  room  as  neat  as  possible,  and  the  best 
glass  and  dessert-service  mastered  on  the  study  table. 

It  was  a  very  neat  and  handsome  service,  as  you  may  be  sm-e  Mrs. 
Gashleigh  thought,  whose  rich  uncle  had  purchased  it  for  the  young 
couple,  at  Spode  and  Copeland's;  but  it  was  only  for  twelve  persons. 

It  was  agreed  that  it  woulil  be,  in  all  respects,  cheai)er  and 
better  to  purchase  a  dozen  more  dessert-plates ;  and  with  "  my 
silver  basket  in  the  centre,"  Mrs.  G.  said  (she  is  always  bragging 
about  that  confounded  bread-basket),  "  we  need  not  have  any  extra 
china  dishes,  and  the  table  will  look  very  pretty." 

On  making  a  roll-call  of  the  glass,  it  was  calculated  tliat  at 
least  a  dozen  or  so  tumblers,  four  or  five  dozen  wines,  eight  M-ater- 
bottles,  and  a  proper  quantity  of  ice-plates,  were  requisite;  and 
that,  as  they  would  always  be  useful,  it  would  be  best  to  i)urchase 
the  articles  immediately.  Fitz  tumbled  over  the  basket  containing 
tliem,  which  stood  in  tlie  hall,  as  he  came  in  from  chambers,  and 
over  the  boy  wlio  had  brought  them — and  the  little  bill. 

The  women  had  had  a  long  del)ate,  and  something  like  a 
quarrel,  it  must  be  owned,  over  the  bill  of  fare.  Mrs.  Gashleigh, 
who  had  lived  a  great  part  of  her  life   in  Devonshire,  and  kept 


716         A    LITTLE    DINNER    AT    TIMMINS'S 

house  ill  great  state  there,  was  famous  for  making  some  dishes, 
without  wliicli,  slie  tliouj,1it,  no  dinner  could  be  pertect.  When 
she  proposed  her  mock-turtle,  and  stewed  pigeons,  and  gooseberry 
cream,  Rosa  turned  up  her  nose — a  pretty  little  nose  it  was,  by 
the  way,  and  with  a  natural  turn  in  that  direction. 

"  Mock-turtle  in  June,  mamma  !  "  said  she. 

"  It  was  good  enough  for  your  granilfather,  Rosa,"  the  mamma 
replied  :  "  it  was  good  enough  for  the  Lord  High  Admiral,  when 
he  was  at  Plymouth ;  it  was  good  enough  for  the  first  men  in  the 
(louutry,  and  relished  by  Lord  Fortyskewer  and  Lord  Rolls ;  Sir 
Lawrence  Porker  ate  twice  of  it  after  Exeter  Races ;  and  I  think 
it  might  be  good  enough  for " 

"  I  will  not  have  it,  mamma  !  "  said  liosa,  Avith  a  stamp  of  her 
foot ;  SA\i\  Mrs.  Gashleigh  knew  what  resolution  there  was  in  that. 
Once,  when  she  had  tried  to  i)hysic  the  baby,  there  had  been  a 
similar  fight  between  them. 

So  Mrs.  Gashleigh  made  out  a  carte,  in  which  the  soup  was 
left  with  a  dash — a  melancholy  vacuum  ;  and  in  wdii(;h  the  pigeons 
were  certainly  thrust  in  amongst  the  entrees ;  but  Rosa  determined 
they  never  should  make  an  entree  at  all  into  her  dinner-party,  but 
tliat  she  would  have  the  dinner  her  own  way. 

When  Fitz  returned,  then,  and  after  he  had  paid  the  little 
bill  of  £6,  14s.  6d.  for  the  glass,  Rosa  flew  to  him  with  her 
sweetest  smiles,  and  the  baby  in  her  arms.  And  after  she  had 
made  him  remark  how  the  child  grew  eveiy  day  more  and  more 
like  him,  and  after  she  had  treated  him  to  a  number  of  compliments 
and  caresses,  which  it  were  i)ositively  fulsome  to  exhibit  in  public, 
and  after  she  had  soothed  him  into  good-humour  by  her  artless 
tenderness,  she  began  to  speak  to  him  about  some  little  points 
which  she  had  at  heart. 

She  pointed  out  with  a  sigh  how  shabby  the  old  curtains  looked 
since  the  dear  new  glasses  Avhich  her  darling  Fitz  had  given  her 
hud  been  put  up  in  the  drawing-room.  Muslin  curtains  cost  nothing, 
and  she  must  and  would  have  them. 

The  muslin  curtains  were  accorded.  She  and  Fitz  went  and 
l)ought  them,  at  Shoolbred's,  when  you  may  be  sure  she  treated 
herself  likewise  to  a  neat,  sweet,  pretty  half-mourning  (for  the 
Court,  you  know,  is  in  mourning) — a  neat  sweet  barfege,  or  cala- 
manco, or  bombazine,  or  tiffany,  or  some  such  thing ;  but  Madame 
Camille,  of  Regent  Street,  made  it  up,  and  Rosa  looked  like  an 
angel  in  it  on  the  night  of  her  little  dinner. 

"And,  my  sweet,"  she  continued,  after  the  cui'tains  had  been 
accorded,  "mamma  and  I  have  been  talking  about  the  dinner. 
She  wants  to  make  it  very  expensive,  which  I  caimot  allow.     I 


A    LITTLE    DINNER    AT    TIMMINS'S          717 

have  been  thinkiug  of  a  delightful  and  economical  jAim,  and  you, 
my  sweetest  Fitz,  must  jmt  it  into  execution." 

"  I  have  cooked  a  mutton-chop  when  I  was  in  chambers,"  Fitz 
said  with  a  laugh.      "Am  I  to  put  on  a  cap  and  an  apron  1" 

"  No ;  but  you  are  to  go  to  the  Megatheriuin  Club  (where,  you 
wretch,  you  are  always  going  without  my  leave),  and  you  are  to 
beg  Monsieur  Mirobolant,  your  famous  cook,  to  send  you  one  of  his 
best  aides-de-camp,  as  I  know  he  will,  and  with  his  aid  we  can 
dress  the  dinner  and  the  confectionery  at  home  for  almost  nothing, 
and  we  can  show  those  i)urse-]>roud  Topluim  Sawyers  and  Rowdys 
that  the  Immhle  cottuf/e  can  furnish  fortli  an  elegant  entertainment 
as  well  as  the  gilded  halls  of  wealth. 

Fitz  agreed  to  si)eak  to  I\I()nsieur  IMiroljolant.  If  Rosa  had  had 
a  fancy  for  the  cook  of  the  Prime  Minister,  I  believe  the  deluded 
creature  of  a  husband  wouLl  have  asked  Lord  John  tor  the  loan 
of  him 


CHAPTER  IV 

FITZROY  TIMMINS,  whose  taste  for  wine  is  remarkal,le  for 
so  young  a  man,  is  a  member  of  the  committee  of  the 
Megatherium  Club,  and  the  great  Mirobolant,  good-natured  as 
all  gi-eat  men  are,  was  only  too  happy  to  oblige  him.  A  young  friend 
savX  prote(je  oi  \ns,  of  considerable  merit,  M.  Cavaleadour,  happened 
to  be  disengaged  through  the  lamented  death  of  Lord  Hauncliei-,  with 
whom  young  Cavaleadour  had  made  his,  (h'but  as  an  artist.  He  had 
nothing  to  refuse  to  his  master,  Mirobolant,  and  would  impress  him- 
self to  be  useful  to  a  gourmet  so  distinguished  as  Monsieur  Timnuns. 
Fitz  went  away  as  pleased  as  Punch  with  this  encomium  of  the  great 
jMirobolant,  and  was  one  of  those  who  voted  against  the  decreasing  of 
Mii-olxtlaiit's  salary,  when  the  measure  was  proposed  by  Mr.  Parings, 
Colonel  Close,  and  the  Screw  party  in  the  committee  of  the  club. 

Faithful  to  the  promise  of  his  gi-eat  master,  the  youthful 
Cavaleadour  called  in  Lilliput  Street  the  next  day.  A  rich  crimson- 
velvet  waistcoat,  with  buttons  of  blue  glass  and  gold,  a  variegated 
blue  satin  stock,  over  which  a  gi-aceful  mosaic  chain  \m\\)i  in  glitter- 
ing folds,  a  white  hat  worn  on  one  side  of  his  long  curling  ringlets, 
red(jlent  with  the  most  delightful  hair-oil — one  of  those  white  hats 
which  looks  as  if  it  had  been  just  skinned — and  a  pair  of  gloves  not 
exactly  of  the  colour  of  hmn-re  fniis,  but  of  heurre  that  has  been 
up  the  chiniTiey,  Witli  a  natty  cane  with  a  gilt  knob,  completed  the 
upl)er  jiart,  at  any  rate,  of  the  costume  of  the  young  leilow  whom 
the  page  introduced  to  Mrs.  Tinimins. 


718         A    LITTLE    DINNER    AT    TIMMINS'S 

Her  manuna  and  she  had  been  just  having  a  dispute  about  the 
gooseberry -cream  when  Cavah^adour  arrived.  His  presence  silenced 
Mrs.  GashU^gh  ;  and  Rosa,  in  carrying  on  a  conversation  witli  liini 
in  the  Frencli  language  — wliich  she  had  acquiied  jjerfectly  in  an 
elegant  finishing  establishment  in  Kensington  Square — had  a  great 
advantage  over  her  mother,  who  could  only  pursue  the  dialogue 
with  very  much  ilitticulty,  eyeing  one  or  other  interlocutor  with  an 
alarmed  and  suspicious  look,  and  gasping  out  "We"  whenever  slie 
thought  a  proper  opportunity  arose  for  the  use  of  that  affirmative. 

"  I  have  two  leetl  menus  weez  me,"  said  Cavalcadour  to  Mrs. 
Gashleigh. 

"Minews — yes, — oh,  indeed?"  answered  the  lady. 

"  Two  little  cartes." 

"  Oh,  two  carts  !  Oh,  we,"  she  said.  "  Coming,  I  suppose  1 " 
And  she  looked  out  of  the  window  to  see  if  they  were  there. 

Cavalcadour  smiled.  He  produced  from  a  pocket-book  a  pink 
paper  and  a  blue  paper,  on  which  he  had  written  two  bills  of  fare 
— the  last  two  which  he  had  composed  for  the  lamented  Haunclier 
— and  he  handed  these  over  to  Mrs.  Fitzroy. 

The  poor  little  woman  was  dreadfully  puzzled  with  these 
documents  (she  has  them  in  her  possession  still),  and  began  to 
read  from  the  ]»ink  one  as  follows  : — 

"DlNER  POUR  IG  PERSONNES. 

Potage  (clair)  ;i  la  Rigodon. 
Do.  h,  la  Prince  de  Tombiictou. 

Deux  Poissons. 
Saumon  de  Severne  Rougets  gratings 

k  la  Boadic^e.  a  la  Cldoiiatre. 

Deux  Releves. 

Le  Chapeau-k-trois-cornes  farci  li  la  Roliespierre. 

Le  Tire-botte  a  I'Odalisque. 

Six  Entrees. 

Saute  de  Hannetons  k  I'Epinglitjre. 

Cotelettes  h,  la  Megatherium. 

Bourrasque  de  Veau  k  la  Palsamljleu. 

Laitances  de  Carpe  en  goguette  k  la  Reine  Pomar^. 

Turlian  de  Volaille  k  I'Archeveque  de  Cantorb^ry." 

And  so  on  with  the  entremets,  and  hors  (Voeuvres,  and  the  rotiSf 
and  the  relevds. 


A    LITTLE    DINI^ER    AT    TIMMINS'S  719 

"Madame  will  see  that  the  dinners  are  quite  simple,"  said 
M.  Cavalcadour. 

"  Oh,  quite  !  "  said  Rosa,  dreadfully  puzzled. 

"  Which  would  madame  like  1 " 

"  Which  would  we  like,  mamma  1 "  Rosa  asked ;  adding,  as  if 
after  a  little  thought,  "  I  think,  sir,  we  should  prefer  the  blue  one." 
At  which  Mrs.  Gashleigh  nodded  as  knowingly  as  she  could ; 
though  pink  or  blue,  I  defy  anybody  to  know  what  these  cooks 
mean  by  their  jargon. 

"  If  you  please,  madame,  we  will  go  down  below  and  examine 
the  scene  of  operations,"  Monsieur  Cavalcadom*  said ;  and  so  he  was 
marshalled  down  the  stairs  to  the  kitchen,  which  he  didn't  like  to 
name,  and  appeared  before  the  cook  in  all  his  splendour. 

He  cast  a  rapid  glance  round  the  premises,  and  a  smile  of  some- 
thing like  contempt  lighted  up  his  features.  "  Will  you  bring  pen 
and  ink,  if  you  please,  and  I  will  write  down  a  few  of  the  articles 
which  will  be  necessary  for  us  1  We  shall  require,  if  you  please, 
eight  more  stew-pans,  a  couple  of  braising-pans,  eight  sautd-pans, 
six  bainmarie-pans,  a  freezing-pot  with  accessories,  and  a  few  more 
articles  of  which  I  will  inscribe  the  names."  And  Mr.  Cavalcadour 
did  so,  dashing  down,  with  the  rapidity  of  genius,  a  tremendous 
list  of  ironmongery  goods,  which  he  handed  over  to  Mrs.  Timmins. 
She  and  her  mamma  were  quite  frightened  by  tlie  awful  catalogaie. 

"  I  will  call  three  days  hence,  and  superintend  the  progress  of 
matters ;  and  we  will  make  stock  for  the  soup  the  day  before  the 
dinner." 

"Don't  you  think,  sir,"  here  interposed  Mrs.  Gashleigh,  "that 
one  soup — a  fine  rich  mock-turtle,  such  as  I  have  seen  in  the 
best  houses  in  the  West  of  England,  and  such  as  the  late  Lord 
Fortyskewer " 

"  You  will  get  what  is  wanted  for  the  soups,  if  you  please," 
Mr.  Cavalcadour  continued,  not  heeding  this  interruption,  and  as 
bold  as  a  captain  on  his  own  quarter-deck  :  "for  the  stock  of  clear 
soup,  you  will  get  a  leg  of  beef,  a  leg  of  veal,  and  a  ham." 

"  We,  munseer,"  said  the  cook,  dropping  a  temfied  curtsey  : 
"  a  leg  of  beef,  a  leg  of  veal,  and  a  ham." 

"  You  can't  serve  a  leg  of  veal  at  a  party,"  said  Mrs.  Gashleigh  ; 
"  and  a  leg  of  beef  is  not  a  company  dish." 

"  Madame,  they  are  to  make  the  stock  of  tlie  clear  soup,"  Mr. 
Cavalcadour  said. 

"  What  I  "  cried  Mrs.  Gasldeigh  ;  and  the  cook  repeated  his 
former  expression. 

"  Never,  wliilst  /  am  in  this  house,"  cried  out  Mrs.  Gashleigh 
indignantly  ;  "  never  in  a  Christian  English  household ;  never  shall 
3  c 


720          A    LITTLE    DINNER    AT    TIMMINS'S 

such  sinful  waste  be  j)erniittc(l  bj'  me.  If  you  wish  me  to  dine, 
Rosa,  you  must  get  a  diiiuor  less  cvpensive.  Tlu;  Rii^ht  Honourable 
Lord  Fortyskewcr  could  dine,  sir,  without  these  wicked  luxuries, 
and  I  presume  my  daughter's  guests  can." 

"  Madame  is  jierfectly  at  liberty  to  decide,"  said  M.  Cavalcadour. 
"I  came  to  oblige  madame  and  my  good  friend  Mirobolant,  not 
myself." 

"  Tliank  you,  sir,  I  think  it  will  be  too  expensive,"  Rosa 
stammered  in  a  great  flutter  ;  "  but  I  am  Very  much  obliged  to  you." 
"  II  n'y  a  point  d'obligation,  madame,"  said  Monsieur  Alcide 
Camille  Cavalcadour  in  his  most  superb  manner ;  and,  making  a 
splendid  bow  to  the  lady  of  the  house,  was  respectfully  conducted 
to  the  upper  regions  by  little  Buttons,  leaving  Rosa  frightened,  the 
cook  amazed  and  silent,  and  Mrs.  Gashleigh  boiling  with  indignation 
against  the  dresser. 

Up  to  that  moment,  Mrs.  Blowser,  the  cook,  who  had  come  out 
of  Devonsliire  with  Mrs.  Gashleigh  (of  course  that  lady  garrisoned 
her  daughter's  house  with  servants,  and  expected  them  to  give  her 
information  of  everything  wliich  took  place  there) — up  to  that 
moment,  I  say,  the  cook  had  been  quite  contented  witii  that  sub- 
terraneous station  which  she  occupied  in  life,  and  had  a  pride  in 
keeping  her  kitchen  neat,  bright,  and  clean.  It  was,  in  her  opinion, 
the  comfortablest  room  in  the  house  (we  all  thought  so  when  we 
came  down  of  a  night  to  smoke  there),  and  the  handsomest  kitchen 
in  Lilliput  Street. 

But  after  the  visit  of  Cavalcadour,  the  cook  became  quite  dis- 
contented and  uneasy  in  her  mind.  She  talked  in  a  melancholy 
manner  over  the  area  railings  to  the  cooks  at  twenty-three  and 
twenty-five.  She  stepped  over  the  way,  and  conferred  witli  the 
cook  there.  She  made  inquiries  at  the  baker's  and  at  other  places 
about  the  kitchens  in  the  great  houses  in  Brobdingnag  Gardens, 
and  how  many  spits,  bangmarry-pans,  and  stoo-pans  they  had.  She 
thought  she  could  not  do  with  an  occasional  help,  but  must  have  a 
kitchen-maid.  And  she  was  often  discovered  by  a  gentleman  of 
the  police  force,  who  was,  I  believe,  her  cousin,  and  occasionally 
visited  her  when  Mrs.  Gashleigh  was  not  in  the  house  or  spying 
it : — she  was  discovered  seated  with  "  Mrs.  Rundell "  in  her  lap, 
its  leaves  bespattered  with  her  tears.  "  My  pease  be  gone.  Pelisse," 
she  said,  "zins  I  zaw  that  ther  Franchman  !"  And  it  was  all  the 
faithful  fellow  could  do  to  console  her. 

" •  the  diimer  !  "  said  Timmins,  in  a  rage  at  last.     "  Having 

it  cooked  in  the  house  is  out  of  the  question.  The  bother  of  it, 
and  the  row  your  mother  makes,  are  enougli  to  drive  one  mad.  It 
won't  happen  again,  I  can  promise  you,  Rosa.    Order  it  at  Fubsby's, 


A    LITTLE    DINNER    AT    TIMMINS'S  721 

at  once.     You  can  have  everything  from  Fubsby's — from  footmen 
to  saltspoons.     Let's  go  and  order  it  at  Fubsby's." 

"  Darling,  if  you  don't  mind  the  expense,  and  it  will  be  any 
relief  to  you,  let  us  do  as  you  wish,"  Rosa  said;  and  she  put 
on  her  bonnet,  and  they  went -off  to  the  grand  cook  and  con- 
fectioner of  the  Brobdingnag  quarter. 


CHAPTER  V 

ON  the  arm  of  her  Fitzroy,  Rosa  went  off  to  Fubsby's,  that 
magnificent  shop  at  the  comer  of  Parliament  Place  and 
Alicompayne  Square, — a  shop  into  which  the  rogue  had 
often  cast  a  glance  of  approbation  as  he  passed  :  for  there  are  not 
only  the  most  wonderful  and  delicious  cakes  and  confections  in  the 
window,  but  at  the  counter  there  are  almost  sure  to  be  three  or 
four  of  the  prettiest  women  in  the  whole  of  this  world,  with  little 
darling  caps  of  the  last  French  make,  with  beautiful  wavy  hair, 
and  the  neatest  possible  waists  and  aprons. 

Yes,  there  they  sit ;  and  others,  perhaps,  besides  Fitz  have  cast 
a  sheep's-eye  through  those  enormous  jJate-glass  window-panes.  I 
suppose  it  is  the  fact  of  perpetually  living  among  such  a  quantity 
of  good  thuigs  that  makes  those  young  ladies  so  beautiful.  They 
come  into  the  place,  let  us  say,  like  ordinary  people,  and  gradually 
gi"ow  handsomer  and  handsomer,  until  they  grow  out  into  the  perfect 
angels  you  see.  It  can't  be  otherwise  :  if  you  and  I,  my  dear  fellow, 
were  to  have  a  course  of  that  place,  we  should  become  beautiful  too. 
They  live  in  an  atmosphere  of  the  most  delicious  pine-apples,  blanc- 
manges, creams  (some  whilst,  and  some  so  good  that  of  course  they 
don't  want  whipijing),  jellies,  tipsy-cakes,  cherry -brandy  —  one 
hundred  thousand  sweet  and  lovely  things.  Look  at  the  preserved 
fruits,  look  at  the  golden  ginger,  the  outspreading  ananas,  the 
darling  little  rogues  of  China  oranges,  ranged  in  the  gleaming 
crystal  cylinders.  Mon  Dieu  !  Look  at  the  strawberries  in  the 
leaves.  Each  of  them  is  as  large  nearly  as  a  lady's  reticule,  and 
looks  as  if  it  had  been  brought  up  in  a  nursery  to  itself.  One  of 
those  strawberries  is  a  meal  for  those  young  ladies  behind  the 
counter  ;  they  nibble  off  a  little  from  the  side,  and  if  they  are 
very  hungry,  which  can  scarcely  ever  happen,  they  are  allowed  to 
go  to  the  crystal  canisters  and  take  out  a  rout-cake  or  macaroon. 
In  the  evening  they  sit  and  tell  each  other  little  riddles  out  of  the 
bonbons ;  and  when  they  wish  to  amuse  themselves,  they  road  the 
most  delightful  remarks  in  the  French  language,  about  Love,  and 


722         A    LITTLE    DINNER    AT    TIMMINS'S 

Ciipid,  and  Beauty,  before  they  place  tliein  inside  the  crackers. 
They  always  are  writing  down  good  things  into  Mr.  Fubsby's 
ledgers.  It  must  be  a  perfect  feast  to  read  them.  Talk  of  the 
Garden  of  Eden  !  I  believe  it  was  nothing  to  Mr.  Fubsby's  house  ; 
and  I  have  no  doubt  that  after  those  young  ladies  have  been  there 
a  certain  time,  they  get  to  such  a  pitch  of  loveliness  at  last,  that 
tliey  become  complete  angels,  with  wings  sprouting  out  of  their 
lovely  shoulders,  when  (after  giving  just  a  preparatory  balance  or 
two)  they  liy  up  to  the  counter  and  jterch  there  for  a  minute,  hop 
down  again,  and  affectionately  kiss  the  other  young  ladies,  and  say, 
"  Good-bye,  dears  !  We  shall  meet  again  la-hant."  And  then  with 
a  whirr  of  their  deliciously  scented  wings,  away  tliey  fly  for  good, 
whisking  over  the  trees  of  Brobdingnag  Square,  and  u])  into  the 
sky,  as  the  policeman  touclies  liis  hat. 

It  is  uj)  there  tliat  they  invent  the  legends  fur  the  crackers,  and 
the  wonderful  riddles  and  remarks  on  the  bonbons.  No  mortal,  I 
am  sure,  could  write  them. 

I  never  saw  a  man  in  such  a  state  as  Fitzroy  Timmins  in  the 
presence  of  those  ravishing  liouris.  Mrs.  Fitz  having  explained  that 
they  required  a  dinner  for  twenty  persons,  the  chief  young  lady 
asked  what  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Fitz  would  like,  and  named  a  thousand 
things,  each  better  than  the  other,  to  all  of  which  Fitz  instantly  said 
yes.  The  wretch  was  in  such  a  state  of  infatuation  that  I  believe 
if  tliat  lady  had  ])roposed  to  him  a  fricasseed  elephant,  or  a  boa- 
constrictor  in  jelly,  he  would  have  said,  "  Oh  yes,  certainly ;  put 
it  down." 

That  Peri  wrote  down  in  her  albiun  a  list  of  things  which  it 
would  make  your  mouth  water  to  listen  to.  But  she  took  it  all 
quite  calmly.  Heaven  bless  you  !  tAey  don't  care  about  things  that 
are  no  delicacies  to  them  !  But  whatever  she  chose  to  w^ite  down, 
Fitzroy  let  her. 

After  the  dimier  and  dessert  were  ordered  (at  Fubsby's  they 
furnish  everything  :  dinner  and  dessert,  plate  and  china,  servants  in 
your  own  livery,  and,  if  you  please,  guests  of  title  too),  the  married 
couple  retreated  from  that  shop  of  wonders  ;  Rosa  delighted  that  the 
trouble  of  the  dinner  was  all  off"  their  hands  :  but  she  was  afraid  it 
W(juld  be  rather  expensive. 

"  Nothing  can  be  too  expensive  which  pleases  you,  dear," 
Fitz  said. 

"  By  the  way,  one  of  those  young  women  was  rather  good- 
looking,"  Rosa  remarked :  "  the  one  in  the  cap  with  the  blue 
ribands."  (And  she  cast  about  the  shape  of  the  cap  in  her  mind, 
and  determined  to  have  exactly  such  another.) 

"Think  so]     I  didn't  observe,"  said  the  miserable  hypocrite  by 


A    LITTLE    DINNER    AT    TIMMINS'S         723 

her  side ;  and  when  he  liad  seen  Rosa  home,  he  went  bark,  like  an 
infamous  fiend,  to  order  something  else  wlaich  he  had  forgotten,  he 
said,  at  Fubsby's.  Get  out  of  that  Paradise,  you  cowardly  creeping 
vile  serpent  you  ! 

Until  the  day  of  tlic  dinner,  the  infatuated  fop  was  a/vai/s  going 
to  Fubsby's.  He  was  remarked  there.  He  used  to  go  Ijefore  he 
went  to  chambers  in  tlie  morning,  and  sometimes  on  his  return  from 
the  Temple :  but  the  morning  was  the  time  which  he  preferred ; 
and  one  day,  when  he  went  on  one  of  his  eternal  pretexts,  and  was 
chattering  and  flirting  at  the  counter,  a  lady  who  had  been  reading 
yesterday's  paper  and  eating  a  halfpenny  bun  for  an  hour  in  the  back 
shop  (if  that  paradise  may  be  called  a  shop) — a  lady  stepped  forward, 
laid  down  the  Morning  Herald,  and  confronted  him. 

That  lady  was  Mrs.  Gashleigh.  From  that  day  the  miserable 
Fitzroy  was  in  her  power ;  and  she  resumed  a  sway  over  his  house, 
to  shake  ofi^  Avliich  had  been  the  object  of  his  hfe,  and  the  result  of 
many  liattles.  And  for  a  mere  freak — (for,  on  going  into  Fubsby's 
a  week  afterwards  he  found  the  Peris  drinkiiig  tea  out  of  blue  cups, 
and  eating  stale  bread-and-butter,  when  his  absurd  passion  instantly 
vanished) — I  say,  for  a  mere  freak,  the  most  intolerable  burden  of 
his  life  was  put  on  his  shoulders  again — his  mother-in-law. 

On  the  day  before  the  little  dinner  took  place — and  I  promise 
you  we  shall  come  t<i  it  in  the  very  next  chapter — a  tall  and  elegant 
middle-aged  gentleman,  wh<i  might  have  passed  for  an  earl  but  that 
there  was  a  slight  incompleteness  about  his  hands  and  feet,  the 
former  being  uncommonly  red,  and  the  latter  large  and  irregular, 
was  introduced  to  Mrs.  Timmins  by  the  page,  who  announced  him 
as  Mr.  Tnmcheon. 

"  I'm  Truncheon,  ma'am,"  he  said,  with  a  low  bow. 

"  Indeed,"  said  Rosa. 

"About  the  dinner,  m'm,  from  Fubsby's,  m'm.  As  you  have 
no  butler,  m'm,  I  presume  you  will  wish  me  to  act  as  sich.  I  shall 
bring  two  persons  as  haids  to-mon'ow  ;  both  answers  to  the  name  of 
John.  I'd  best,  if  you  please,  inspect  the  premisis,  and  will  think 
you  to  allow  your  young  man  to  show  me  the  jiantry  and  kitching." 

Truncheon  spoke  in  a  low  voice,  and  with  the  deepest  and  most 
respectful  melancholy.  There  is  not  much  expression  in  his-  eyes, 
but  from  what  there  is,  you  would  fancy  that  he  was  oppressed  by 
a  secret  sorrow.  Rosa  trembled  as  she  surveyed  this  gentleman's 
size,  his  splendid  appearance  and  gravity.  "  I  am  sure,"  she  said, 
"I  never  shall  dare  to  ask  him  to  hand  a  glass  of  water."  Even 
Mrs.  Gashleigh,  when  she  came  on  the  morning  of  the  actual  dinner- 
party, to  superintend  matters,  was  cowed,  and  retreated  from  the 
kitchen  before  the  calm  majesty  of  Truncheon. 


724.  A     i.lTTLE    DINNF.R    AT    TI  MMTNS'S 

And  yet  that  great  man  was,  like  all  the  truly  great— allablc. 

He  put  aside  his  coat  and  waist(;oat  (both  of  evening  cut,  and 
looking  jjrematurely  splendid  as  he  walked  the  streets  in  noonday), 
and  did  not  disdain  to  rub  the  glasses  and  polish  the  decanters,  and 
to  show  young  Buttons  the  proper  mode  of  preparing  these  articles 
for  a  diiuier.  And  while  he  operated,  the  inaids,  and  Buttons,  and 
cook,  when  she  could — and  what  had  she  but  the  vegetables  to 
boil? — crowded  round  him,  and  listened  with  wonder  as  he  talked 
of  the  great  families  as  he  had  lived  witli.  That  man,  as  they 
saw  him  there  before  them,  had  been  cab-boy  to  Lord  Tantallan, 
valet  to  the  Earl  of  Bareacres,  and  groom  of  the  chambers  to  the 
Duchess-Dowager  of  Fitzbattleaxe.  Oh,  it  was  delightful  to  hear  Mr. 
Truncheon ! 


CHAPTER   VI 

ON  the  great,  momentous,  stupendous  day  of  the  dinner,  my 
beloved  female  reader  may  imagine  that  Fitzroy  Timmins 
was  sent  about  his  business  at  an  early  hour  in  the  morn- 
ing, while  the  w^onien  began  to  make  preparations  to  receive  their 
guests.  "  There  will  be  no  need  of  your  going  to  Fubsby's,"  Mrs. 
Gashlcigh  said  to  him,  with  a  look  that  drove  him  out  of  doors. 
"  Everything  that  we  require  has  been  ordered  there  !  You  will 
please  be  back  here  at  six  o'clock,  anrl  not  sooner :  and  I  presume 
you  will  acquiesce  in  my  arrangements  about  the  ivine  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  mamma,"  said  the  prostrate  son-in-law. 

"  In  so  large  a  party — a^iarty  beyond  some  folks'  means — expen- 
sive ivines  are  absurd.  The  light  sherry  at  26s.,  the  champagne  at 
42s. ;  and  you  are  not  to  go  beyond  36s.  for  the  claret  and  port 
after  dinner.  Mind,  coffee  will  be  served ;  and  you  come  upstairs 
after  two  rounds  of  the  claret." 

"  Of  coiu-se,  of  course,"  acquiesced  the  WTetch  ;  and  hurried  out 
of  the  house  to  his  chambers,  and  to  discharge  the  commissions  with 
which  the  womankind  had  entrusted  him. 

As  for  Mrs.  Gashlcigh,  you  might  have  heard  her  baw^Iing  over 
the  house  the  whole  day  long.  That  admirable  woman  was  every- 
where :  in  the  kitchen  until  the  arrival  of  Truncheon,  before  whom 
she  would  not  retreat  without  a  l)attle ;  on  the  stairs ;  in  Fitzroy's 
dressing-room;  and  in  Fitzroy  minor's  nursery,  to  whom  she  gave 
a  dose  of  her  own  composition,  while  the  nurse  was  sent  out  on 
a  jjretext  to  make  purchases  of  garnish  for  the  dishes  to  be  served 
for  the  little  dinner.  Garnish  for  the  dishes  !  As  if  the  folks  at 
Fubsby's  could  not  garnish  dishes  better  than  Gashleigh,  with  her 


A    LITTLE    DINNER    AT    TIMMINS'S         725 

stupid  old-world  devices  of  laurel-leaves,  parsley,  and  cut  turnips  ! 
Why,  there  was  not  a  dish  served  that  day  that  was  not  covered 
over  with  skewers,  on  which  truffles,  crayfish,  mushrooms,  and  force- 
meat were  impaled.  When  old  Gashleigh  Avent  down  with  her 
barbarian  bundles  of  holly  and  greens  to  stick  about  tlie  meats, 
even  the  cook  saw  their  incongruity,  and,  at  Truncheon's  orders, 
flung  the  whole  shrubbery  into  the  dust-house,  Avhere,  while  poking 
about  the  i^remises,  you  may  be  sure  Mrs.  G.  saw  it. 

Every  candle  which  was  to  be  burned  that  night  (including  the 
tallow  candle,  which  she  said  was  a  good  enough  bed-light  for 
Fitzroy)  she  stuck  into  the  candlesticks  with  her  own  hands,  giving 
her  own  high-sliouldered  plated  candlesticks  of  the  year  1798  the 
])lace  of  honour.  She  upset  all  poor  Rosa's  floral  arrangements, 
turning  the  nosegays  from  one  vase  into  the  other  without  any 
pity,  and  was  never  tired  of  beating,  and  pushing,  and  patting,  and 
it'happing  the  curtain  and  sofa  draperies  into  shape  in  the  little 
drawing-room. 

In  Fitz's  own  apartments  she  revelled  with  peculiar  pleasure. 
It  has  been  described  how  she  had  sacked  his  study  and  pushed 
away  his  papers,  some  of  which,  including  three  cigars,  and  the 
commencement  of  an  article  for  the  Laiv  Magazine,  "  Lives  of  the 
Sheriff's'  Officers,"  he  has  never  been  able  to  find  to  this  day. 
Mamma  now  went  into  the  little  room  in  the  back  regions,  which 
is  Fitz's  dressing-room  (and  was  destined  to  be  a  cloak-room),  and 
here  she  rummageil  to  her  heart's  delight. 

In  an  incredibly  short  space  of  time  she  examined  all  his  out- 
lying pockets,  drawers,  and  letters ;  she  inspected  Jiis  socks  and 
handkerchiefs  in  the  top  draM'ers ;  and  on  the  dressing-table,  his 
razors,  shaving-strop,  and  hair-oil.  She  carried  oft'  his  silver-topped 
scent-bottle  out  of  his  dressing-case,  and  a  half-dozen  of  his 
favourite  pills  (which  Fitz  possesses  in  common  with  every  well- 
regulated  man),  and  probably  administered  them  to  her  own  family. 
His  boots,  glossy  pumps,  and  slippers  she  pushed  into  the  shower- 
bath,  where  the  poor  fellow  stepped  into  them  the  next  morning, 
in  the  midst  of  a  pool  in  which  they  were  lying.  The  baby  was 
found  sucking  his  boot-hooks  the  next  day  in  the  nursery  ;  and  as 
for  the  bottle  of  varnish  for  his  shoes  (which  he  generally  paints 
upon  the  trees  himself,  having  a  i)retty  taste  in  that  way),  it  could 
never  be  found  to  the  present  hour  ;  but  it  was  remarked  that  the 
young  Master  Gashleighs,  when  they  came  home  for  the  holidays, 
always  wore  lacquci'cd  highlows ;  and  tlic  reader  may  draw  his 
conclusions  from  that  fact. 

In  the  course  of  the  day  all  the  servants  gave  Mrs.  Timmins 
warning. 


726         A    LITTLE    DINNER    AT    TIMMINS'S 

The  cook  said  she  coodn't  abear  it  no  longer,  'aving  Mrs.  G. 
always  about  her  kitching,  with  her  fingers  in  all  the  saucejjans. 
Mrs.  G.  had  got  her  the  place,  but  she  pi-oforred  one  as  Mrs.  G. 
diilu't  get  for  her. 

The  nurse  said  she  was  come  tf)  nuss  Master  Fitzroy,  and  knew 
her  duty ;  his  grandmamma  wasn't  his  nuss,  and  was  always  aggra- 
wating  her, — missus  must  shoot  herself  elsewhere. 

The  housemaid  gave  utterance  to  the  same  sentiments  in 
language  more  violent. 

Little  Buttons  bounced  up  to  his  mistress,  said  he  was  butler 
of  the  family ;  Mrs.  G.  was  always  poking  about  his  pantry,  and 
dam  if  he'd  stand  it. 

At  every  moment  Rosa  grew  more  and  more  bewildered.  The 
baby  howled  a  great  deal  during  the  day.  His  large  china  christen- 
ing-bowl was  cracked  by  Mrs.  Gashleigh  altering  the  flowers  in  it, 
and  pretending  to  be  very  cool,  whilst  her  hands  shook  with  rage. 

"  Pray  go  on,  mamma,"  Rosa  said  with  tears  iu  her  eyes. 
"  Should  you  like  to  break  the  chandeher  1 " 

"  Ungrateful,  unnatural  child  !  "  bellowed  the  other.  "  Only 
that  I  know  you  couldn't  do  without  me,  I'd  leave  the  house  this 
minute." 

"As  you  wish,"  said  Rosa;  but  Mrs.  G.  didn't  v^ish  :  and  in 
this  juncture  Truncheon  arrived. 

That  officer  surveyed  the  dining-room,  laid  the  cloth  there  with 
admirable  precision  and  neatness ;  ranged  the  plate  on  the  side- 
board with  gi'aceful  accuracy,  but  objected  to  that  old  thing  in  the 
centre,  as  lie  called  Mrs.  Gashleigh's  silver  basket,  as  (cumbrous  and 
useless  for  the  table,  where  they  would  want  all  the  room  they 
could  get. 

Order  was  not  restored  to  the  house,  nor,  indeed,  any  decent 
progress  made,  until  this  great  man  came :  but  where  there  was  a 
revolt  before,  and  a  general  disposition  to  strike  work  and  to  yell 
out  defiance  against  Mrs.  Gashleigh,  who  was  sitting  bewildered 
and  furious  in  the  drawing-room — where  there  was  before  commo- 
tion, at  the  appearance  of  the  master-spirit,  all  was  peace  and 
unanimity :  the  cook  went  back  to  her  pans,  the  housemaid  busied 
herself  with  the  china  and  glass,  cleaning  some  articles  and  breaking 
others.  Buttons  sprang  up  and  down  the  stairs,  obedient  to  the 
orders  of  his  chief,  and  all  things  went  well  and  in  their  season. 

At  sLx,  the  man  with  the  wine  came  from  Binney  and  Latham's. 
At  a  quarter-past  six,  Timmins  himself  arrived. 

At  half-past  six,  he  might  have  been  heard  shouting  out  for  his 
varnished  boots — but  we  know  where  those  had  been  hidden — and 
for  his  dressing  things ;  but  Mrs.  Gashleigh  had  put  them  away. 


A    LITTLE    DINNER    AT    TIMMINS'S         727 

As  in  his  vain  inquiries  for  these  articles  he  stood  shouting, 
"  Nurse  !  Buttons  !  Rosa,  my  dear  !  "  and  the  most  fearful  execra- 
tions up  and  down  the  stairs,  Mr.  Truncheon  came  out  on  him. 

"Igscuse  me,  sir,"  says  he,  "but  it's  impawsable.  We  can't 
dine  twenty  at  that  table — not  if  you  set  'em  out  awinder,  w^e 
can't." 

"What's  to  be  done?"  asked  Fitzroy,  in  an  agony ;  "they've 
all  said  they'd  come." 

"Can't  do  it,"  said  the  other;  "with  two  top  and  bottom — 
and  your  table  is  as  narrow  as  a  bench — we  can't  hold  more  than 
heighteen,  and  then  each  person's  helbows  will  be  into  his  neighbour's 
cheer." 

"  Rosa  !  Mrs.  Gashleigh  !  "  cried  out  Timmins,  "  come  down  and 
speak  to  this  gentl this " 

"  Truncheon,  sir,"  said  the  man. 

The  women  descended  from  the  drawing-room.  "  Look  and  see, 
ladies,"  he  said,  inducting  them  into  the  dining-room  :  "  there's  the 
room,  there's  the  table  laid  for  heighteen,  and  I  defy  you  to  squeege 
in  more." 

"  One  person  in  a  party  always  fails,"  said  Mrs.  Gashleigh, 
getting  alarmed. 

"  Tliat's  nineteen,"  Mr.  Truncheon  remarked.  "  We  must  knock 
another  hoff,  ma'am."     And  he  looked  her  hard  in  the  face. 

Mrs.  Gashleigh  was  very  red  and  nervous,  and  paced,  or  rather 
squeezed  round  the  table  (it  was  as  much  as  she  could  do).  The 
chairs  could  not  be  put  any  closer  than  they  were.  It  was  impos- 
sible, unless  the  convive  sat  as  a  centre-piece  in  the  middle,  to  put 
another  guest  at  tliat  table. 

"Look  at  that  lady  moviu'  round,  sir.  You  see  now  the 
difficklty.  If  my  men  wasn't  thinner,  they  couldn't  hoperate  at 
all,"  Mr.  Tnmcheon  observed,  who  seemed  to  have  a  spite  to  Mrs. 
Gashleigh. 

"  What  is  to  be  done  ? "  she  said,  with  purple  accents. 

"  My  dearest  mamma,"  Rosa  ci-ied  out,  "  you  must  stop  at  home 
— how  sarry  I  am  !  "  And  she  shot  one  glance  at  Fitzroy,  who  shot 
another  at  the  gi-eat  Truncheon,  who  held  down  his  eyes.  "  We 
could  manage  with  heighteen,"  he  said,  mildly.   . 

Mrs.  Gashleigh  gave  a  hideous  laugh. 

She  went  away.  At  eight  o'chjck  she  was  pacing  at  the  corner 
of  tlie  street,  and  actually  saw  tlic  comiiany  arrive.  First  came  the 
Tojiham  Sawyers,  in  tlieir  light-ldue  carriage  with  the  white  hanimer- 
dotli  and  Viliie  and  white  ribands — tiieir  footmen  drove  the  house 
down  with  the  knocking. 


728         A    LITTLE    DINNER    AT    TIMMINS'S 

Then  followed  tlio  ponderous  and  snuff-coloured  vehicle,  with 
faded  .uilt  wheels  and  brass  earl's  coronets  all  over  it,  the  conveyance 
of  the  House  of  Binigay.  The  Countess  of  l:iun,<j;ay  and  daughter 
stepped  out  of  the  carriat,'c.  The  fourteenth  Earl  of  Bungay  couldn't 
come. 

Sir  Thomas  and  Lady  Gulpin's  Hy  made  its  appearance,  from 
which  issued  the  General  with  his  star,  and  Lady  Gulpin  in  yellow 
satin.  The  Rowdys'  brougham  ft)llowed  next;  after  which  Mrs. 
Butt's  handsome  equipage  drove  up. 

The  two  friends  of  the  house,  young  gentlemen  from  tlie  Temi)le, 
now  arrived  in  cab  No.  9996.  We  tossed  up,  in  fact,  which  should 
pay  the  fare. 

Mr.  Ranville  Ranville  walked,  and  was  dusting  his  boots  as  the 
Templars  drove  up.  Lord  Castlemouldy  came  out  of  a  twopenny 
omnibus.  Funnyman,  the  wag,  came  last,  whirling  up  rapidly  in 
a  hansom,  just  as  Mrs.  Gashleigh,  with  rage  in  her  heart,  was 
counting  that  two  people  had  tailed,  and  that  there  were  only  seven- 
teen after  all. 

Mr.  Truncheon  passed  our  names  to  Mr.  Billiter,  who  bawled 
them  out  on  the  stairs.  Rosa  was  smiling  in  a  pink  dress,  and 
looking  as  fresh  as  an  angel,  and  received  her  company  with  that 
grace  whicli  has  always  characterised  her. 

The  moment  of  the  dinner  arrived,  old  Lady  Bungay  scuffled  off 
on  the  arm  of  Fitzroy,  while  the  rear  was  brought  up  by  Rosa  and 
L<ird  Castlemouldy,  *  of  Ballyshanvanvoght  Castle,  co.  Tipperary. 
Some  fellows  who  had  the  luck,  took  dowu  ladies  to  dinner.  I  was 
not  sorry  to  be  out  of  the  way  of  Mrs.  Rowdy,  with  her  dandified 
airs,  or  of  that  high  and  mighty  county  princess,  Mrs.  Topham 
Sawyer 


CHAPTER    VII 

OF  course  it  does  not  become  the  present  writer,  who  has 
partaken  of  the  best  entertainment  which  his  friends  coidd 
supi)ly,  to  make  fun  of  their  (somewhat  ostentatious,  as  it 
must  be  confessed)  hospitality.  If  they  gave  a  dinner  beyond  their 
means,  it  is  no  business  of  mine.  I  hate  a  man  who  goes  and  eats 
a  friend's  meat,  and  then  blabs  the  secrets  of  the  mahogany.  Such 
a  man  deserves  never  to  be  asked  to  dinner  again ;  and  though  at 
the  close  of  a  London  season  that  seems  no  great  loss,  and  you 
sicken  of  a  whitebait  as  you  would  of  a  wliale— yet  we  must  always 
remember  that  there's  another  season  coming  and  hold  our  tongues 
for  the  present. 


A    LITTLE    DINNER    AT    TIMMINS'S         729 

As  for  describing,  then,  the  mere  victuals  on  Timmins's  table, 
that  would  be  absurd.  Everybody — (I  mean  of  the  genteel  world, 
of  course,  of  which  I  make  no  doubt  the  reader  is  a  polite  oniament) 
— everybody  has  the  same  everything  in  London.  You  see  the 
same  coats,  the  same  dinners,  tjie  same  boiled  foAvls  and  mutton, 
the  same  cutlets,  fish,  and  cucumbers,  the  same  lumps  of  Wenham 
Lake  ice,  &c.  The  waiters  with  white  neckcloths  are  as  like  each 
other  everywhere  as  the  peas  which  they  hand  round  with  the  ducks 
of  the  second  course.     Can't  any  one  invent  anything  new  1 

The  only  difference  between  Timmins's  dinner  and  his  neighbours' 
was,  that  he  had  hired,  as  we  have  said,  tlie  greater  part  of  the 
plate,  and  that  his  cowardly  conscience  magnified  faults  and  disasters 
of  which  no  one  else  probably  took  heed. 

But  Rosa  thought,  from  the  supercilious  air  with  which  Mrs. 
Topham  Sawyer  was  eyeing  the  plate  and  other  arrangements,  that 
she  was  remarking  the  difference  of  the  ciphers  on  the  forks  and 
spoons — (which  had,  in  fact,  been  borrowed  from  every  one  of 
Fitzroy's  fiiends — I  know,  for  instance,  that  he  liad  my  six,  among 
others,  and  only  returned  five,  along  with  a  battered  old  black- 
pronged  plated  abomination,  which  I  have  no  doubt  belongs  to  Mrs. 
Gashleigh,  whom  I  hereby  request  to  send  back  mine  in  exchange) 
— their  guilty  consciences,  I  say,  made  them  fancy  that  every  one 
was  spying  out  their  domestic  deficiencies  :  whereas,  it  is  probable 
that  nobody  present  thought  of  their  failings  at  all.  People  never 
do :  they  never  see  holes  in  their  neighbours'  coats — they  are  too 
indolent,  simple,  and  charitable. 

Some  tlnngs,  however,  one  could  not  help  remarking :  for 
instance,  though  Fitz  is  my  closest  friend,  yet  could  I  avoid  seeing 
and  being  amused  by  his  perplexity  and  Ids  dismal  efibrts  to  be 
facetious  ?  His  eye  wandered  all  round  the  little  room  with  (juick 
unea.sy  glances,  very  different  from  those  frank  and  jovial  looks 
with  which  he  is  accustomed  to  welcome  you  to  a  leg  of  mutton ; 
and  Rosa,  from  the  other  end  of  the  table,  and  over  the  flowers, 
entree  dishes,  and  wine-coolers,  telegraphed  him  with  signals  of 
corresponding  alarm.  Poor  devils  !  why  did  they  ever  go  beyond 
that  leg  of  mutton  1 

Funnyman  was  not  brilliant  in  conversation,  scarcely  opening 
his  moutii,  except  for  the  purposes  of  feasting.  The  fact  is,  our 
friend  Tom  Dawson  was  at  table,  who  knew  all  his  stories,  and  in 
his  presence  the  greatest  wag  is  always  silent  and  uneasy. 

Fitz  has  a  very  pretty  wit  of  his  own,  and  a  good  reputation 
on  circuit ;  but  he  is  timid  before  great  people.  And  indeed  the 
presence  of  that  awful  Lady  Bungay  on  his  right  hand  was  enough 
to  damp  him.     She  was  in  Court  mourning  (for  the  late  Prince  of 


730         A    LITTLE    DINNER   AT    TIMMINS'S 

8clili])i)t'ii8clil()j)])en).  She  had  on  a  hirge  black  funereal  turban 
and  a])i)urtenan('es,  and  a  vast  breastjjlate  of  twinkling,  twiddling 
black  bugles.  No  wonder  a  inan  could  not  be  gay  in  talking 
to  her. 

Mrs.  Rowdy  and  Mrs.  Topliani  Sawyer  love  each  other  as 
women  do  who  have  the  same  receiving  nights,  and  ask  the 
same  society;  they  were  only  separated  by  Ranville  Ranville,  who 
tries  to  be  Avell  with  both  :  and  they  talked  at  each  other 
across  him. 

To})ham  and  Rowdy  growled  out  a  conversation  about  Rum, 
Ireland,  and  the  Navigation  Laws,  quite  unfit  for  print.  Sawyer 
never  speaks  three  words  without  mentioning  the  House  and  the 
Speaker. 

The  Irish  Peer  said  nothing  (which  was  a  comfort) ;  but  he  ate 
and  drank  of  everything  whicli  came  in  his  way ;  and  cut  his  usual 
absurd  figure  in  dyed  whiskers  and  a  yellow  under-waistcoat. 

General  Gulpin  sported  his  star,  and  looked  fat  and  florid,  Init 
melancholy.  His  wife  ordered  away  his  dimici-,  just  like  honest 
Sancho's  physician  at  Barataria. 

Botherby's  stories  about  Lamartine  are  as  old  as  the  hills,  since 
the  barricades  of  1848  ;  and  he  could  not  get  in  a  word  or  cut  the 
slightest  figure.  And  as  for  Tom  Dawson,  he  was  carrying  on  an 
UTidertoned  small-talk  with  Lady  Barbara  St.  Mary's,  so  that  there 
was  not  much  conversation  worth  record  going  on  within  the  dining- 
room. 

Outside  it  was  different.  Those  houses  in  Lilliput  Street  are  so 
uncommonly  compact,  that  you  can  hear  everything  which  takes 
place  all  over  the  tenement ;  and  so — 

In  the  awful  pauses  of  the  banquet,  and  the  hall-door  being 
furthermore  open,  we  had  the  benefit  of  liearing  : — 

The  cook,  and  the  occasional  cook,  belowstairs,  exchanging  rapi<l 
phrases  regarding  the  dinner ; 

The  smash  of  the  soup-tureen,  and  swift  descent  of  the  kitchen- 
maid  and  soup-ladle  down  the  stairs  to  the  lower  regions.  This 
accident  created  a  laugh,  and  rather  amused  Fitzi'oy  and  the  com- 
pany, and  caused  Funnyman  to  say,  bowing  to  Rosa,  that  she  was 
mistress  of  herself,  though  China  fall.  But  she  did  not  heed  him, 
for  at  that  moment  another  noise  commenced,  namely,  that  of — 

The  baby  in  the  upper  rooms,  who  commenced  a  series  of  pierc- 
ing yells,  which,  though  stopped  by  the  sudden  clapping  to  of  the 
nursery-door,  were  only  more  dreadful  to  the  motlier  when  suppressed. 
She  would  have  given  a  guinea  to  go  upstairs  and  have  done  with 
the  whole  entertainment. 

A   thundering   knock   came   at   the   door  very   early   after   the 


A    LITTLE    DINNER    AT    TIMMIN>S'S  731 

dessert,  and  the  pooi-  snul  took  a  speedy  opporti;nity  of  summoning 
the  ladies  to  dei)art,  tliough  you  may  be  sure  it  was  only  old  Mrs. 
Gashleigh,  who  had  come  with  her  daughters — of  course  the  first 
person  to  come.  I  saw  her  red  gown  whisking  up  the  staii-s, 
which  were  covered  with  plates  and  dishes,  over  which  she 
trampled. 

Instead  of  having  any  quiet  after  the  retreat  of  the  ladies,  the 
house  was  kept  in  a  rattle,  and  the  glasses  jingled  on  the  table  as 
the  flymen  and  coachmen  plied  the  knocker,  and  the  soiree  came  in. 
From  my  place  I  could  see  everything  :  the  guests  as  they. arrived  (I 
remarked  very  few  carriages,  mostly  cabs  and  flys),  and  a  little 
crowd  of  blackguard  boys  and  children,  who  were  formed  round  the 
door,  and  gave  ironical  cheers  to  the  folks  as  they  stepped  out  of 
their  vehicles. 

As  for  the  evening  party,  if  a  crowd  in  the  dog-days  is  pleasant, 
poor  Mrs.  Timmins  certainly  had  a  successful  soiWe.  You  could 
hardly  move  on  the  stair.  Mrs.  Stemhold  broke  in  the  banisters, 
and  nearly  fell  through.  There  was  such  a  noise  and  chatter  you 
could  not  hear  the  singing  of  the  Miss  Gashleighs,  which  was  no 
great  loss.  Lady  Bungay  could  hardly  get  to  her  carriage,  being 
entangled  with  Colonel  Wedgewood  in  the  passage.  An  absurd 
attempt  was  made  to  get  up  a  dance  of  some  kind  :  but  before  Mrs. 
Crowder  had  got  round  the  room,  the  hanging-lamp  in  the  dining- 
room  below  was  stove  in,  and  fell  with  a  crash  on  the  table,  now 
prepared  for  refreshment. 

Why,  in  fact,  did  the  Timminses  give  that  party  at  all?  It 
was  quite  beyond  their  means.  They  have  offended  a  score  of  their 
old  friends,  and  pleased  none  of  their  acquaintances.  So  angry  were 
many  who  were  not  asked,  that  poor  Rosa  says  she  must  now  give 
a  couple  more  parties  and  take  in  those  not  previously  invited.  And 
I  know  for  a  fact  that  Fubsby's  bill  is  not  yet  paid ;  nor  Binney  and 
Latham's  the  wine-merchants ;  that  the  breakage  and  hire  of  glass 
and  china  cost  ever  so  much  money ;  that  every  true  friend  of 
Timmins  has  cried  out  against  his  absurd  extravagance,  and  that 
now,  when  every  one  is  going  out  of  town,  Fitz  has  hardly  money  to 
pay  his  circuit,  nnich  more  to  take  Rosa  to  a  watering-place,  as  he 
wished  and  promised. 

As  for  Mrs.  Gashleigh,  the  only  feasible  plan  of  economy  which 
she  can  suggest,  is  that  she  should  come  and  live  with  her  daughter 
and  son-in-law,  and  that  they  should  keep  house  together.  If  he 
agrees  to  this,  she  has  a  little  sum  at  the  banker's,  with  which  she 
would  not  mind  easing  his  present  difficulties ;  and  the  poor  wretch 
is  so  utterly  bewildered  and  crestfallen  that  it  is  very  likely  he  will 
become  her  victim. 


7.'^2         A    LITTLE    DINNER    AT    TIMMINS'S 

The  Tophani  Sawyers,  when  they  go  down  into  the  country, 
will  represent  Fitz  as  a  ruined  man  and  reckless  prodigal ;  his 
uncle,  tlie  attorney,  from  whom  he  has  expectations,  will  most 
likely  withdraw  his  business,  and  adopt  some  other  member  of 
his  family — Blanche  Crowder  for  instan(;e,  whose  husband,  the 
•Doctor,  lias  had  high  words  with  ])Oor  Fitzroy  already,  of  course 
at  the  women's  instigation.  And  all  these  accumulated  miseries 
fall  upon  the  unfortunate  wretch  because  he  was  good-natured, 
and  his  wife  would  have  a  Little  Dinner. 


CARICATURES 


AUTHORS'    MISERIES 

No.  I 


Perhaps  vou  flatter  yourself  that   you  have   made  an   impression   on   Miss 
Flannigan  (at  Worthing),  and  yo\i  find  her  asleep  over  your  favourite  number. 


735 


I  As  you  are  conducting  Lady  Gotobed  to  her  carriage  from  Lady  Highjinks 
"noble  party,"  and  fancying  yourself  a  man  of  fashion,  you  hear  the  servants 
in  fViP  hall  savins  one  to  another.  "  That's  him— that's  Poonch  !  " 


in  the  hall  saying  one  to  another, 


No.  Ill 


Having   corresponded   with  Miss    Riidge,  the  giited  poetess  (authoress  of 
'■F\orZhe,-    "The   Lovelock  of  Montrose,"   "  Moans  of  the   Heart-strings, 
&c  )    and  exchanged  portraits  and  your  own  poems  with  her,  you  meet  at  last. 

You  are  di, appointed  in  her  appearance,  and  find  her  about  forty  years 
older  than  her  picture  ;  perhaps  you,  too.  have  grown  rather  fat  and  seedy  since 
yours  was  taken  in  the  year  1817. 


X  >.   IV 


As  you  are  labourinsr  on  your  great  work  (in  a  style,  let  us  add,  equal  to  the 
subject).  Lady  Anna  Mnria  Tomnoddy's  compliments  arrive,  and  she  requests 
you  will  cast  your  eye  over  the  accompanying  manuscript  in  six  volumes,  "  Tlie 
Mysteries  of  Mayfair,"  correct  the  errors,  if  any,  and  find  a  publisher  for  the  same. 

A'.B. — You  have  in  your  bookcase  Captain  Rangles's  "  Buffaloes  and 
Banyan  Trees,"  in  MS.  ;  the  Rev.  Mr.  Growl's  "Sermons  to  a  Congregation 
at  Swanea,"  ditto,  ditto;  Miss  Piminy's  "  W'ildfiower  Coronal,  a  Wreath  of 
Village  Poesy";  and  Mr.  Clapperton's  .si.\-  manuscript  tragedies;  of  all  of 
which  you  are  requested  to  give  yoiu"  opinion. 

7-11 


No.    V 


The  printer's  boy  is  sitting  in  the  hall  ;  the  editor  has  written  to  say  that 
your  last  contributions  are  not  up  to  the  mark,  and  that  you  must  be  more 
funny  if  you  please.  Mr.  Snip,  the  tailor,  has  called  again  that  morning;  you 
have  a  Fplitting  headache,  from  a  transaction  over-night,  and  as  you  are  writmg 
an  exceedingly  light  and  humorous  article,  your  dear  Anna  Maria  wishes  to 
know  how  you  dare  dine  at  Greenwich,  and  with  wiiom  you  dined  ? 

I   suppose  she  found   the  bill  in  your  coat-pocket.     How  changed   Anna 
rin  is  from  what  she  w;is  when  you  married  her !  and  how  uncommonly  ill- 


Maria  is  from  what  she 
temp'-nd  slic  has  grown 
26 


you 
743 


No.  VI 


Old  Genlleman.     Miss  Wtggets.      Two  Authors. 

Old  Gentleman.  "  I  am  sorry  to  see  you  occupied,  my  dear  Miss  Wiggets, 
with  that  trivial  paper  'Punch.'  A  railway  is  not  a  place,  in  my  opinion,  for 
jokes.     I  never  joke — never." 

Miss  W.  "So  I  should  think,  sir." 

Old  Gentleman.  And  besides,  are  you  aware  who  are  the  conductors  of 
that  paper,  and  that  they  are  Chartists,  Dei-ts,  Atheists,  Anarchists,  and 
Socialists,  to  a  man  ?  I  have  it  from  the  best  authority,  that  they  meet  together 
once  a  week  in  a  tavern  in  Saint  Giles's,  where  they  concoct  their  infamous 
print.  The  chief  part  of  their  income  is  derived  from  threatening  letters  which 
they  send  to  the  nobility  and  gentry.  The  principal  writer  is  a  returned 
convict.  Two  have  been  tried  at  the  Old  Bailey ;  and  their  artist — as  for  their 
artist.  ..." 

Guard.  "  Swin-dun  !  Sta-tion  !  " 

[Exeunt  two  Authors, 


745 


No.  VII 


Mr.  Titus  and  a  Good-natured  Friend. 

Ci.-N.  F.  "  Have  you  read  the  '  Macadamiser,'  Tims?" 

T.  "  Hem  !  no.     Do  people  read  the  '  Macadamiser'?" 

G.-N.  F.  "  He,  he  !  I  say,  Tims,  there's  a  most  unjustifiable  attack  upon 
you  in  it.     Look  here."     (He  kindly  takes  out  the  "  Macadamiser.") 

T.  (reads.)  "  '  This  persrn  is  before  us  again.  He  is  ignorant,  vulgar,  and 
a  cockney.  He  is  one  of  that  most  contemptible  race  of  men,  a  professional 
buffoon.  He  is,'  &c.  &c.  (Titus  reads  ad  liHtutn.)  Thank  you,  my  dear 
fellow  ;  it  was  uncommonly  good-nature<i  of  you  to  bring  the  critique." 


ONE    "WHO    CAN    MINISTER   TO  A  MIND    DISEASED" 


"  You  seem  in  low  spirits,  Jem  ;  you  really  should  go  into  society.' 


A    TEA-TABLE    TRAGEDY 


Miss  Potts.   "  Married  her  uncle's  black  footman  !  as  I'm  a  sinful  woman. 
Afn.  Totts.  "No?" 
Mrs.    Watts.  "O!" 
Miss  Watts.  "Law!!" 


751 


HALF-AN-HOUR   BEFORE   DINNER 


Niminy  and  Ptniiny  staring  at  the  Ladies  seated  in  a  circle  in  the 
drawing-room. 

Niminy.  "That's  a  fain  woman  in  yallah." 
Pimitiy.  "  Hm  !— pooty  well." 


763 


THE    HEAVIES 


Captain  Rag  dictating  to  Comet  Famish. 

Rag.  "  Our  Wedgment  is  avvdrd  abwawd." 

Famish.  "  Ordered  abroad  !  " 

Rag.  "And  I  cannot  leave  my  deawest  Anna  Mawia." 

Famish.  "  I  cannot  leave  my  dear  Miss  Baker." 

Rag.  "  Without  a  stwuggle." 

Famish.  "  Without  a  .  .  .  hang  it  !     I  say,  Rag  !  " 

Rag.  "  Whawt?" 

Famish.  "  How  d'ye  spell  struggle — with  one  g  or  two?  ' 

Rag.  "  O — demmy — twy  th7vee  g's,  Famish,  my  boy." 


755 


A  SCENE   IN  SAINT  JAMES'S   PARK. 


757 


LITERATURE   AT   A   STAND 


I  say,  Jim,  vich  do  you  give  the  prufferance?     Eugene  Shue  or 
Halexander  Dumas?" 


759 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

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